Page 69 of Edge of Secrets

“The rest of you, out. Go keep watch,” ordered the man with the accent. There were mutters, tramping feet, and a large door creaked and banged shut. The light filtering through the burlap diminished sharply.

A latch fell into place. Clunk.

Silence. My teeth chattered. I shook—huge, seismic shudders, as if I were freezing to death. I trembled so hard, the chair rattled against the floor.

The two remaining men stood there, watching me. I could sense their enjoyment.

“Take off the bag, John.” The German-sounding man’s voice oozed satisfaction.

The bag was wrenched off, whipping my head forward against the brutal pull of my tied arms. I coughed, dragging in big gulps of air.

My hair was over my eyes. I tried to shake it back, but the slightest movement made my head throb. I just stared through the veil of tangled hair, like a captured prehistoric cavewoman, face dirtied, mouth open, eyes staring and wild.

It wasn’t bright inside that room, but it still took a moment for my eyes to readjusted. By some miracle, my glasses were still clinging to my face—askew, but still there.

Two men. One old and collapsed in on himself, with a flabby, jowly face. Watery blue eyes peered out from puffy bags of unwholesome flesh. His lips were an unhealthy, blotchy purple. He leered at me.

So did the other man—the one who fit Nancy’s description of Snake Eyes. Burly, with deep-set eyes glittering with concentrated evil in the flushed, tightly packed fat of his heavy face. His lips were wet from being constantly licked.

Both were loathsome. Neither seemed concerned about me seeing their faces. They didn’t expect me to ever have a chance to identify them.

I pushed that unhelpful thought swiftly out of my head.

The old man stumped forward, and tipped up my chin. “Antonella,” he crooned. “In the flesh. And such lovely flesh.” His hand crept down my chest, groping. He found my nipple and pinched.

I did not allow myself to yelp. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Ulf, my dear—Ulf Haupt. And this is my assistant, John, who your mother and sister have met before. But I am the one who will ask questions today. Not you.”

“Wh-what do you want from me?”

The light in his eyes was pure insanity. “Information, my dear. Of course.”

My stomach plummeted. That commodity of which I had so little. The other man, whom Ulf Haupt had called John, rummaged in my blouse, groping my boobs until he got his fist around my pendant.

He wrenched it until the chain broke. “We’ll add this to our collection,” he said.

“John’s been eager to question you,” Haupt said.

“Yeah, since this morning,” John agreed. “When you broke up with the prick.”

He waited for a reaction, laughing at my shocked expression. “Yes, I heard it all,” he taunted. “I bugged your computer, you stupid cunt. You wanted him to declare his love, huh? Wanted him to grovel, suck your toes? I almost found it in my heart to pity the guy—if I hadn’t had to listen to him fucking you for the last two days.”

I recoiled. He leaned forward, until his face was inches from mine. “I heard it all. You dirty little slut. Heard you screaming and coming.” He slapped me, rocking the chair so hard it teetered on two legs. “You love it, don’t you? Filthy whore?—”

“Enough, John!” The old man’s voice was sharp. “Don’t get carried away. She must not lose consciousness before we get the information we need. Play later.”

John subsided, muttering something under his breath about cunts and sluts. His fists were clenched, his mouth open and wet, breath rasping fast. Irrational hate shone in his eyes. I was tied to a chair with a pair of raving maniacs.

Haupt patted the cheek that John had slapped, as if I were a little girl and he was a hideous parody of a benevolent grandfather. “So, my dear. Tell us what you know about the sketches.”

Sketches? I seesawed frantically, wondering what would get me killed the fastest—admitting ignorance or feigning knowledge. Either option looked bleak.

“I don’t know anything about any sketches,” I said.

Haupt’s eyes hardened, and his fingers tightened on my cheek, pinching. “Do not lie. We read the Contessa’s letter, you stupid girl. She said the three of you could solve the puzzle, so you must know something!”

“But I’m alone. I’m not with them.” I shook my head to clear it, blowing hair up and out of my eyes. “And you took the letter, so we never got a chance to read it ourselves. And Lucia never had a chance to?—”

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