She was drifting off again. I let her go for a moment and rose. Looking around the bedroom didn’t reveal a handbag, so I walked down to the kitchen and found it sitting on the dining table, along with an empty wine bottle and two glasses.

I opened the bag, then rummaged through until I found her cell. It wasn’t locked, so I went straight into her contacts list and looked for Felicity’s name. Unsurprisingly, it had been erased. I hit the ALBUM button, not expecting to find much, but the very first picture that came up was Rinaldo himself. His face was cool and controlled, but there was something in the way he was standing, watching Amanda approach, that made me want to reach into the photo and wrench her out of harm’s way. Amanda was as far from innocent as you could get, but that look very much suggested he was using her in every way possible. And I couldn’t imagine Rinaldo would be either a gentle or generous lover.

I zoomed in on the rear of the SUV and almost cheered—the number plate was crisp and clear. We finally had something that might help us track the bastard down.

I shoved her phone into my back pocket and returned to the bedroom. Janice was asleep, so I shook her roughly. Her response was sleepy and somewhat colorful.

I grinned and glanced at my watch. I probably had another five minutes or so before the ambulance arrived, so I decided to use that time to see what other information I could uncover.

“Janice, what can you tell me about the inverter device the company was developing?”

“I’ve already answered that question,” she said, her voice holding a hint of annoyance.

Not to me, she hadn’t. And if that was one of the questions Amanda had been asking, then it meant Rinaldo hadn’t yet gotten his hands on the device. “I know, but tell me again anyway.”

She yawned hugely. “We had prototypes up and running, but some official government department came in a few weeks ago and secured the whole project. It was all very dramatic.”

A few weeks ago meant it had happened before Rosen had been murdered. Which meant—hopefully—that they were government officials rather than sindicati goons or rats in disguise. As the wail of an approaching siren got louder, I said, “What can you tell me about the project Professor Wilson was working on?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. It was all very hush-hush.”

“And Wilson himself? Do you know much about him?”

“Not really. Rosen called him into the office a couple of times, but I can’t tell you why.”

She couldn’t really tell me much about anything, it seemed, and it made me wonder why Amanda—and therefore Rinaldo—had made the attempt to kill her. Unless, of course, he was simply making sure no one else could pull any information out of her.