Six

“WHERE IS SHE NOW?” MAX DEMANDED INTO THE SAT phone. He’d been picked up within minutes of Emily hauling ass, and was talking to the operatives tailing her. They’d been on her as she’d zoomed out the gate. He was pissed enough to chew nails and spit out bullets. It was damn fortunate that a T-FLAC security team was patrolling the grounds and outer perimeters of the estate at the time and had vehicles available within seconds.

The driver, an attractive, forty-something oriental woman named Niigata, was in full, black T-FLAC LockOut garb, as were the others on the security team. She handled the vehicle like a race-car driver, taking both the straightaway and corners with high speed and finesse. Two more operatives sat in back.

“Looks like she’s at the Bozzato residence,” Emily’s tail, Mike Ragusa, reported in Max’s ear. Max cradled the Glock on his lap, his jaw tight. The kid on the phone was barely out of T-FLAC training. The man he was with, Boyle, Doyle—something like that—hadn’t been out that much longer. First real assignment, security. And Emily’s best hope if she got herself into any immediate trouble. Which there was no reason for her to do.

Still, Max felt a sense of impending danger he couldn’t shake.

She’d be safe at the boyfriend’s until he got there, he rationalized, irritated that she’d given him the slip. And for some odd reason, annoyed as hell that she’d run from him straight to Bozzato’s arms. It wasn’t just his usually dormant ego that had taken a licking; he had a bad, a fucking really bad feeling in his gut. A feeling logic wouldn’t shake.

He’d stick her in a local safe house with round-the-clock security until he unraveled what had happened to the old man. And/or until the lab and the interrogators could tell him what that vial had been for, and why the guy in custody had broken into her apartment.

Emily wasn’t going to be able to take a pee without someone accompanying her to the bathroom. If not himself, then people he trusted. There’d be no negotiation. “Stay with her. ETA six minutes.”

A second after he disconnected, the phone rang. “Aries.”

“Vacation over, Aries,” Darius informed him. “As of now, your ass is officially T-FLAC’s again. We’ve had a third bombing. This one right there in your backyard. I want you wheels up within the hour. You’ll be in Córdoba in time for dinner. Which you won’t have time for. I’m dispatching your team, they’ll be there at 0 dark thirty.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call Spain my backyard,” Max said dryly. “What went bang?”

“La Mezquita. Familiar with it?”

“Moorish palace converted into a Roman Catholic cathedral.”

“Good enough. I’ll fax you more. EMTs have gone in and collected the bodies, as for now we have control of the scene. But the locals are champing at the bit to get in to comb the rubble. I want you there before they tamper with things they know nothing about.”

“Got it.” Max thought for a moment. “Send Cooper.”

“You think you’ll need a sharpshooter?”

To watch over Emily? “Yeah.” And AJ Cooper was the best.

“Done.”

He’d trust Cooper to keep Emily safe while he was gone—a few days at most. The phone rang again. “What?”

“She’s gone inside,” Ragusa hesitated.

“And?”

“I don’t know if this means anything. But there’s an identical yellow Maserati parked right in front of hers.”

Max’s heart leapt. “You’d fucking better be as close to her as white on rice, Ragusa! Go. Go. Go!”

He was three minutes away. Might as well be on the fucking moon. The driver didn’t need to be told to put her foot flat on the gas. She did that on her own.

 

EMILY’S FINGERS GRIPPED THE DOOR FRAME ONCE SHE’D FINISHED retching. Impossible to move. Impossible to breathe. There was so much blood, it looked like red paint. Blood pooling on the floor. Blood splattered on the walls. Even the ceiling had a confetti of red spray. She blinked, trying to assimilate what she was seeing.

They’d been interrupted at a meal. Dinner. They’d been eating an early dinner. She must’ve missed the killer by mere minutes.

Go, her brain screamed. Go. Go. Go.

She couldn’t move.

It was impossible to tell how many…Oh, God—bodies there were. Her hearing was muted as if she were underwater, but she felt the frantic beating of her heart in her ears as her brain tried to comprehend what kind of madman would do something like this.

Bile rose in the back of her throat again, and her knees felt weak. She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, and whipped her head around. A man was silently running across the living room, as if following the dark wet spots her footsteps had left on the Signora’s carpet. Dressed completely in black, his face covered, he was a terrifying sight. The big black gun was overkill. He shouted something she couldn’t comprehend, let alone separate the syllables into a language.

Caught between a Scylla and a Charybdis she had nowhere to run. Stuck with no choice, Emily pushed away from the doorjamb and propelled herself into the bloody kitchen. Her foot, covered in nothing more than a wet wool sock, slid in one of the large, sticky red puddles on the linoleum floor. Her arms cartwheeled for balance, and she screamed as she went down on one knee, her hand shooting out to brace herself.

She stared into Janna’s vacant eyes. Hyperventilating, terrified, Emily snatched her blood-soaked hand off Franco’s sister’s hip and scrambled to her feet, sliding on the gore on the slick floor.

The man in black was at the doorway, his gun pointing right at her. He couldn’t miss, she was only ten feet away. “Don’t! Please d—”

An arm wrapped around her throat, cutting off her words. She gagged, trying to drag in a breath. She hadn’t even seen the second man, he must’ve been hiding behind the door.

He jerked up his other hand, and she caught a brief glimpse of a knife, a gleam of silver, a blur of dark red. She recognized the knife instantly. It was Nonna Maria’s favorite boning knife. Flexible, and wickedly sharp. She never allowed anyone to use it, Emily thought numbly.

The hand, covered in tacky blood, started bringing the knife to her throat as in slow motion. The surgical steel blade glinted in the light.

Brain blank with abject terror, she saw that yet another shadowy figure had materialized in the doorway. Emily squeezed her eyes shut just as a loud explosion sounded, so close it seemed to suck all the air out of the room. The man behind her fell away. Ears ringing, she dropped to her knees as her vision spun and darkened.

Bull’s-eye, Max thought savagely and lowered his Glock as the now faceless assailant crumpled to the bloody floor behind Emily.

“You fucking shoot before the son of a bitch brings a knife to the hostage’s throat, Ragusa,” he said bitingly, not looking at the younger man who hadn’t discharged his weapon. Ragusa was still standing with the pistol raised, staring blankly at the spot the assailant had been seconds before.

Emily was crumpled on the floor. Jesus Mother of God. Had she been cut? There was so much blood on her Max couldn’t tell.

“I-I was waiting for a clear s-shot.”

Kicking the dead assailant out of the way, Max dropped to one knee, lifting Emily in his arms. She looked at him from wounded brown eyes, glassy with shock. He could tell she wasn’t seeing anything. Jesus. “Make a clear shot.”

Her arms went around his neck, and she gripped the back of his shirt in both hands as she pressed her face against his chest. She didn’t make a sound as he stood and walked swiftly through the kitchen.

“You and you.” he jerked his head at two more men standing nearby. “Search the place. Now.”

Emily was practically insubstantial in his arms as he strode out into the living room.

“Get the garbage detail in here,” he instructed as two of the security people followed after him at a trot. “I want this location swept and sanitized, and swept again. Impound both Maseratis. I want to know how they found this place and why.”

He was almost sorry he’d blown off the asshole’s face before asking him questions. Almost. He crossed to the car, which was double-parked and still running. Niigata sat behind the wheel. One of the men opened the back door and Max climbed in, still cradling Emily in his arms.

She clung to him, her arms wound tightly around his neck, her face pressed against his throat. She took a deep shuddering breath and her fingers clenched and unclenched on the back of his T-shirt before she lifted her head.

“I—Give me a m-minute, okay?”

He wasn’t a touchy-feely kinda guy. But he found himself strangely disappointed when she slid off his lap and moved across the seat. Pretty much as far away from him as possible.

She was holding it together, but her bloodstained face was pale and taut, her eyes glassy with shock. That’d wear off. But she wasn’t going to forget what she’d seen or experienced any time soon.

He shoved a foot against the door when the man tried to close it. “I want to know everything about that guy. Including where he went to kindergarten and what he had for lunch in fifth grade, got it? Every fucking detail.”

He slammed the door. “Airport. Fast.”

“Wait. Stop. Let me out first,” Emily said, cracking her door as Niigata brought the car to a sudden stop. “I have to call the police, then I’m going—” She blinked, looking around as if coming out of a fog. “Somewhere.”

Max leaned across her body and yanked the door shut. Emily’s breast brushed his cheek, and the subtle rose scent of her skin was intensified by the heat of her body. He was capable of blocking out the familiar stench of the blood saturating the shoulder of her sweater and splattered on her hair and face.

They were both covered in blood, he hoped to hell none of it hers. He reached over and turned her to face him. She tensed, resisting the hand cupping her jaw. “You’re in shock, sweetheart. Let me see if you were cut,” he told her calmly, holding her chin so he could inspect the smears and blotches of dried blood on her face and neck. This time she stayed passively in his hold.

“I wasn’t,” she responded tonelessly.

“Humor me.” As Max ran his fingers over her skin in thorough exploration, her eyes stared unblinkingly somewhere in the middle distance. Through the familiar metallic odor of blood was the tinny smell of her fear and horror. She shouldn’t have to live with the image of that bloodbath. No civilian should.

He could tell she wasn’t cut, but he wanted to touch her warm skin, needed to feel the steady beat of her pulse. She might not need the physical contact, but he sure as shit did.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her softly, running a finger across her silky cheek. Electricity seemed to spark at the contact point, making him keenly aware of the softness of her skin. Her eyes showed the measure of her guilt and remorse, but they also reflected her astounding inner strength. He sensed how hard she was working to keep herself together and his admiration for her jumped several notches.

She pushed his hand away. “Merda,” she said thickly, coming out of her fog. “How can what happened ever be okay?”

“It can’t. But you will be.” It had been close. Too fucking close. A killer, a rookie operative, two more seconds and…“I’ll make damn sure of it.”

He changed his depth perception to stare out at the sparkling rain beaded on the windows and reflecting the streetlights. The old man’s murder, the break-in, the mysterious vial, now this? An entire family slaughtered. For no other reason than that someone had been driving the same car as Emily’s?

She was the only common denominator.

What in God’s name could she have done, real or imagined, that would piss someone off enough to kill five people?

“Tell me exactly what happened when you got there.”

Not turning her head, she shuddered. “Not now. I just want to go—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he told her flatly, not giving her time to finish. Anywhere without me , God damn it. “Not yet.”

She sucked in a breath, then shoved his shoulder to get him away from her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Max straightened, wiping a bloody hand—transfer from Emily’s jeans—onto his black pants. “Are we not moving for a good reason?” he demanded of Niigata. “I’m the man who just saved your ass from a knife-wielding killer,” he told Emily succinctly as the car moved forward again.

“And God knows I appreciate it.” Stubborn little witch put one hand back on the door handle. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be joined at the hip.”

He wondered if she was even aware that she was arguing, or if it was second nature to want to take care of herself, and she thought, somewhere in her shocked brain, that this was a good time to exert her independence. It wasn’t. Telling her she wasn’t being rational right now was not a wise move. But he’d do whatever needed doing to keep her with him.

She was struggling to keep her breathing slow and rhythmic, trying to control the hysteria he sensed was building inside her. With her free hand she bunched her hair off her face, looking bewildered. Max was amazed she still had the goods to argue with him. She looked ready to collapse.

Strands of her hair were sticky with her assailant’s blood. She was going to need a long shower to get rid of the remaining gore. He’d shot the fucker at close range. She had brain matter on her hair and clothing. If she saw herself right now she’d probably faint.

“I just want to go home.” Her eyes welled, and she dashed the tears away with her fingertips. “Seattle. I just want to see my m-mother. However stupid it sounds, I just want my mom. The irony is, I don’t th-think she’d even know or care that I was there. But I w-want my mom.”

Tears made white streaks through the redness on her skin. “I’m tired, and scared, and cold and c-confused. Not to mention overwhelmed with—with guilt. Tonight I lost people that I cared deeply about, and it was my fault. Janna—Janna bought the exact same bloody car as mine. Whoever did this was after me.”

He lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and wiped her face. It smeared the blood, making her look worse, but it made him feel better to touch her. He desperately wanted to haul her back into his lap and wrap his arms around her tightly. He removed his hand from her face, but slid it soothingly down her arm, then picked up her hand in his.

It felt small, soft, and ice cold. After a second or two, her fingers curled around his tightly as if he were her lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. Her brows were drawn together, and her teeth showed white as she bit her lower lip. Her eyes were filled with the horror she’d just seen.

“This was not your fault.” He kept his voice quiet, and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Her fingers gripped his hard enough for her fingertips to turn white. “Not your fault. It was the fault of some sick fuck who took pleasure in slicing up innocent people. All the more reason why I want you with me.”

“It’s good to w-want things,” she said softly, fighting him for the door handle again. She tugged on her hand. “Damn it.” She turned a tortured face to him. “Let go. You can’t force me to go with you.”

Yeah. He could. Especially the condition she was in right now. But it would ease the way if she came willingly. “At least come with me to Córdoba until my people can figure out what’s going on.”

“No.” She looked around almost wildly. “I—No. Really and truly, Max. No. I’m not haring off to Spain in the middle of the night with you.” The throbbing pulse at the base of her throat showed him how agitated she was. She tugged to free her hand. He didn’t want to hurt her and reluctantly let go.

“I’m not stupid. I won’t go to my palazzo, I’ll go to Seattle, which is where I was supposed to b-be tonight any-anyway.” She shuddered, her face bloodstained and pale in the bright lights of an oncoming vehicle.

“I just want to go home,” she said again, sounding forlorn. “Clearly there’s some crazy person out there. And I just—” She waved a vague hand.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to gentle his voice. “There is a crazy out there. And the last thing you’re going to want is to lead him to your family in Seattle. Understand?”

Horror dawned on her. “Oh, God.” Emily hated the tremor in her voice. She couldn’t bear to think of her mother’s kitchen looking anything like the poor Bozzatos’. The graphic scene was fresh in her mind, the images so bright and vivid that she felt nauseated all over again. She swallowed, fighting the thick lump in her throat that indicated that tears—a torrent of them—were imminent.

Her skin felt cold and clammy. She wished Max would take her hand again. She glanced up to find him watching her. His mouth was a grim line as he reached up and brushed her hair off her face. “Hey.” Their gazes locked, making a connection that Emily couldn’t seem to break. His hazel eyes were dark with concern for her, and he cupped her jaw in one large, warm hand. “I’m sorry about your friends.” He skimmed his thumb across her lips. “But what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I—” She turned her head to look outside. God damn it, she would not cry in front of him. She bit her lip and stared unseeingly out of the window. The spurt of anger had only lasted a minute. She needed to hold onto that or lose her mind. Fighting with Max made her feel as though she was doing something. As ridiculous as that sounded even to her own mind.

She couldn’t be near him, she really couldn’t. She was coming unraveled, and the last person she wanted to see her vulnerable was Max Aries. If he was sympathetic, if he held her, if he tried to comfort her, she wasn’t going to be able to hold herself together.

And she couldn’t fall apart now. She just couldn’t. Not with everything that was going on. She needed to pull herself together and help him with this, not hinder him by being a weeping, fragile female incapable of thinking on her feet.

In other words, her mother.

She wouldn’t lead the killer to her friends or family. But there was nothing that said she couldn’t hide in a hotel until…Until what? Until when? her mind screamed.

She wanted to get away. Out of the too-close confines of the car. Away from Max. Because she wanted his arms around her right now more than anything she could think of, other than complete oblivion, or going back in time to warn Franco and his family. She rubbed a cold hand over her eyes. Confused. Frightened. And sad.

Her escape fantasy was foolish, and she’d be the first one to acknowledge that. She hated admitting that Max was the only person who could keep her safe. Wasn’t he?

They hadn’t made it two blocks when four unmarked Lamborghini Gallardos, the vehicles typically driven by the Polizia di Stato surrounded them in a screech of tires and flashing lights, sirens blaring. Suddenly there wasn’t another vehicle on the road.

“Shit,” Max muttered. Someone had called in the cops.

“Go through, or wait?” Niigata asked, as a quartet of men emerged from each car. They weren’t in uniform, but they were well armed. The headlights from the Lamborghinis pinned them in a circle of bright light, leaving the street around them in raindrenched darkness. Something about them made the back of Max’s neck itch.

There was a chance they’d make it through the blockade. A chance. The airport, and the waiting jet, were less than twenty minutes away. He’d bet a T-FLAC vehicle against anything on the road. But was he willing to bet Emily’s safety to prove they could outrun and outsmart the local cops? Sixteen men, dark silhouettes against the light, fanned out around their vehicle.

“Lock the doors and keep the engine running, I’ll talk to them,” Max sprung his door, then shot Emily a quick look. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Niigata and Mauro Zampieri, a local, more seasoned operative, had subtly unholstered their weapons, placing them within easy reach, but out of sight. Max’s custom Glock was in his shoulder holster in view. He’d get out, hands in plain sight to show he wasn’t a threat, but no one was getting their hands on his Glock. It was practically a part of his body.

“They’ll want to talk to me, too,” Emily told him, still shaken. “In fact their timing is perfect. When we’re done here, I’ll have one of them take me back to my car and follow me to a hotel.”

Max had one foot out in the rain. “Your car’s been impounded for an investigation. Do not get out.”

Several men closed in on the car, guns drawn. They motioned with their weapons for everyone to get out of the vehicle. Hands up. Pronto. Shit.

Max complied, but paused before getting out. He didn’t want one of these low-level cops suddenly getting trigger-happy. If she exited behind him at least he could keep her between himself and the heavy vehicle until he sorted this out. “Come out on my side—”

His words were cut off as Emily’s door was yanked open, and one of the men grabbed her arm, practically dragging her out of the car.

“Get your hands off her. Now.” Max snarled, incensed that the man would grab her when it was obvious she was in no condition…Fuck. They didn’t know her. All they were seeing was a woman in bloodstained clothing, with glassy eyes.

All the police saw were four people fleeing the scene of a grisly murder.

No wonder they all had their weapons drawn. Max needed to defuse this possibly volatile situation ASAP. He glanced over the roof of the car at Emily. It was obvious she was still very much in shock, so much so that he wasn’t even sure if she was aware of the activity surrounding her.

“I’ll have this sorted out in a minute and we can be on our way.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll just—” she waved her free hand vaguely toward the surrounding police vehicles, her bloodstained face drawn and stark in the flashing blue lights as she looked at him with dark haunted eyes. “I…I’m okay,” she repeated, a small frown pleating her brow.

Two men flanked her, leading her across the street to an overhang to get out of the rain. Out of the rain and also out of the light. He could barely make out her pink sweater and bright socks beyond the bright aura of the headlights. He’d forgotten she hadn’t been wearing shoes when she’d run out on him this afternoon.

Alarm bells rang in his head. Basic police training would dictate that the officers assess the situation, then focus on the biggest potential threat. Him. But almost all of the cops had their attention on Emily.

Max held his hands out away from his body as three guys approached him. The fourth was behind him at eleven o’ clock, hidden in the shadows. Zampieri and Niigata were instructed at gunpoint to exit the vehicle. Separated, they were each taken aside for questioning.

One guy stepped up, and grabbed Max’s arm. Wrong fucking move. With the least amount of drama, Max disengaged. He greeted them politely enough, then asked for and saw ID.

Emily appeared to be the only one not aware of just how precarious their position was.

They walked like ducks and talked like ducks, but the itch on Max’s neck persisted. He shot a glance across the street to where Emily stood, animatedly talking with her hands.

Max summed up the situation. His other men were still inside the Bozzato home several blocks away waiting for the T-FLAC forensic people to show. Sixteen men against himself and the two operatives, one of whom was still a rookie. Sixteen to two? Three? Doable odds. Would Niigata be waiting for his signal? Max glanced her way. She gave him the subtle sign that she was ready. Zampieri, he knew, was poised and waiting for his order.

Max answered the rudimentary interrogation, keeping Emily in his peripheral vision. He frowned as she tried to pull away from the man gripping her upper arm.

This wasn’t an interrogation.

This, God damn it, was a kidnapping.

 

THE SECOND EMILY GOT OUT OF THE CAR, ONE OF THE MEN GRABBED her arm, the other shoved a gun in her ribs. She gave a start of surprise, but before she could do more than gasp they herded her across the street toward one of the police vehicles.

Annoyance at their rough, inappropriate handling morphed into super awareness. Although the back passenger door was open, and the engine running, she noticed the interior light wasn’t on. She realized her grave error. She should have listened to Max and stayed put, damn it. She had been incredibly stupid to get out of the car.

“A few questions, Signorina Greene.” The officer’s fingers dug painfully into her arm as he drew her away from Max and the others.

“How do you know my name?” Don’t be paranoid, she told herself. But was it paranoia to now be convinced that someone really did want to kill her? Nausea churned in her stomach. Her heart started beating in a slow hard thud against her ribs and her mouth went dry. Knowing she was still in shock, since it had been mere minutes since they’d left Franco’s palazzo, she tamped down her suspicions.

The police must’ve seen the slaughter at the Bozzatos’. For all they knew, she, Max, and the others were the killers. She tried to relax. They were just doing their job. Weren’t they? God. Now she was seeing conspiracy behind every action.

The man with the gun was of medium height and medium build, even his hair was medium brown. Other than a small scar across one corner of his upper lip, his face was unremarkable. He smelled quite strongly of some kind of herb, marjoram? And wore a badly crumpled dark gray suit, with a dingy white, open-necked dress shirt.

“I repeat. How do you know my name? I didn’t give it to you.”

“Someone at the scene gave it to us.”

Nobody at Franco’s had known her name except Max, Emily thought, feeling sick. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said coolly to the second man as the barrel of the gun pressed against her ribs. “Please put the gun away.” He was a little taller, but as unremarkable as his friend. He, too, wore a dress shirt with an inexpensive dark suit.

It was pouring now, hard, cold drops. Her hair and clothing were already soaked, and her feet, clad only in socks, were freezing. She tasted watery blood in her mouth, and thought almost absently that Max had shot the man in the kitchen right behind her. Maybe an inch from her head. Her ears still rang.

Her stomach heaved and she felt dizzy with nausea as she realized that she had that man’s blood all over her. Black dots buzzed in her vision, but she forced herself to take deep steadying breaths. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to get away from these men. And go where? She glanced over her shoulder to search for Max, but the gunman pulled her forward hard enough to make her stumble.

“Signorina Greene?” His Italian was pretty good. Swiss? Possibly German Swiss? “What was your relationship with the Bozzato family, hmm?” She saw the bodies and the blood, and blinked her wet lashes to clear the image. Her stomach roiled. “They were my friends. Ouch! You’re cutting off my circulation. Release my arm, I’m quite capable of crossing the street on my own. In fact I’d rather conduct this interview tomorrow at your—”

The other man shook her, his face contorted in anger. “Shut up.” His annoyance was disproportionate and she gave him a hard look. His face was oily with sweat, his eyes manic. He was scared. The fact that he was scared, scared her even more.

Emily’s brain finally managed to sound an alarm. Delayed, yes. But accurate. She should have listened to her own instincts the second these guys put their hands on her.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. If she hadn’t been horrified, shocked, and sick about what had just happened, maybe she’d have trusted the faint alarm bells ringing in her head sooner.

Despite the cars they were driving and the guns they all carried, they weren’t police officers.

It didn’t occur to her to yell for Max. She wasn’t accustomed to relying on anyone else, and everything was happening so fast, she only had time to react. “What do you want? Who sent you?” she demanded. “What in God’s name could you possibly want from me?”

“Keep walking calmly, Signorina, and get into the car. There will be no trouble.”

“You see, that’s where you are dead wrong. There will be trouble.” She tried to yank her arm out of the man’s tight grip. If he pulled the trigger at this range she’d be nothing but splatter on the street. If she went with them her odds of survival were about the same. Zero.

She stopped in her tracks, her socks providing no traction at all. “I’m not going anywhere with y—”

Not deterred, they merely yanked her into motion by pulling her along. The open door of their car was less than six or eight feet away. Once she was in, there’d be no turning back.

Shooting another frantic glance across the street, Emily watched Max talking to three men, half turned away from her. Although traffic had been stopped by the four vehicles slewed all over the street, to reach him, she’d have to re-cross four lanes of road. A wide open space, with nowhere to hide.

Then she heard a loud pop and flinched, half-expecting to feel the searing pain of a bullet tearing through her flesh. Nothing. Except the frenetic pounding of her heart slamming against her ribs.

Just beyond their car was a narrow alley leading to several other narrow alleys and a popular, always crowded trattoria. There were lots of people, and dark corners, and deep doorways to conceal her until she could contact the real police. Or until she could exit on the other side, and make her way to a hotel, or…or Max realized that things weren’t what they appeared to be.

If I’m fast and lucky, she thought desperately, I can reach the alley. She had to take the risk that they wouldn’t walk into a crowded public place and open fire. No. She had to pray they wouldn’t. Because minutes had become seconds.

She had to call it. Or die.