Free Grace Takes Off by Julie Hyzy

“Come again?”
    Nico repeated the name, as Bennett sat back, baffled. “Never heard of them. They must
     be a razor company. Maybe a division of a bigger firm.”
    The name seemed familiar to me, but I wasn’t sure where I’d heard it before.
    It was clear Nico didn’t have a clue, nor was he concerned about it. He struggled
     to stand. “You have several hours before you must leave. Let us retire to the terrazzo
     until you must bring me sadness by leaving my beautiful home.”

Chapter 7

    ANGELO DROVE US TO THE AIRPORT. WHEN he��d first taken his seat behind the wheel, Bennett tapped him on the shoulder. “What
     happened to the man who drove us here originally? I thought he would be driving us
     back.”
    Angelo turned his considerable bulk in the front seat and held up both hands, telling
     Bennett in Italian that he didn’t understand.
    Angelo turned forward again and started the engine. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does
     it?” Bennett said.
    I glanced in the rearview mirror to catch Angelo looking at me. “I guess not,” I mumbled.
    Once we’d passed through the front gate Bennett cleared his throat. “It was good to
     see Nico again. Good to reconnect. I’m glad you were able to spend time with Irena.
     I have a sense that the two of you hit it off pretty well.”
    I didn’t want to talk in front of Angelo, but I wasn’t quite sure how to communicate
     that to Bennett. “She’s great,” I said. “The place she took me was perfect for conversation,
     although it didn’t seem as though it would be when we first walked in.”
    “Were you able to ask her about her brother, Gerard?”
    I pointed out Bennett’s window. “Aren’t olive trees lovely? I never get tired of them.”
    He gave the passing landscape a cursory glance. “Yes, but—”
    “I imagine it would be wonderful to come out here during harvest.”
    He opened his mouth, but I kept talking. “Or harvesting grapes. That would be something
     to see, wouldn’t it?”
    I watched concern work across Bennett’s face. “I take it you’d like to come back again
     someday.”
    “There’s an incredible amount of history here. So much to see.” I didn’t know how
     much longer I could keep up inane conversation, but Bennett seemed to get the idea.
     Or at least I thought he did when he sat back and folded his arms.
    A moment later, however, he asked, “So, you don’t want to share what you know about
     Gerard, is that it?”
    “I think it might be better for us to wait awhile,” I said with what I hoped was a
     facial expression that communicated my reluctance to talk in front of Angelo. To my
     dismay, the big man’s body language suggested he was fully tuned in to this conversation.
     “Let’s talk on the plane, okay? It will be interesting to see who we’re flying back
     with.”
    Bennett waved a hand in the air. “Nothing to be nervous about. I’ve encountered my
     share of corporate types before. They tend to fall into two groups—the workers and
     the partiers. The first group never stops talking the whole flight, but they’re so
     worried about anyone overhearing that they keep their voices down. The second drinks
     for the first three hours then, sleeps the rest of the way. Either way, we should
     be in for a mostly quiet flight.”
    “I hope you’re right,” I said.
    “SlickBlade,” Bennett said absentmindedly. “I wonder where the company is headquartered.”
    At the airport, an efficient young woman wearing a trim blue uniform and a wide crimson
     smile met us at the car. “You are Mr. Marshfield?” she asked in heavily accented English.
     “And Miss Wheaton?”
    As she explained that she would be escorting us to our plane, Angelo and a skycap—I
     wasn’t sure what they were called in Italy—unloaded our luggage onto a wheeled cart
     and the skycap rolled it away.
    When Bennett and I turned to thank Angelo, the big man nodded acknowledgment, then
     surprised me by grasping my forearms. The