“Not as fresh as I like,” he remarked, lightly. “You must’ve been good-looking a century ago. But I’m a professional. I’ll manage.” He yanked out the first implement that came to his hand, a hooked blade, and waved it in front of her eyes. “So, Contessa. Let’s talk about the sketches. Where are they?”

Her eyes froze wide. “D-d-don’t know wh-where.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, yes, you do,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you’ll tell, Contessa. Believe me. You’ll tell.”

Something like amusement flashed in her eyes, in spite of her fear. Something cynical, ironic. She gave him a little head shake. No.

As if she were laughing at him. The uppity dago bitch actually dared to laugh at him. Like she thought she was smarter. Better.

Killing rage flooded him like rocket fuel. He was going to know everything in her head. He would carve it out of the snotty old whore, chunk by chunk. He reared up, twirling the blade in his fingers—

And realized she was no longer looking at him at all. She looked at the ceiling, gasping. Her face was white, her lips purple. He rolled off her, dismayed. Sure enough. Her freed hand went to her chest. Clutching. Oh, Christ, no. A fucking heart attack. He leaned over and stared into her face. “You stupid, troublesome bitch,” he said loudly.

She focused on him, and his heightened predator senses felt her, slipping away to where he couldn’t follow. He saw a fleeting hint of triumph in her eyes before they rolled, went blank. Unconscious. He wanted to howl. Dying, to spite him. And now old Barbieri was dead, too. The boss was not going to be happy.

Searching Barbieri’s suitcase and briefcase yielded no insights. They’d fucked him but good. He touched the Contessa’s throat. Dead as a doornail. He suppressed the urge to mutilate their corpses.

The austere room was empty but for a writing table and some carefully lit art pieces. Three envelopes lay on the table.

He snatched one up. Stamped, but not yet sent. The one he held was addressed to a Nancy D’Onofrio. He ripped it open and squinted at the fine, delicate antique cursive script.

My dearest Nancy,

What I have to tell you will come as a shock, and I’m sorry to tell you in a letter. I wanted to tell you all in person, but after my cardiologist appointment last week, I see now that I do not dare to wait until I can get all three of my girls together in one room…

Girls? John’s head lifted like an animal scenting new prey. His eyes lit on a shelf crowded with photographs.

He strode over. Sure enough. Three young women smiled out of the picture frames. Pretty girls. Each hot, in her own dick-prickling way. Too young to be the bitch’s daughters. Granddaughters, more like.

Fresh meat. And their addresses, written right there. Handy.

He stared at the images, breathing hard. One buxom, curvy girl with curly dark hair was curled up in a window seat, reading. Another mahogany-haired sylph was holding up a calico cat beneath her chin, smiling. A slender redheaded waif sported a slinky evening gown, gesturing toward a huge abstract sculpture behind her. All had sparkling eyes, rosy lips, expanses of smooth, unmarked skin like untrodden snow. Hot blood, blushing beneath. Curves and hollows, for him to pinch and squeeze and bite. Those girls would walk on their hands and bark like dogs for him, too. He would find those sketches, make his pile of money, and have a fine, juicy old time doing it.

So much saliva exploded into his mouth he began to dribble. He licked his lips, wiped his chin absently. Wouldn’t do to make it easy for the forensics techs, leaving a puddle of genetic material for them to test.

Finally, this job was starting to get interesting.

Outside the Limit

Chapter

1

“Are you girls going to be all right?” Elsie’s white brows knitted anxiously above her faded blue eyes. “I can stay, you know.”

Nancy plastered what she hoped was a calm, reassuring look on her face as she gently nudged the old lady out the door. She gave Elsie’s wrinkled cheek a kiss. “We’ll be fine. We just need some downtime.”

“But…but I’m sure Lucia wouldn’t have wanted you girls to be all alone, at such a terrible time,” Elsie fussed.

“We have each other, Auntie Elsie.” Nancy’s sister Nell grabbed the elderly neighbor’s hand. “Thanks for the casserole. You’ve been wonderful. Lucia was lucky to have you for a neighbor. We all are.”

When Elsie was finally nudged and flattered out the door, Nancy collapsed against it, sliding until her butt hit the floor. “God. It took forever to get rid of them all. Lucia must have known everyone in town.”

Nell sank down to join her. Vivi flopped onto her back onto the scratched floorboards. She clapped a hand over her eyes to block the late afternoon sun. They were all in black, for the graveside service, and Vivi’s fiery locks seemed the only color in a room leached of color.

Nancy stared at her sisters, feeling empty. She always felt as if Lucia’s house was a benevolent entity, enveloping and protecting its people. Now, it just felt tired and old. As if the life had been sucked out of it.

Well, it had. The warmth, the benevolence, the life that had been Lucia. The house was just a house, faded and creaking with age.

Nothing like a funeral to pop the bubbles of one’s imaginative fancies. She was desperately glad Vivi and Nell were there with her.

Nell blew out a sharp breath. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I hadn’t been up here to see her for over a month. I thought, we’ll be celebrating her birthday soon enough, so I just took on extra shifts and put it off.”

“Me, too,” Nancy said wearily. “I’ve been swamped. Two albums to cut. Mandrake going on tour. Blah blah blah. Who gives a shit, right?”

“Lucia’s birthday was today,” Vivi said. “We should have been drinking port wine, eating one of those grape focaccias she made. Funny. I hated that thing, but I’d give anything to be crunching grape seeds in my teeth, telling her to get with the new millennium and make fudge brownies. Getting the lecture about the importance of tradition.”

“God, Vivi, please, no,” Nancy pleaded. “Don’t get us going.”

The warning came too late. Vivi’s face convulsed. The grape fo-cacia set the three of them off. For the umpteenth time.

They carefully avoided each other’s eyes when the sobbing eased down. Nell’s fingers found Nancy’s. “I’m so sorry you had to find her alone,” Nell said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if it had been me.”

“Same thing I did,” Nancy said wearily. “Called nine one one. Fallen to pieces. I was already nervous. I’d called her two evenings in a row. She didn’t pick up. Not like her. So I guess I was braced for it.”

“The asshole might have called an ambulance when he saw she was having a heart attack,” Vivi said. “The bastard murdered her, even if the coroner did decide not to call it that. Natural causes, my ass. Since when is being scared to death a natural cause?”