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“I think you’d better go early enough for confession,” Maggie snapped.
Maddelena’s brown eyes were shining with innocent fervor. “I have committed no sins. This is a holy war, and the three of you are simply casualties of a battle you chose to enter. Bonne notte.”
“Shouldn’t you say Bonne Natale?” Maggie sneered.
Maddelena shrugged. “Rest in peace.” She turned and left them, pausing long enough to mutter instructions to the dark figure standing behind her.
The door shut after her, plunging the room back into gloom once more. Randall was still only semiconscious, lying on his back in the dust and mildew, and Holly was simply rigid with fear and despair. It was a hell of a way to die, Maggie thought, straining at the ropes that were digging into her. She could see the gleam of a large, efficient-looking handgun, the elongated barrel with its silencer adding to her chill. She lay there, staring, as the figure moved into the light.
Ian Andrews’s face was completely expressionless. He walked over to Holly, pointed the gun toward her head, and shot. The muffled ping seemed to echo around the room as the bullet buried itself in the wooden packing case behind their heads.
Holly just stared up at him, her wide, expressive eyes glazed with terror, relief, and a slow-burning rage. He moved on to Maggie, shoved the gag back in her mouth before she could say anything, and repeated the ritual. Obediently she flopped back, lying there doing her best imitation of a corpse. She heard the same hideous ping as he completed his charade with Randall, and then he was moving back toward the door.
“If one of you could manage to relieve yourself,” he said in his wonderful upper-class accent, “it would add to the effect.” And he shut the door silently behind him.
It took her longer to spit out the gag this time. When she finally managed to, the room was almost completely dark. She could tell from the muffled sounds beside her that Randall was regaining consciousness, and she could see Holly’s figure beside her.
“Are you okay, Holly?” she whispered. Her sister nodded. “Randall?” A muffled grunt was all the response she got, but it was enough. “Okay, guys. Ian dropped his knife when he gagged me, but it’s going to take me a little while to get it open. Hang in there.”
Her hands were clumsy and slippery with nervous sweat. Whoever tied her wrists, and it was probably Maddelena, had done a good job of it, and the cut-off circulation only added to her difficulties. Her fingers were numb, her heart was racing, and her body was more than ready to follow Ian’s coarse suggestion. If she didn’t get them untied and get to a bathroom soon she wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.
The knife slipped, once, twice. It was a sharp little sucker, and she winced as it scored her skin. But finally, an eternity later, just as the final bit of light faded from the musty old room, she felt the ropes loosen and fall from her wrists.
“I’ve done it,” she announced in a triumphant whisper. In her excitement she dropped the knife, and it took her a moment or two to find it again. She slit the rope between her ankles and immediately turned to Randall, pulling the gag from his mouth and cutting his bonds by feel alone. “Are you okay?”
“Just peachy,” he said glumly. “Apart from the fact that I feel like a complete fool. Have you heard any noise from the other room?”
“I think they’re long gone. The question is, where?” She scrambled back across the floor to her sister, pulling her gag out.
“Don’t you remember?” Holly asked, her voice not much more than a raw croak. “She went to Christmas Eve mass.”
“How’d I miss that?” Randall asked, sitting up and rubbing his strong wrists.
“You were still out when she came in. You also missed our murder.”
“You mean Ian? I recognized him as he bent over me. What the hell is going on?”
“Do you know, Holly?” Maggie chafed her sister’s wrists. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. All the little bitch did was frighten me,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “And I don’t have any idea what Ian’s doing here. I heard his voice earlier, so it wasn’t a complete surprise. She called him Jacopo, so I’d guess he’s gone undercover.”
“Well, at least it saved our lives,” Maggie said cheerfully.
“Even if we blew our only lead,” Randall said, rising to his feet and stretching. “Let’s get out of here.”
“We’d better make sure we can,” Maggie reminded them. “We don’t know for sure that Maddelena and her sweet old grandfather are gone.”
But the dank little shop was deserted. The three of them had been tossed in a second-floor storeroom, and if the building boasted any electricity it was long gone. They made their way down the twisting staircase, through the empty shop, and out into the Calle del Porco. Maggie eyed the bronze pig with a fond smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here. You don’t want to go back to the Danieli, do you?”
“What about your place? Are there any extra rooms?” Holly the intrepid sounded almost forlorn.
“You can have mine,” Randall offered.
“You can share mine,” Maggie countered.
Holly grinned. “I’ll take Randall’s. You never know when Ian might reappear.”
Now wasn’t the time to fight that particular battle. Randall had kept his hands to himself last night; he could do so again. And she had to admit, she slept a hell of a lot better when she was lying beside him, with or without the soporific benefits of sex. No, Randall could share her bed again. As long as he didn’t get any other ideas.
