“Wer seid ihr?”
I flinch at the unexpected female voice, spinning on my heel to find a German woman wearing what I gather to be a maid’s uniform.
Bes answers her question. “Guten Tag, Fräulein. Wir sind mit Gurlitt befreundet und können ihn nicht finden.”
I recognize Gurlitt’s name and figure Bes is laying down a cover story for us. Which won’t be easy, given how she found us.
Suspicion draws down her brow. “Ja, er macht einen Spaziergang nach draußen.”
Bes swears softly. “He’s already outside taking the afternoon stroll Mara told us about.”
I blink and Bes is suddenly beside the woman, his hand over her nose and mouth. She screams fruitlessly into his palm until succumbing to unconsciousness.Jesus Christ, he’s too good at that.
He sets her down gently on the nearby lounge chair before turning back to me. I glance around him, gladder than I can say to see her chest rising and falling.
He grabs my hand. “We need to find the quickest way out of here.”
Flinging the door open into the hallway, he glances left then right to make sure the coast is clear. When no one appears, we fly down the passage, not allowing me a moment to catch my breath.
We round another corner and pause, pressing ourselves against the stone. No footsteps hasten behind us or in front of us.
Hurrying past half a dozen art canvases stacked against the wall and dust-caked marble statues, we quickly find a side door that leads us outside. We hurry through, making our way out onto the sloping lawn while still sticking close to the building.
The castle isn’t as imposing as it appeared from the road. Vines climb untamed along its stone, as if they’re a living, breathing part of the decaying structure. Scaffolding rests against the walls like abandoned bones, tarps and tools at its rotten feet.
Though the clouds continue to hang impossibly low over the mountains, the view from up here is stunning. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to marvel at it. Adrenaline pumps through my veins at the idea of being caught. We’re unbelievably exposed out here and I don’t care for it.
Finally, a man in his mid-thirties saunters unburdened across the well-kept castle grounds.Must be nice to stay with a rich friend in his castle. No matter how rundown it is. A dark green button-up shirt fits across his shoulders, tucked inside brown tweed pants, with a matching brown tweed vest buttoned over it. A pocket watch’s golden chain dangles from his belt. Combed-back light brown hair balding at the top frames light eyebrows and a clean face, half-moon spectacles hanging from the small pocket in his vest. He appears so unassuming.
We know better.
“On my count,” Bes says breathlessly as Gurlitt nears us. “One, two, three,now.”
Bes is much faster than me, especially going downhill, so he takes the lead.; in fact, he’s already captured Gurlitt by the time I catch up to him. He has the art dealer’s right arm pinned tight behind his back with one hand, gripping the back of his shirt with the other. He winces, and I hope he hasn’t pulled out the stitches from his stab wound. He might heal quicker than the rest of us, but not that quick
“Miss Hawkins, if you would.”
Hurrying over, I grab the man’s free arm and yank it behind his back. Taking the other from Bes, I lock them both in my grip.Once I’m certain he won’t be going anywhere, I glance around to make sure no one’s watching.Where did Mara and Cec go?
The man opens his mouth to cry out for attention, but Bes procures a switchblade from his pants’ pocket. The brandish cuts the cry off.
Bes crouches down so Gurlitt has nowhere else to look but at him. “Where are the Arma Christi?”
Gurlitt smiles terribly. “What did the Order of Cavendi do, send the youth brigade? I’ll never tell you.”
I start.How the hell does an art dealer know about the order?
My grip on him tightens and he hisses, losing his edge.
Bes touches the tip of the blade with his finger. “We’re reasonable people, Mr. Gurlitt. If you tell us where the Arma Christi are, we’ll let you go, no harm done. If you don’t, then at least the information dies with you. We don’t particularly care which choice you make.”
A trace of fear whitens what I can see of his face. Still, he spits on the ground. “I’d be dead already if you didn’t need the information. But it doesn’t matter because I’m never going to tell you anything.”
At that, Bes stands, stroking the dull side of the blade.Unnecessary theatrics, but it can’t hurt.I glance around us. Truly, where the hell are Cec and Mara? They should’ve heard some commotion by now and come running.
Unless they got caught somehow.
“I never promised death would be simple if you chose it.”
