Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Susan Vaughan

your abilities, your so-called Hawk Tool?”
    The Brit straightened his Ichabod-Crane body. “None at all. It’s the best utility for this job. Does it all. Enumeration, scanning, root privileges—”
    “Fucking spare me the geek jargon,” Zervas said. He glared at Hawkins. “If not the technical issue, what?”
    “Spying in this system is bloody risky. Their tech department people are no slouches. But if you insist on it, let me do this remotely without the bloody mole.  The wanker might do something stupid afterward and get caught.”
    “Doesn’t matter as long as it’s afterward.” That was his plan. They’d learn then who took down the company, destroyed its reputation. “You had your say. Now do what I pay you for. And while you’re online with our mole, ask him where his boss is.”
    He returned to his beer and Hawkins to his computer.
    DSF operatives had hounded Centaur all summer, getting closer and closer. They had to be stopped. He had to take down the company, screw Thomas Devlin himself, before DSF ruined his business. The hacking had to work.
    The waitress delivered his pork schnitzel and roast potatoes. The sauce’s rich aroma made his mouth water. He eyed Nedik’s sausages with disdain. None of those Kraut stuffed cases for him. Who knew what was actually in those things? Germans were generally fastidious but he couldn’t ignore that e-coli breakout a few years ago. He took no chances. He wiped his utensils with a sanitary wipe before testing his schnitzel. Cooked through. Good. Satisfied, he sliced off a piece.
    Watching Hawkins click away on his keyboard, Zervas drank beer, savored a bite of the tender pork. Glass clinked as the waitress delivered beers to a neighboring table.
    The geek looked up. “Mole says Devlin won’t be in for a few days. Odd, he says, because the boss never takes vacations. Gossip is it’s a hush-hush job about a woman.”
    Zervas’s mouth tightened. He set down his stein. Could the task force have made the connection? Devlin would jump on any mention of Cleopatra’s necklace.
    His heart strummed an erratic beat. He’d lived with hate for so long, he’d learned to contain the rage bubbling like lava. Perhaps there would be a showdown over the necklace. Perfect. He couldn’t fucking wait.
    He prided himself on keeping his voice even, modulated. “Find out where Thomas Devlin went.”
    ***
    Venice, Italy
    When Thomas stepped from the hotel elevator into the lobby, Bruno Castelli was waiting. Lucas’s description was on the mark. GQ looks and dressed for the part in a hand-tailored suit. Lucas had vouched for his credentials and ability. But how much would the detective cooperate on Cleo’s safety?
    “ Commissario Castelli.” He shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for meeting me. You must have better things to do on a Saturday evening.”
    Castelli dismissed the apology with a shrug and a smile. “A major case like this one commands my attention on weekends as well. I need to make headway before your government puts pressure on my director. As for better things, my fiancée dines with her grandmother this evening.” He spoke English with little accent.
    “Will you join me for a drink?” The hotel’s bar probably wasn’t the best place, but he didn’t know this area near the hospital well enough to suggest another.
    Castelli’s gaze assessed what passed for a bar in the boutique hotel. Scarcely big enough for the four customers already seated in the gloom, it promised no privacy. “Perhaps later. Let us go for a walk.”
    They made their way through narrow streets via a series of doglegs. As they turned onto the Fondamenta Nuove , a wide paved embankment, a sailboat and a rowboat passed each other in the deep channel. The calm water gleamed silver in the lowering sun. Across the canal, cypress trees marked the Venice cemetery on the island of San Michele.
    “I suspect you have discovered by now that the injured woman isn’t Cleo Chandler,” Thomas