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But there was no such thing as slipping from his hold. His hands were large, his fingers long. They held a startling strength, so much so that he seemed oblivious to the fact that she had meant to escape. She wondered when the song would end. Of course, she could be really rude and just stop dancing. Then he’d be forced to let her go.
“I was given the impression you disliked the contessa,” she said. “But I suppose her opinion matters to you as much as it does to others. ”
“Not in the least. ”
“Then . . . ”
“You should simply go home. You may have put yourself in danger. ”
“Why? Is the contessa some kind of a master criminal?”
“In my opinion? Yes. ”
“I’m sure I’m perfectly safe. As you noted, the police do seem to be where I am. ”
“I’m not at all sure you want to rely on the police. ”
“Are you saying that the police are criminals, too?”
“I would never say such a thing. ”
“Then just what are you saying?”
“That you’re in danger; go home!”
“Why would I be in danger?”
“Because you are fragile. ”
She did stop dancing. She firmly stood her ground, not trying to pull away, but not moving. “I’m not tall, granted, and I haven’t a great deal of weight, but I assure you, I am far from fragile. ”
“It’s my understanding that you are suffering from a recent loss?”
“Which has not unhinged my mind, sir. I was engaged to a cop, a good man, killed by flesh-and-blood criminals?people for whom he had empathy and regard. If he’d been a little less concerned for the value of any life, he wouldn’t be dead now. He was a cop, not a seer, or a mystic. He was murdered.
Therefore, I do know that very bad people do exist, that human beings can be monsters. I think that they are far too lax here, that there should be a far greater investigation into the contessa’s entertainments than what I have seen. That does not make me fragile!”
“Your insistence that something has happened is what puts you in danger,” he told her.
“So if something did really happen, I should just forget it?”
“You should just go home, on the first possible plane. You should let those who know what they’re doing deal with matters here. ”
“So there are matters with which to be dealt?” she demanded.
He sighed deeply with aggravation, a sound that was almost a growl. “There is nothing that should concern you. ”
“Excuse me?”
“There is nothing you can do. ”
“Is there something you can do?” she queried.
“Trust me, Miss Riley, it would be best if you went home. You have lost someone recently?”
“It’s been a year. I am not insane with grief. ”
“Perhaps you are susceptible to fears and nightmares. ”
“I am not!” Or was she?
The mannequin had stared at her through Steven’s eyes . . .
“Just go home!” He said angrily. “You are causing a greater danger?”
“For whom?”
“Go home!”
She didn’t need to pull away from him. The music had stopped. He dropped her hands and walked away without another word. Stunned?and furious with herself for staying with him on the dance floor as long as she had?she hurried back to the table where she and her party had been sitting.
She waited there for a minute as the master of ceremonies announced the last dance of the evening in several languages. She searched the dance floor from where she stood, but saw no sign of Jared or Cindy. She sat for a moment. Jared and Cindy would never just leave her. She drummed her fingers on the table. The sound of the last slow dance faded away.
Conversation and soft laughter could still be heard in the tent, but the band had stopped playing and even the die-hards were tiredly making for the exit. Jordan realized that Jared and Cindy must have thought that she had left, probably with the group from the Arte della Anna Maria shop, when they had seen that her mask had been picked up from the table. She was on her own.
She stood up, looking around for Tiff or Roberto, but the table where they had been sitting was empty as well.
Oh, well, she had walked here. She could walk back.
She joined the exciting crowd. Knowing the general direction from which they had come, she started that way, glad to see that most people seemed to be headed in the same direction. A knight in armor nearly plowed into her. He apologized profusely, nearly stumbling. She helped straighten him, reeling at the scent of whiskey on his breath.
“Wanna join us for a nightcap?” he slurred to her.
“Thanks, but no thanks?early morning,” she lied. And hurried ahead. Going beneath an archway between two fifteenth-century buildings, she quickened her pace until she could no longer hear the knight clanking along.
She came to a fork in the pathway, one walk leading over a bridge to another island, the other leading back inland. She paused, trying to remember how they had come, what landmarks she had seen.
Venice was historic, wonderful, beautiful. To the unobservant visitor, however, come the deep darkness, it all looked alike.
“Shit!” she swore aloud.
Something fluttered by her ear; not a bug, something bigger. She was aware of the flapping of wings.
A bat? She felt her skin begin to crawl.
The bridge. That would at least get her away from the old building to her right, a grand but derelict structure with a crumbling facade that apparently harbored bats.
She hurried over the bridge and along a path.
The stores were all closed for the evening. She peered into darkened windows, trying to decide if she had come this way or not. If she could just get back to St. Mark’s Square, she would be able to find her way.
If she could just find anyone to point her in that direction, she’d be fine.
She saw a sign on a building ahead and hurried toward it. An arrow pointed to her left with the words
“San Marco” printed above it. Of course, that could just mean the island, but at least, getting to the island would be a start. Once there, of course, she’d find winding pathways, piazzas and bridges as well, but hopefully, she’d see something familiar?or find another sign.
She followed the direction of the arrow through another archway between buildings. She looked back to assure herself she had come the right way. The buildings were casting deep shadows on the walkways beneath the light of the moon. The moon itself was now becoming a darkened blue orb in the night sky as clouds drifted below it. She started, stopping dead in her tracks, as the length of shadow seemed to stretch out from the buildings across the piazza she had just crossed.
Something flew by her again, close enough to tangle in her hair. She let out a startled gasp. Bats. This time touching her. She ran forward, shaking her head, feeling the first sense of real fear.
Nasty little creatures, bombarding her at night. But just bats!
She stopped again, shaking her head, inhaling deeply. Which way had she run? Ahead of her was another archway. Was it one she had already walked beneath? No.
Once again . . .
Wings . . .
Flying close, not touching her; she instinctively ducked.
This time, the wings seemed to whisper. Hisses, warnings, not formed into words, but sounds that seemed to echo and flutter with danger . . .
She ran, hurrying beneath the arch. She came upon another little bridge that traversed a small canal. She could see down the length of water to another bridge.
Someone was there. A figure . . . a man. In a dottore cape and mask.
“Jared!” she called out.
He stood there, waiting for her.
“Jared!” she called again. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life, s
he thought as he made a sweeping gesture, indicating that she should come around.
Then he moved, crossing the bridge.
“Jared, wait, damn you!” she cried out.
She ran over the bridge, then tripped on the cobblestone landing. Despite her desperate effort to prevent a fall, she went down. Swearing, she cursed her high-heeled red leather boots and looked at her leg, feeling a pain in her knee but hoping she hadn’t wrecked the rented vinyl costume. As she looked over her uninjured costume, she found herself staring at the ground. To her amazement, a shadow seemed to be sweeping toward her.
Heedless of her knee, she leaped to her feet and ran. She turned back. The shadow seemed to have risen from the ground, to have become a real form in the pathway. She kept running, trying to find the street that would lead around to the other bridge.
A flutter of wings suddenly seemed to surround her. Bats . . . shadows . . .
Again, the hissing sound. Fluttering. Speech that wasn’t speech. Shadow whispers . . .
She ran faster, bursting out upon a lighted square. She could see the path to the other bridge. It was now empty.
“Jordan!”
She thought she heard her name being called. No, whispered, fluttered by bat wings. A breeze was picking up. She could hear it, whisking by her.
“Jordan!”
She looked ahead. A larger bridge loomed before her. He was there. Jared. Or a man, a figure, in a dottore costume.
“Jared, damn you!”
She heard the panic in her own voice.
She raced toward the bridge. Jared was already over it. It seemed he had gone down the darkest path before her.
“Damn you, Jared, wait!”
She started running again, telling herself not to look back.
She couldn’t help but do so. Shadows seemed to be dancing, snaking around the facades of the buildings as well as the paths between them. Those shadows were encroaching, moving swiftly, as if they too ran, as if they would come and overtake her, and she would be swallowed into the darkness.
She nearly ran into a dead end, just barely stopping herself from plowing straight into a wall. She turned back. The shadows had her nearly cornered. She had to escape this dead end before the shadows covered it; somehow, she knew that, knew it in the naked fear that now ran rampant in her.
She shot across the space to the pathway she had strayed from, just barely making it before the stretch of shadow.