Groggily, not even bothering to check the clock, Fortuna rolled over, unconcerned by the white Angora’s antics. Nocturnal by nature, Princess Kitty had been skittish ever since Fortuna had found her wandering the streets of Venice, her long hair matted, her tiny body thin as a rail. That had been twenty-one years ago and the cat was still going strong, jittery and nervous as ever.

Suddenly Princess Kitty hissed.

What? Fortuna pulled herself from the thick veil of sleep.

A growl and another hiss.

“Shh,” Fortuna said, forcing one eye open just as the cat jumped off the bed. What the hell was the matter with Princess? “I’m not letting you out.”

She caught a whiff of something sweet and cloying, and her skin goose-pimpled.

“Kitty?” she said, her voice trembling, fear clutching her heart.

That awful smell! What was it? Gas? Oh, Lord, was there a gas leak in the house?

Was there someone in the room with her? Oh, God no! She strained to see, but she wasn’t wearing her contacts and the room was nearly stygian, pitch black. She couldn’t make out anything but darkness, black on inky black.

Did something move by the closet?

The hairs on the back of her arms lifted. She reached for her cell phone, which sat charging on the night table.

At that second, she felt rather than saw movement. Whatever was there leapt across the short span of tiled floor to the bed.

Fortuna started to scream. To move.

But she was pinned face up on her bed, a body in black holding her down, a cloth that reeked of that horrid smell forced over her nose and eyes. She gasped, dragging more of the foul stuff in.

Ether!

Panicked, she flailed her arms and legs, trying to rid herself of the weight straddling her. Her heart was racing, beating a thousand times a minute as terror gripped her entire body. She had to fight this! But the hand over her face wouldn’t budge and Fortuna was out of breath, the insidious gas flowing into her lungs with every gasp. Scared out of her mind, she dragged in a long breath of the sickly sweet fumes and, oh…It made her mind swim, made her limbs feel so heavy.

She couldn’t black out now. Wouldn’t!

Frantic, she kept fighting, trying to roll away from her assailant’s viselike grip. To no avail. The person, strong and lean, didn’t budge, just kept applying pressure.

The fumes were horrible, burning down her windpipe and into her lungs, searing her throat.

Why? Fortuna wanted to scream. Why are you doing this to me? But she knew deep down this attack had to do with Rick Bentz’s visit and all his questions about Jennifer. Nothing good ever came from that woman, even though she was long dead.

Supposed to be dead.