Quickly, she changed the subject, not wanting to talk any more about Kyle Rhodes, the Scene and Heard column, or anything else related to last night. The message had been received, loud and clear: going home with Kyle had been crazy. And Meth Lab Rylann didn’t do crazy.

Starting now.

Shortly after arriving home, she hung up with her mother and dropped her purse on the floor in her bedroom. Stuffed to the gills with coconut-crusted French toast and thoroughly exhausted after her night of debauchery with Kyle, she kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed for a nap.

Over three hours later, Rylann woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She sat up in bed, foggy-headed with sleep and disoriented by the fact that it had begun to get dark outside. She leaned over and reached for her purse, grumbling to herself as she rooted around for her cell phone. Somebody had better be dead—and she meant that literally. If there wasn’t an FBI, a DEA, a Secret Service, or an ATF agent on the other end of the line with a major case-related crisis, heads were going to roll.

She pulled the phone out of her purse and saw “Blocked” on the screen.

“Rylann Pierce.”

A familiar male voice spoke.

“I can’t believe how good it is to hear your voice again.”

Rylann rolled back on the bed, unable to conceal her surprise.

“Jon.”

Twenty-three

RYLANN LOOKED OVER at the clock on her nightstand and did the math. Rome was seven hours ahead of Chicago. “It’s after two o’clock in the morning for you.”

“So it is,” Jon said cheerfully. “I just left a friend’s party. There’s a woman in the Rome office, also an expat, who introduced me to some locals. We were celebrating…well, come to think of it, I have no clue what we were celebrating. It’s a fun group.”

“I’m sure it—”

He kept right on talking. “One of the guys has a brother who owns a vineyard in Tuscany where we hang out on weekends. You’d love it, babe. The main house is gorgeous. It’s this eighteenth-century villa that’s been renovated and is set right into these green, rolling hills. Molto bello.”

Rylann blinked.

Oh, boy.

Putting aside the fact that Jon was babbling and suddenly breaking out the Italian, she’d caught the “babe” he’d slipped in there. As she knew well from the three years they’d dated, that could mean only one thing.

She’d just been internationally drunk-dialed.

“It sounds like Italy has turned out to be everything you’d hoped it would,” she said, still trying to shake the sleep from her head. This conversation had suddenly become very surreal.

“Not everything.” He sighed dramatically. “The party was at an apartment not far from the Piazza Navona. I left before the others and just started walking. Before I knew it, I was standing at the Bernini fountain, looking at the trattoria with the yellow awning that we loved so much when we came here together. Do you remember?”

Yes, she did. After a two-day sightseeing whirlwind that had included the Roman Forum, the Vatican, the Spanish Steps, and the Coliseum, they’d decided to take a break. The following day they’d slept in, found a restaurant for lunch, and sat at an outdoor table for hours while talking, people watching, eating good food, and drinking wine. Afterward they’d gone back to the hotel and made love. “I remember. Although that seems like a long time ago now.”

“Yeah. A lot of things seem like they were a long time ago.” He changed the subject. “So? How have you been?”

First an e-mail, now he was drunk dialing her. No clue what was going on with her ex these days, but it was probably time she figured it out. “Jon. No offense but…what are you doing? Are we really going to have this conversation at two o’clock in the morning?”

“We are not having this conversation at two o’clock in the morning. It’s only seven p.m. for you,” he said cutely.

Rylann thought it was best not to mince words. If for no other reason, the economically frugal government-salaried lawyer in her was very conscious of the fact that this call was costing him a pretty Euro per minute. “Why are you calling?”

“Can’t a man say hi to an old friend without it being a federal offense?”

She assumed the pun was intended. “I got the e-mail, remember? We’ve already done the ‘Hi’ thing.”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, Ry. From your response you seemed okay, but who can tell anything over e-mail?”

Rylann ran one hand through her hair. Perhaps, because she and Jon had agreed not to talk after the breakup, it was inevitable that this conversation would occur at some point. People liked to have closure. “I’m doing well. I think Chicago is going to be a good fit for me.”

“I’ve kept in touch with Keith, Kellie, Dan, and Claire,” Jon said. “They tell me that they’ve only traded a couple e-mails with you since you left San Francisco. When I heard that, I got a little worried.”

Ah, now she had a better sense of what was going on here. She’d gotten so swept up in her new life in Chicago that she’d pushed aside, perhaps too quickly, her old one. This had not been entirely unintentional. Keith, Kellie, Dan, and Claire had been their “couple” friends, and after she and Jon had broken up, the whole dynamic had been thrown out of whack. Sure, she’d given it the college try, she’d even met the girls for drinks a few times during the four months she’d still lived in San Francisco after the breakup. But mostly, Kellie and Claire kept asking if she’d talked to Jon after he’d left for Rome—a subject she hadn’t been keen to revisit umpteen times. Especially since the answer had been no.

“I’ve been busy with work, that’s all,” Rylann said. “But you’re right—I should give them a call.”

“They’re worried that you’re sitting in Chicago, wallowing in misery.” Jon chuckled. “They even have these romantic notions that you’ve been pining away, thinking about me. So I can e-mail them and say that you’re officially a-okay?”

His tone was light and jesting, but Rylann wondered if she heard an unspoken question there. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“They’ll be relieved to hear that. You remember how nosy those guys can get.” His tone remained casual. “And of course the next thing they’ll ask is whether you’re seeing anyone. So the answer to that would be…?”

“That they should probably stop asking questions while they’re ahead.”

“Of course.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

Jon’s voice turned serious, and suddenly, the whole conversation changed.

“And what if they said that they miss you?” he asked quietly.

There it was.

Rylann took a moment to answer, wanting to see what effect, if any, the words had on her. She felt nostalgic and perhaps even a little sad. Her tone was gentle. “I’d say that they are obviously having this very sentimental, Italian moment with the Bernini fountain and the wine, but that they will undoubtedly wake up in the morning and regret this call.”

“That was a really good day for us, Ry.”

She assumed he was still looking at the trattoria with the yellow awning. “It was. But that day is over, Jon.”

“I don’t know…”

“We can’t do this,” Rylann interrupted. “I want you to be happy, I really do. But talking makes things too confusing. I think it’s better for both of us to just…move on.” She paused, finding this harder than she’d expected. But still, it was the right thing to do. “Good-bye, Jon.”

She hung up the phone and exhaled deeply. Then she turned her cell phone off and stared at it for a long moment.

Beyond a doubt, one of the strangest weekends she’d ever had.

Twenty-four

BRIGHT AND EARLY Monday morning, Kyle stood in his new office space, surveying the final touches of the renovation.

“It looks good,” he told the contractor, Bill, who stood by his side.