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Should he follow?
No. Go back to the party. Do your job, then get the hell out. Who cares what she’s doing? It’s obviously some sort of cat-and-mouse game, the kind you know is dangerous and she knows you can’t resist?
But he heard something above. The scrape of a shoe? Hell. He tried the door and it was unlocked. He found his walkie-talkie, tried to raise Oscar but got only loud, static-laden feedback. So much for stealth. Switching it off, he entered the staircase and considered taking his gun out of its holster.
Why? It’s Resa. You saw her come into the stairwell, and she’s not a threat.
Not to anyone but you.
Setting his jaw, he waited. Ears straining.
Did she go up…or down?
Toward heaven, or hell?
He turned toward the lower stairs as another footfall scraped overhead. Slowly he began the climb up the spiral staircase, the only sound the thudding of his own heart.
Why the hell was Resa luring him up here?
Surely she’d known he’d follow.
Up, up, up.
Nerves tightening with each step.
Something about this wasn’t right, not right at all. He reached into his shoulder holster, pulled out his Glock, released the safety and set his jaw.
No way would he fire at Resa…or…?
The narrow opening was just over his head. He squinted upward, weapon drawn, ascending slowly, knowing he was an easy target.
She was there, leaning over the railing, standing alone in the darkness. He relaxed for a second. “What’re you doing up here?” he asked, lowering his pistol.
She turned then, her face in shadow and in a breathy voice whispered, “I’m waiting for…” Her voice trailed off and she stiffened.
Something wasn’t right. He felt it.
“I’ve been waiting for five years.” The voice was different now. Low. Dangerous.
In a heart-stopping instant, he knew his mistake, saw the gun.
He swung his weapon up.
Bam! Light flashed from the muzzle of the gun pointed straight at his heart.
Parker hit the deck as he pulled the trigger, firing wildly. Too late.
Hot agony seared through his gut. He stumbled, still firing crazily as he fell backward on the steep stairs, begi
Clunk! His head smashed a wooden riser. Hard. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he slid and rolled, gravity pulling him downward, each wooden step catching his body, bruising him. He heard something crack—a rib? And all the while the lifeblood oozed out of him…hot, sticky. It smeared the dusty wooden steps. He threw out a hand, grabbed the railing, stopping his crazy descent on the small landing before the stairs turned again.
There were noises.
People screaming.
The rush of footsteps.
He tried to stay awake, to remain conscious, but the blackness pulled him under. The last thing he saw, in the periphery of his vision, was his attacker jumping down into the center of the tower.
Bong! Bong! Bong!
His brain was nearly crushed with the thunderous peal of bells clamoring so loudly the stairs shook.
“Resa,” he called weakly. “Resa…” And then he slipped under the veil of darkness.
Parker? Lucas Parker had shown up? Of all the rotten, dumb luck!
I was furious! Seething as I slid down the bell ropes, I tried to think clearly. She was supposed to have followed me up into the tower. I was sure she’d spot me and be intrigued enough to climb the stairs, then fall to her death, just as poor Ian had fallen.
It would have been such a fitting, ironic end. Perfect in every detail.
But Lucas had spoiled it all.
I couldn’t think about that now. I dropped the .22 pistol, letting it fall to the floor below. My only consolation was that I was free to end this all another time, as long as I escaped. Which wouldn’t be too difficult in the ensuing chaos. Already there was a near-riot going on, people screaming and ru
The gloves frayed as I zipped downward, the friction from the old ropes heating my palms and fingers, just as it had when I’d been a child and first discovered I could slide quickly from the top of the belfry to the floor.
As soon as my feet hit the ancient stones, I took off down three flights of stairs to the lowest level of winery, the cellar that had once been my playground. Alone, very much alone. I knew these old caverns and tu
But there was pandemonium above. Scurrying footsteps. Shouts. Horrified screams.
Don’t think about them. Or her. Just keep ru
I moved by instinct, but my brain was pounding. Why the hell had that son of a bitch shown up? He’d been divorced from Resa, airbrushed out of family portraits. And what the hell had happened to her? Just two minutes ago I saw her enter the library.
I’d pla
I’d caught a glimpse of him earlier and couldn’t believe it, the former cop stalking the perimeter of the monastery walls.
My feet moved soundlessly through the dimly lit corridors, my breathing regulated from years of ru
Down a long, shadowed corridor illuminated by a single string of lights, past barrels stacked high, around the far corner and up an old flight of stairs to a door I’d already unlocked, I raced. The door opened to the old infirmary where sick monks had once been treated. Now the small rooms were filled with supplies for the winery.
The muted sounds of chaos within the winery walls mixed with the scream of sirens from outside. Someone had called the police. That part I’d pla
Then I opened the bag I’d left here earlier, grabbed my jeans and shirt, and yanked them on along with a pair of beat-up ru
And disappear.
For a while…
Three days later, Parker woke up mad as hell in a hospital bed. A stern nurse told him he’d been out for three days. An IV dripped some kind of painkillers into his arm, but it wasn’t working. On a scale of one to ten—with the nurse’s stupid chart of little happy and frowny faces indicating pain level—he was at eight, maybe nine, where the red face was frowning but no longer shouting expletives.
But he didn’t give a damn.
The surgery had been a success, the bullet removed, his intestine repaired, his dislocated shoulder snapped back into place, his ribs only bruised. The concussion had been slight.
He’d been lucky, the doctor had said.
Lucky, my ass!
He closed his eyes for a second, trying to figure out how to get out of here. Pronto. In his experience, hospitals were dangerous places, full of the sick and dying.
“Lucas.”
Her voice came to him in a dream. Soft and breathy, but this time, no sound of laughter or lightness.
Disbelieving, he opened an eye and saw her in the doorway. She looked frail and frightened, unlike the woman who’d turned his life upside down. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes and her lips trembled slightly. He blinked, thinking she might be a vision, a figment of his imagination, even a hallucination from the drugs, but no, she was there.