Page 73 of Nora

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He turned a full circle, hoping to find some clue. But other than Cesare and what appeared to be a broken thermometer, nothing looked out of place. Wait—he stopped and focused on a shadow under the counter. Rushing over, he knelt and reached underneath. His fingers closed around something soft, and he pulled Nora’s hat out. He stared at it for a moment, then tossed it to Craig. “Have Miles scent that,” he said. Craig snagged the hat midair and instantly held it out for his dog.

“Is that Angelo’s?” Willa asked, pointing to a scarf hanging on the back of a chair.

“It is,” Craig confirmed. “He told me his wife knit it for him.”

The image of Angelo as a family man clashed with that of Angelo as a killer, but Lucian shoved the contradiction into the recesses of his mind. Right now, he was only a killer. A killer who had Nora.

“What’s that?” Craig said, pointing to what looked like a tissue lying under the table. Gently, Lucian picked it up with two fingers. Then, smelling something familiar, he brought it closer to his nose to confirm. His stomach plummeted.

“Chloroform,” he said.

“Hagen is scented on Angelo, I say we go,” Willa said. Craig nodded. For just the tiniest of moments, Lucian hesitated. Heneededto find Nora alive. It was a different situation, but it wasn’t lost on him that he’d failed to save his wife. And now it was possible he’d fail Nora, too.

“There’s no time for doubts,” Craig said. “Let’s move.”

The confident command was what Lucian needed, and he nodded as he moved past them. “I’ll call Jonah and have someone come get Cesare,” he said, shutting the door behind them. The three paused at the bottom of the stairs. There were four pathways that converged ten feet to their left. They were cleared, and it was impossible to tell which path Angelo might have taken. Well, it was impossible for the humans. Lucian turned to Willa and Craig and nodded. Both reached down and touched their dogs’ heads. Then simultaneously, they issued the order, “Find!”

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

Nora came to slowly,more angry at letting herself get into this position than worried. Angelo had drugged her and brought her to…where? She forced her eyelids open a hair and glanced around. She was in a cave somewhere, propped up against a boulder with her back to cold, hard rock.

She tested her hands and feet and found both were bound tightly. Whatever held her wasn’t scratchy or rough, though. In fact, the more she moved her wrists, the more certain she was that he’d used leashes.

“You are awake?” Angelo said, stepping out from the shadows at the back of the cave.

She didn’t bother to answer.

With the moon nearly full, it was easy to make out the opening twenty feet to her left. How far back it went, she didn’t know.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” he said. She forced herself to look at him. Oddly, she found she believed him. He did sound genuinely regretful, although not enough to change his plans to kill her. And there was no doubt in her mind he intended to kill her. She understood his drive—she was a threat not just to him, but to the life he’d built. Killing her didn’t further his agenda, though. Whatever that agenda was.

“You do realize that eleven of the best scenting dogs in the world are going to be looking for me,” she said. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Lucian wouldn’t hesitate to kick off a search-and-rescue operation using every method at his disposal.

Angelo shrugged. “I tried to mislead them, but we shall see.”

Nora’s gaze stayed fixed on him as he stepped closer, but her fingers moved over the knots at her wrist. There wasn’t much she could do about her feet—which were indeed bound with a leash—until her hands were free. But if she could get her hands loose, that was all she needed to defend herself.

“I don’t think you want to kill me,” she said, adjusting her position as she spoke. Sitting straighter against the wall shifted her arms, giving her the tiniest bit of slack in the bindings.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he said. He now stood less than ten feet in front of her, but he didn’t appear to want to move closer. “But I have to,” he added.

“Why?” she asked as she picked at the bindings around her wrist.

“Because you know what I’ve done.”

“After tonight, everyone will know,” she pointed out. “If you let me go, it will be one less death on your conscience.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But yet I feel I cannot.”

“Why?” she asked again. Shewasinterested in the answer, but she was also buying time.

“Because if you stop me, you are like one of them,” he answered. Then, to her surprise, he squatted, as if settling in for a long conversation. Angelo wasn’t a dumb man; he had to know his time with her was limited. He may be saying he needed to kill her—a part of him might even believe that—but his actions were telling her otherwise. If triggered, he’d do it, but she didn’t think he truly wanted to. Whatever rage he felt toward his prior victims wasn’t driving him now.

“One of who?” she asked.

“The men. The priests. Those who masquerade as men of the cloth who are everything but.” She studied him, keeping her shoulders steady as she continued to work on the knots. “Someone should have stopped them,” he said. His voice was taking on a sort of dreamy quality—as if he were traveling back in time.

“Who should have been stopped, Angelo?” she asked as her finger managed to wedge itself under a part of the binding enough so that she could start to loosen it.