Chapter 12
It took a while for Caro to weave through the crush of guests, particularly now that they were excited and straining forward for a better look at the famous cross. It was even worse at the doors, which were still jammed with people trying to get inside.
Three minutes passed…then four. She texted. Several times. Still no response. He should have signa led her by now.
Something was very wrong.
She had to know where the hell they’d taken him. He’d be furious, but she didn’t care. Hide outside in the garden, her as s. Asfuckingif.
There was Morelli making his way through the crowd, looking grim and stressed. He would know where they’d taken Noah. She locked eyes with hi m and beckoned.
He changed course to intersect with her. As soon as he reached her, he took her arm, steered her deftly through the crowd and around a velvet rope blocking a security area, a blessedly clear space behind the panels that backed the cross. The oppressive noise level was rising by the second as those close to the dais roared with laughter at some cute thing th e scholar said.
Caro stood on her tiptoes and hissed into Morelli’s ear. “Where is my husband?”
Morelli murmured in Italian and tapped his earbud, waiting for a reply. His frown deepened when it didn’t come. He spoke again, but not to her, repeating a name: Vilardi.
“Noah wouldn’t just walk away and not respond to me,” Caro said. “Tell m e where he is.”
“Why are you not with him?” Morelli’s voice soun ded accusatory.
“He thought it was dangerous.”
“No harm would come to you with anyone on Lella’s team!”
“Really? Why isn’t your guy t alking to you?”
“Oh please. Your husband will be found exactly where I told Vilardi to take him,” Morelli said impatiently. “We will go to him now and speak of his wi ld accusation—”
“I’m the one who made the accusation. Noah was just passing it on. At my insistence.”
“It is ridiculous! Lella must speak t o both of you!”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Caro grabbed Morelli’s arm and tugged him to the edge of the security area where they could see the dais. “Look at Lella, Stefano,” she urged. “Take a goo d look at him.”
Morelli hesitated for a second, and did as she asked, turning to look at Lella.
Lella’s face was ashy. His one eye was glassy and blank. His mouth was slack and he swayed on his feet. He was clearly on the ver ge of collapse.
Morelli drew in a sharp, d ismayed breath.
“Listen,” she said urgently. “I think the cross is fake. My husband has disappeared. Lella is sick or drugged. Your man is not responding. Something’s seriously fucking wrong, and you should take charge and get these people out of this room until you know wh at’s going on.”
“But—I c annot believe—”
“If anyone gets hurt tonight , it’s on you.”
Morelli’s gaze darted around the room. “I will talk to Lella,” he said stiffly. “Then I will deci de what to do.”
“Be careful. Lella might b e compromised.”
Morelli looked outraged. “That i s unthinkable!”
“Think it,” Caro said crisply. “Where’s Noah?”
“Up one flight, second door on the right, but I will accompany you . Wait for me.”
“Of course,” she lied. “I’ll wait right here. Please hurry.”
Morelli unhooked the velvet rope and muscled his way back into the crowd to get to Lella. Caro promptly followed him out and headed in the opposite direction, toward the door on the side near est the stairs.
She finally got out into the corridor, which was deserted at last. Everyone had squeezed into the Sala trying to see the cross. She hurried around the corner to the huge stairwell—
And shrank back, startled by whispers. Some trick of acoustics weirdly amplified the sounds that came from the floor above in the stairwell.
“…bastard ran back into the fucking Sala! What the fuck is he doing in there?” The man’s accent sounded ea stern European.
Caro slid into a niche behind a statue of St. George stabbing a dragon. She shrank back as the mutter ing got louder.
“We have to be careful. You saw what he did to Vilardi.” This man’s accent s ounded Italian.
The two men were running down the stairs together. Caro held her breath, heart thudding.
“The boss said to take them both out, the woman too, but why? If they are in the Sala, they are done for. The re is no need.”
“Not if he warns them in time. We must take him down fast.”
“The crowd will be terrified. We might not get clear. And as soon as we take him down, that bastard will pulse the frequency an d kill us all.”
“Don’t be a pussy. You took the money. Do the fucking job. Take the first door, I will take the third. Whoever gets the first shot, ta ke it and run.”
Two men hustled by. Dark suits. Bluetooth devices. Each man held a pistol close to his leg. They d id not see her.
Caro waited until they turned the corner and hurried back after them, staying close to the wall and darting from statue to statue. Wishing she’d opted to wear a shapeless black gown, not this blazing crimson beacon.
One of the men stopped at the first entrance to the Sala, and peered over the shoulders of the people inside, looking for his clear shot. Clearly reluctant to step inside.
A palace corridor full of marble columns and statuary was a crap place to improvise a weapon. The only thing small enough to move was a painting on the wall depicting an old man with a skullcap. Not as big as she would have liked, but it had a heav y gilded frame.
Caro lifted it off the wall, holding it high. More laughter and bursts of applause coming from the Sala helped her as she rushed the guy from behind, slamming the painting down.
Crack. The corner of the frame hit back of the man’s head. He teetered, and slumpe d to the floor.
The picture crashed to the ground, but the noise was masked by a fresh ro ar of applause.
Caro scrambled across the corridor to grab the Glock handgun sliding across the floor before it hit the wall. She sidled toward the other door, using the st atues as cover.
The second man who’d taken the far door was stocky and bearded. Clearly, he hadn’t heard the commotion over the noise from the Sala. The light reflected off the cross lit up his squinted eyes and frowning face as he raised his gun in both hand s…and took aim.
She did too. At the biggest, bulkiest pa rt of his body.
She squeezed the trigger. Both guns went off at once. The lights in the Sala flash-poppe d and went out.
Then the s creaming began.
When Caro’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the man she shot was staring at her. He put his hand to his collarbone. Dark blood gushed and welled betwe en his fingers.
He raised his gun again, as if aiming it at her, but the barrel kept on slowly going up and up until he fell backwards to the ground.
Caro dashed away, flattening herself against the wall between two statues as the panicked conference guests stampeded out. She spotted the old lady in pink chiffon who’d shushed them, galloping out at top speed and shoving a frail old man with a cane out of her way. The old man fell down onto his knees, then his face. The big heavy guy with the stifling cologne and the Rolex sprinted out, tripped over the old guy and hit the floor screaming. Another man crawled toward them on all fours, trying to help them both.
Then it was too many of them to see. A surging, yelling mass of frightened people in the dark who trampled the fallen gunma n as they went.