Harley nodded. Agreed. But first Im finding out whats behind those other doors.

Callaway sighed as she brushed past him. We dont have a search warrant, Harley.

No, but he invited us to look around, so Im looking around.

Callaway followed her back into the main room. She tried the second door, but found it locked. She moved onto the third.

He was hurting them, Callaway said in a low voice. At least one of the girls, anyway.

Who, Ferrero? She tried opening the third door, but it wouldnt budge. She gritted her teeth as she moved on to the fourth and final door.

Threatened her, too. What if the others didnt take his threats seriously? What if he killed them to silence them?

Harley was crossing to the fourth door when she noticed Felix standing in the doorway behind Callaway. His arms were folded, and he was watching her with curious eyes. Harley wondered how long he had been there, and how much he had heard.

Just who were looking for, she said, recovering herself and smiling as convincingly as she could manage. You wouldnt happen to know where Mr. Ferrero went, would you?

Felixs eyes shifted from Harleys face to Callaways, then back again. No other part of his face moved. It was like watching one of those black-and-white cat clocks.

Pool, Felix said. His tone betrayed nothingnot anger, not suspicion, not surprise.

Wouldnt want to play poker with him, Harley thought.

I was just out there, she answered. I didnt see him.

The other pool.

I think he means billiards, Callaway said. You mean… He mimed striking a set of balls with a cue stick.

Felix nodded. Si, si. I show you.

They followed Felix down the stairs, past the first floor landing, and through a doorway that led to the cellar. Harley felt a chill as they descended, but it was not caused by the cool air. Its easy to get lost here, she heard Roth say.

At the bottom of the stairs were two doors. Felix opened the one on the left.

Whats in there? Callaway asked with a casual tip of his head toward the other door.

Felix smiled. Wine.

The clatter of billiard balls told them they had found the right room. Ferrero was playing with a man half his age, the kind of young man Harley might once have described as a heart throb: tall, lean, muscular, with a chiseled jaw and blond hair that was casually disheveled.

This is a private game, Ferrero said, leaning his considerable bulk against the table as he stared down the cue stick, one eye half-closed. If you have more questions, you can find him upstairsI believe he said something about checking his stocks.

The use of the simple pronoun struck Harley. It was like they were talking about God.

Actually, she said, we were hoping to speak with you.

That would be alright if I had anything to say to you.