Chapter 10: The Locked Wing

Wynne rode home in the back seat with her mother, and neither of them said a word.

The east wing door had a new bolt on the outside.

It was shining and brass, and the housekeeper's nephew stood beside it with his arms crossed.

"Mr. Sarcone's orders," he said. "For your safety."

"Where is my bag?"

"Inside."

He opened the door, let her through, and shot the bolt behind her.

The wing was silent.

Massimo's study was dark.

The laptop was gone from the desk.

She walked through all four rooms and the hall, trying every window, and every window was painted shut.

She sat on the edge of the guest room bed and tried to decide whether she was going to cry.

She was not.

She was too angry.

Two hours ago the man she loved had said no in front of five men.

Then he had gone to the airport because his father said so.

She had held his hand under the table.

It had been cold, and it had not let go until the driver came for him.

"Don't do anything," he had said, very low, with his back to the room. "Whatever he says. Stay in the wing. I'll be back in two days."

"Two days isn't enough."

"I know."

She went into the study and began pulling out drawers.

She found pens, a stack of old receipts, a ring of keys with a tag, and a flat leather case.

In the case lay a set of thin steel picks.

She stared at them for some time.

"Of course," Wynne said aloud.

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