Today's Reading
"We must go, mistress," her stable hand whispered, shivering.
She turned, looked behind her. The ship was on fire, flames shooting into the sky. "You must flee as well, before they find you."
He straightened his narrow shoulders, jaw set. "I stay with you."
"No! If you want to help me, run! As fast and as far as you can." She gave him a shove in the same direction as the girls.
The sounds of pursuit grew louder, the night growing brighter from the raging fire. He glanced past her shoulder, finally gave a reluctant nod, and disappeared into the cover of the trees.
She took off in the opposite direction, toward town, the only way she knew to save them.
They caught her as she tried to slip into the shadows of the cathedral on the square.
Arms grabbed her roughly from behind, spun her around, and shoved her against the stone walls of the church. "Where are the girls?" The voice was a deep, menacing growl. His grip tightened until she feared her bones would break. "Where are they?" he shouted.
She raised her chin and held her silence. First fists, then clubs beat her until she collapsed on the hallowed ground, looking up at the inky blackness above. As her vision dimmed and her lifeblood slipped away, she glanced over at the emblem burned into her palm, and the whisper of a smile spread on her lips. The girls would be safe.
Speranza.
CHAPTER ONE
MUNICH, GERMANY— PRESENT DAY
Sophie Williams paced the darkened living room of her third-floor Munich apartment, listening to an icy December rain pounding on the slate roof, the swish of water as the occasional car drove by, the irregular beat of her heart. In the hour before dawn, the last of the tourists had finally staggered off to nearby hotels. Most locals hadn't started the new day yet.
But not everyone slept.
With the tip of one finger, she parted the aged curtains again, slowly, just far enough to study the quiet street below.
She waited. Watched.
There.
The glowing tip of a cigarette flickered in the doorway of the apartment building across the street, two doors down.
She'd spotted him earlier, farther down the block. Dismissed him as someone stepping outside for a late-night smoke.
She'd been wrong.
The realization that she'd been followed jolted her, like the unexpected blaring of a security alarm whose trigger she'd missed.
He was getting closer. Braver.
She calculated how much time she had. Would he act before she had a chance to herself? Not if she could help it. She stepped back, sifting through possibilities.
Whatever his agenda, she knew her next play. She had to protect the painting. For Lise's sake.
She hurried to her studio.
The portrait lay face up on the desk, exactly as she'd left it.
A sound from the street had her heart beating triple time, but no bullet shattered the antique glass window. No one forced their way in at gunpoint.
Yet.
She grabbed the roll of brown paper and expertly wrapped the painting with the speed of long practice, the swish of paper the only noise.
Within ten minutes, she'd stepped into the Boho artist persona she used when she came and went from her apartment. Shoulder-length curly red wig, ripped jeans and a flowing blouse, cowboy boots, and a battered beret.
Ensure people only see what you want them to see was one of her mantras.
...
