“She’s all right.” Emma pitches her voice a fraction louder. “She’s just knocked out.”

Far across the room, Emma glimpses Simon—braced against the bars—as he lowers his head.

“Fine,” Ross says. “Now move her.”

Kristin is lighter than Bell, but there’s somehow more of her: long, boneless limbs moving out of concert, strands of white hair getting in Emma’s mouth. During her attempts to prop Kristin against the desk, Emma has a chance to slip the long iron key out of the front waistband of her jeans and into the pocket of Kristin’s coat.

“Hurry,” Ross says.

“I can’t prop her up.”

“Then leave her on the floor.”

She sets Kristin on her side on the wooden floor, a little away from Bell. The exertion and the subterfuge have made Emma sweat in a horrifyingly familiar way.

“Very good,” Ross says. “Now go to the door. Just outside it, on the left, you’ll find a coil of rope and my medical pouch. Bring them both inside. If you run away, you know what will happen.”

Emma faces him directly. “I know what will happen if I stay here, too.”

“Do you want me to shoot them both? You can choose which one will go first.”

Emma grits her teeth and goes to the door. Cool air from the dark hall floats against her face. The urge to take flight exerts its pull on her once again. She fights against it, collects the rope and the pouch. Where the hell is the FBI?

“Put the pouch on the desk. Bring the rope here.”

Emma does as she’s told. The rope is a heavy, coarse bundle. Ross takes the coil and slings it over his shoulder, indicates for her to move forward, to take up position beside him in front of Simon’s cage.

Simon is standing in the glow of light inside the cell, a tall ice sculpture. His posture is loose but his eyes are like hard sapphires, unblinking.

When he speaks, his voice is dangerously silky. “Siegfried.”

“Artist,” Ross replies. “At last.”

Ross smiles. Emma’s not sure how he can smile, the way Simon looks at this moment.

“You’ll excuse my delay,” Ross goes on. “I had to collect my equipment, and the weapon.”

Simon doesn’t acknowledge Ross’s aside. “That wasn’t very polite, the way you treated my sister.”

“I’m afraid I don’t react well when attacked by surprise.”

Simon’s lips turn up. “Kristin can be a handful, no doubt. Did you know she stabbed me once? It’s an old story, never mind. Suffice to say I sympathize.”

“Miss Lewis here is much more cooperative.”

“Oh, she can be unruly when the mood takes her.” Simon’s eyes light on Emma, flit away.

“I wasn’t very happy when I found out the FBI was staking out the building.” Ross’s tone is quietly reproachful.

Simon spreads his hands. “What can I say—I was put in a difficult position. You seem to have made it work for you. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”