In less than ten minutes he found himself holding the crumpled, faded check that Carlos had excavated from the glove compartment—“Man, you really ought to get into digital banking!”—while the twins drove away, waving and smiling, promising to send someone to collect the sculpture sometime next week. Adam looked at the sum and thought that that amount would help toward Elle’s legal defense fund. For that reason, he hoped Carlos and Haley didn’t change their minds, and he placed the check in a locked drawer in the main worktable. He pulled on his leather armguards and gloves—and his phone rang. In the pocket of his breeches. Underneath his mail coat and his padding.

After a lot of fumbling, he dug it out and flipped it open. Before he could say a word, Rune squawked in his ear, “Have you heard anything from Elle?”

Adam went on alert. “No. Should I have?”

“Ludwig called from the restaurant. He told me the shop is locked, the shades are down, and some kind of disturbance is happening inside.”

“A disturbance.” Adam was already moving toward the ATV. “What kind of disturbance?”

“Glass breaking. Things being thrown. Yelling. Have you heard from Elle?”

69

ELLE DANCED BACKWARD, never taking her gaze away from that beautiful, vicious face and the point of the knife that sliced the air inches in front of her chest.

Not Sookie. Zsóke. Faith was Stephen Penderghast’s assistant Zsóke. When Elle had glimpsed her aboard the Arcturus, she had been dressed in a dark, form-fitting suit and was clearly subservient to him. She looked different now, dressed in a pink cotton shift and Jimmy Choo diamond sneakers. An apt disguise for an assassin.

“Give me a weapon, Clarice. Clarice, something!” Elle held out her hand.

“She can’t hear you,” Faith taunted. “She’s so traumatized by my tortures and by Bruno’s death, she won’t even notice when I slit her throat. But unlike you, I’ll make her death swift and painless.”

Elle glanced at Clarice. She was looking around like a lost child in a horror show.

Faith continued. “After all, it’s hardly Clarice’s fault she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Elle shouted.

“No, you were in the right place at the right time. You found the treasure, and you told Stephen Penderghast he was wrong. One of those would be a guaranteed ticket to the next world. But both?” Faith lunged, knife point outstretched.

With both feet, Elle jumped up on the display shelf that ran along the side of the shop, knocking a cup rack over, scattering psychic-themed mugs and tins of herbal tea leaves. She leaped toward the front display window. If she could get there, rip down the blind and fling herself through the glass, she would... Well, she’d probably bounce off the safety glass. A stupid idea, but—