What the fuck happened? Who were these people, and how did they know?
After a silent drive, the van crunched along Francesca’s pebbled driveway. Lucia wanted to bolt, to beg Jules to drive her home so she could curl up under her covers and disappear.
Instead, nausea slithered through her at having to face Francesca’s quiet fury.
She slipped on her shoes.
“This is gonna suck,” Skye mumbled when Jules finally cut the engine.
“Better get it over with,” Jules said, stepping out.
Skye and Lucia lingered until Jules banged against the side of the van.
“Get moving!”
They shared a resigned look. Skye nodded and climbed out, Lucia stumbling after her.
The walk to the door felt endless, with the shadows between flower beds and stone walls shifting, lurking, waiting.
Lucia clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. She stopped at the door, head bowed.
“It’ll be OK.” Skye gave her arm a brief squeeze.
It wouldn’t be. The fact thatSkyeeven felt the need to say that proved it.
Jules snorted and rang the doorbell.
~ ~ ~
“You what?” Francesca’s voice was low, a fake-calm composure that promised pain. The vein pulsing in her temple and her rigid stance spoke volumes.
“They came out of nowhere.” Skye paced. “I don’t get it. They must’ve trailed us for hours.”
“I gave them theMadonna,” Lucia whispered, her voice as flat as she felt.
“You couldn’t have just driven off?”
“They had guns pointed at us,” Skye ground out. “There was no other way. We’d be dead and they’dstillhave the painting.”
“I knew it,” Francesca muttered, turning to face the window. Hands on hips. Stiff with fury.
“Knew what?” Skye barked. “That someone would hit us tonight? A heads-up would have been nice!”
Francesca spun around. “Who knew about this run? Aside from the four of us and Blackwell? Who else?”
“No one,” Lucia said.
Jules and Skye both shook their heads.
“Well, someone did. Not Blackwell—she gains nothing. And I don’t see her hiring parking lot thugs with guns.”
Lucia exhaled, relieved she didn’t have to defend Penelope.
No one said anything.
Lucia frowned. “There was a man near the Bellini. Slate-gray tux. Didn’t drink, didn’t talk. Just…watched.”
Francesca’s eyes narrowed. “Security?”
