Instead of the previous duo returning, however, the officer who had first brought Reine in was standing at the door. "Please come with me, ma'am," she said.

The woman was also holding her carry-on bag, which Reine took as a good sign. Maybe they were ready to let her go. She pushed herself up from her seat at the table. The long hours of sitting in one place made her already tired body even stiffer.

The officer stood motionless until Reine reached the open door. Taking hold of Reine's elbow, she led her out of the room toward another door a few steps away.

It was marked 'No entrance - Authorized personnel only'.

Walking through it, they were now in a very long, brightly lit hallway with various doors on the left and right. Reine's palms began sweating again, and she hoped they weren't just relocating her to another interrogation room. To her great relief, they kept walking until they reached the final door at the end of hallway marked 'Exit - No re-entry'.

The officer pushed on the door and kept it propped open with her body while handing Reine her bag.

"She's all yours," she said to the man standing in front of them. When Reine hesitated, she encouraged with a bit more enthusiasm. "Well, go on."

They were adjacent to the area where other passengers were exiting from baggage claim. While not enthusiastic about being handed off to another official-looking stranger, Reine was happy to at least be in a public place.

She took a few steps toward the young African American man in a charcoal gray suit. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Mal Thompson," the man replied in a deep baritone, extending his hand formally. "Gray Iverson's my uncle. Didn't he tell you I was going to pick you guys up?"

She shook her head. "No, he must have forgotten. I'm pretty sure he's gone by now. I was held up."

"Yeah, I noticed. Uncle Gray took a cab, but he asked me to stick around to make sure you got out okay. Do you need a ride?"

Although she couldn't trust anyone, Reine was on the breaking point both physically and emotionally. "Sure."

They drove in almost complete silence. At one point, Mal turned around and the headlights of oncoming traffic reflected off his lean, dark complexion. "Want some water?"

"Thanks." She accepted the clear, plastic bottle and downed most of its lukewarm contents. She hadn't realized how thirsty she must have been, but knowing she was half way home relaxed her enough to finally be able to sleep.

In her dream, she was dining at a fancy restaurant when the man across from her reached over the table and took one of her hands into his. "I think we should get married."

He spoke with a distinct British accent and coupled with the venue's décor and the patrons' style of dress, Reine intuitively knew it was the turn of the Twentieth Century, maybe a bit earlier. Her counterpart in the dream was stunned by the proposal, and she was left awkwardly staring at the man instead.

"So, what do you say?" He urged after a few uncomfortable moments.

"Say no, Miss Baldovini. And then get as far away from here as you can," an authoritative voice instructed.

Looking up from her companion's face, Reine noticed an older man with gray hair standing behind her suitor. He had recently entered the restaurant and was still wearing an overcoat and bowler hat. Although just overhearing the tail-end of the conversation, he had strong objections against it.

Reine had no idea who he was, but her suitor recognized their visitor. "Emery, what are you doing here?"

"I had a feeling you were going to do something stupid today, my boy, and we just couldn't have that, now could we?" Without taking off his hat, Emery pulled out a chair. "May I?"

Not waiting for an answer, he sat and turned toward Reine. "Now, my darling. I am certain you would have fulfilled your wifely duties superbly, but alas, it cannot be with Mr. Cooper."

"But I—," Cooper began in protest; however, he was quickly rebuffed.

"She is not yours to have. You will end this now," he said.

"Their Captain doesn't even—," Cooper tried again, but Emery stood once more.

"Enough! Say your goodbyes and be done with it." He slapped the bowler back onto his head and left the premises as quickly as he arrived.

The jolt from the car running into a deep pothole woke Reine abruptly and brought her back to the present. They were exiting a highway and turning onto an empty, tree lined road.

Warning bells finally began to go off in her head. "You're not Iverson's nephew, are you?"

"No," Mal replied nonchalantly. "But you know that painting you all went to see in Venice? Well, I know its owner, and he wants to see you."

* * *

After turning into an open, wrought-iron gate tucked among the trees, the car continued up the long driveway of a large, private estate. A grandiose Italianate mansion sat on top of a swooping hill. The lights from its windows - along with the night's full moon - illuminated its fine architectural details and weathered, stucco walls.

A long row of cars was parked out front, and Mal stopped the SUV behind the last one. They continued the rest of the way on foot, and just like at the airport, he strode ahead.

Occasional, short bursts of raucous laughter came from inside as he knocked on the large, oak door. A butler wearing black-tie quickly opened it; he must have been standing directly at the door just for that purpose.

"Good evening, Mr. Malik," he said politely, stepping aside as they entered. When he closed the door behind them, a peculiar feeling of trepidation enveloped Reine. Intrigued by the situation, however, she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

There was art everywhere. Paintings, sculptures, and rugs lined all available surfaces of the marble floored foyer. This was definitely the home of a serious collector who could conceivably own the DaVinci.

A massive, crystal chandelier sparkled brilliantly above the grand staircase directly in front of them, and Reine paused momentarily to survey it.

Mal noticed her hesitation. "What?"

"It's a Barovier," she said, pointing up to the glass fixture, certain of its manufacturer.

"What are you doing? Taking inventory?" he snapped, pulling her along.

Walking past the staircase, they turned toward a wide, arched doorway. The crowd inside laughed again. As they began clapping, Mal slowly opened the door. The room - a large darkened parlor or banquet hall of sorts - was filled with rows of tables packed with people. With their backs turned, they were all too busy watching the theatrical production to notice who just entered.

Mal stopped a few steps into the room, leaning against the back wall. Reine stood next to him under the cover of darkness, focusing on the stage in front of them.

Spotlights illuminated the raised platform where two heavily made-up individuals in Renaissance costumed acted out a typical commedia dell'arte storyline. With exaggerated movements and flowery declarations, the young lovers displayed their obvious affection for each other until a masked, old man intervened.

Entering from stage left, this shrewd troublemaker dressed in all red - save for his black cape - swiftly denounced the innamorati's intentions to marry. Shenanigans quickly ensued as several servants - including the checkered Harlequin and the pudgy Pulcinella - used their light-hearted temperament and craftiness to devise a solution. Ultimately fooling the miserly Pantalone, they succeeded in helping the lovers, who ended up happily ever after.

The crowd erupted in one, last display of contentment, cheering and clapping as the players took their final bow. When the main lights turned on, the masks began to come off, revealing the people behind the classic characters.

From beside her, Mal raised his hand and immediately got the old man character's attention. Nodding, the actor stepped off the stage and disappeared among the crowd just as he began to remove his hook-nosed mask.

Reine's palms were sweaty from anticipation of meeting the man responsible for bringing her here. She had no idea about his identity, but it was probably only a matter of seconds until she'd find out.

Tapping her foot nervously, her movements halted when the man stepped into view. With olive skin and jet black hair, his face didn't look much different from the last time she had seen him. Only then, she thought the soaked man clinging to the boat was just part of her imagination.