The Florentine Deception Read Online Free Page B

here,” he yelled.
    â€œOh, before I forget,” said Tom, “there’s a letter for you on my desk.”
    â€œA letter?”
    â€œYeah, from Sheila.”
    â€œWhy did she send it here?”
    â€œNo idea.” Tom shrugged. “Maybe she lost your address. She’s been backpacking in India for the past seven months. You know, I used to have a major thing for her.”
    Tom disappeared upstairs and returned with an envelope covered in colorful Indian stamps.
    â€œThanks,” I said. I folded the letter and shoved it into my back pocket.
    â€œWow that smells good,” said Tom, sniffing the aromatic deep-dish. The other guests had already grabbed plates and were snagging slices.
    â€œHere you go, Alex. Dig in.” Gennady handed me a paper plate and a napkin, then grabbed a slice for himself.
    I eyed the pizza longingly, then put down the plate. “No thanks.”
    Gennady took a bite. “Dude, you’ve got negative body fat and your muscles have muscles,” he said through a mouthful of pizza. “You can afford a slice.”
    â€œNot going to happen.”
    â€œAll right folks, it’s time,” said Tom. “Grab your chow and take a seat, because we’re going to start the movie in five.” Every year on his birthday, Tom invited his friends to watch Back to the Future on his big-screen. There was only one hitch: any time a character said “McFly,” you had to take a shot.
    Tradition was tradition.
    â€œLet’s do it,” I said. “But I’m stopping at three shots. And I’m only drinking Stoli—none of the cheap stuff.”
    â€œLightweight,” said Gennady.
    Three hours later, after all the other guests had left, Gennady and the two drunken Russians gave a rousing rendition of “The Power of Love”by Huey Lewis. A second later, Gennady curled up on the couch and began snoring. Sue gently laid a blanket on him.
    â€œIt was great to see you, Alex,” she said.
    â€œThanks for coming, man,” Tom added.
    â€œWouldn’t miss it for the world. Happy birthday!”

Chapter 5
    Well, at least the power was back on.
    Ignoring the half-dozen flashing clocks, I worked my way to the kitchen and opened the freezer. I definitely needed to go shopping. A lone low-fat, low-sodium TV dinner box stared at me from the top shelf.
    Good enough for government work.
    I removed it, tossed the packaging, and threw it into the microwave on high.
    While the food was spinning away in the oven, my mind wandered back to the computer upstairs and its late owner. So who was this Richard guy? And what was he thinking, or at least typing, in the final days before he died? A love letter? A suicide note? I felt mildly guilty prying into something so personal, but technically the guy was dead, and the curiosity was killing me.
    A few moments later, a glass of water and the steaming tray in hand, I headed upstairs, flipped on my bathroom light for illumination, and eased down onto the floor in front of the old computer.
    Once the computer had completed its glacial boot-up, it took just a minute to locate the spyware’s concealed wiretap file. Ideally, the transcript would contain both Richard’s keystrokes and a recording of the computer’s screen as Richard typed: as if a spy were videotaping the monitor. Unfortunately, most spyware doesn’t have this level of sophistication and Richard’s was no exception. All I had was a recording of Richard’s keystrokes, a one-sided conversation with the computer.
    The spyware archived its recordings in chronological order, with the earliest entry in the file from April 6, and Steven’s Google search at the rear. Surprisingly, minus the keystrokes that Steven and I had contributed, the entire listing contained only a handful of lines; Richard was a light computer user. The first day’s recording began predictably:
    R1CH4RD
    r1ch4rd
    He must’ve