“Hand over the carrier,” a voice barked.
She froze.
A man stood just outside the van, face shadowed, gun raised.
“What?” Her voice barely came out.
“The bag. Now.”
Lucia’s arms tightened around the carrier instinctively.
“Just drive!” Skye shouted.
“I can’t,” Jules said from the driver’s seat. “Two more by the hood. Guns drawn.”
Lucia’s breath came shallow. She twisted toward the front seat—through the windshield, two silhouettes loomed—both armed, both waiting. A trap.
“Shit,” Skye hissed. “We’re boxed in.”
“No.” Lucia clutched the carrier. “No, we can’t—”
“You want todiefor it?” Skye snapped. “Give. It. Up.”
A beat.
Lucia’s pulse thrummed. Her fingers refused to let go—then did. She handed over the bag.
The man wrenched it from her arms and vanished into the dark.
Silence.
Lucia sat frozen, sweat cooling on her back, her hands shaking. She couldn’t speak. Numbness froze her in place as an oppressive silence descended upon the van.
No one uttered a word as they drove through the night back to Francesca’s.
Lucia’s phone kept buzzing in her purse, but she couldn’t bring herself to look.
They’d lost theMadonna.
Had the earlier “glitch” Jules dismissed been a warning sign?
But how did—
“Will you fucking answer your phone? The buzzing’s driving me nuts,” Skye broke the stillness, her voice raw.
Frowning, Lucia dug out her phone and opened Penelope’s messages, then replied.
We got away but lost it. Someone was waiting for us. We’re safe, en route to F. Are you OK?
She pressed send and closed her eyes.
Her phone buzzed a moment later—then again, and again—rapid-fire questions she didn’t have the bandwidth to answer. Then:
Do you want to come by tonight and talk?
I can’t. I’m not… I can’t. I’ll call you.
She turned off her phone and stared at the black screen. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
