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was maxed out because somebody stole my identity. And I'm in trouble with the DEA. My chairman has put me on what amounts to a two-week suspension so I can hopefully clear my name. And if I can't—" She waved her hand in front of her face as though shooing away a troublesome insect. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. It's complicated, and it's not your problem."
    Nick decided to go for it. "Why don't you tell me about it over dinner? I'm a great listener. And I know where there's a wonderful little restaurant near here. Do you like Italian?"

3

    A NNA HAD PASSED THE RESTAURANT SEVERAL TIMES A WEEK FOR ALMOST A year without ever really noticing it. From the outside, it looked like the picture in the encyclopedia next to the phrase, "hole in the wall." But once she preceded Nick through the dark oak door with its leaded glass panes, she was glad she'd followed his suggestion to come here.
    Along the back wall, six high-backed stools stood empty in front of a zinc-topped bar. A dozen tables were scattered around the room, each one covered by a red-and-white checked tablecloth and topped by a Chianti bottle from which a candle sprouted. The air was redolent of oregano, garlic, and other spices that Anna didn't recognize but definitely wanted to taste. She took a deep breath and felt a few of the knots in her neck muscles begin to unwind.
    Anna stole a glance at her companion. She still wasn't sure why she'd agreed to have dinner with Nick. It wasn't simply his dark good looks, although that was certainly a plus. And he was persistent; she had to give him that. But the main thing was that tonight she'd been as low as she'd ever felt in her life, and Nick's offer of a listening ear had seemed sincere. She found herself relaxing with him. For now, that was enough.
    They were greeted by a formidable woman with jet-black hair worn in a bun. "Nicolo," she said, enfolding Nick in a bear hug. "So gooda to see you."
    "Thanks, Maria. This is my friend, Dr. Anna McIntyre. I brought her here so I could show offmy knowledge of Italian— all six words."
    After receiving her own hug, Anna was ushered to a table in the corner and seated with a ceremony that suggested she was a visiting head of state. "Nick," she said, once Maria had scooted away, "this place is marvelous. Do you come here often?"
    "No, my usual dinner venue is Burger King. But the owners are family friends, and every once in a while I treat myself to a real meal."
    Anna opened her menu and was immediately thrown into a panic. The whole thing was printed in Italian. "I think they gave me the wrong menu."
    "You mean because it's not in English? No, that's the way it's done here. But don't worry. You won't be able to order, anyway."
    "What do you mean?"
    Before Nick could reply, a balding, mustachioed man with a towel tucked into the waistband of his black pants came hurrying up to the table. He engaged in a brief exchange with Nick in Italian. Then the man turned to Anna and said, "Welcome, signorina." He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her fingertips before moving away.
    "What just happened?" she asked.
    "That's the owner, Maria's husband, Benny. Short for Benedetto. He insisted on ordering for us. I'm pretty sure he'll ply us with food until we burst, so I'd suggest you sample each dish but don't try to eat everything set before you."
    "You understood all that from such a short conversation?"
    "I understood about half the words, but I can promise you that's what he was saying. Trust me. I'm Italian."
    "Did they kiss your date's hand the last time you were here?" She felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks as soon as the words were out. Was she flirting with this man she'd only met today?
    Nick laughed. "Since my 'date,' as you call him, was a former college fraternity brother who now plays professional football, no."
    "Sorry. I didn't really mean to pry."
    "No, that's all right," Nick said. "And to answer your implied question, the last real date I had