"You just couldn't fucking help yourself, could you?" Desirae grabbed the corners of the dresser and started to slide it in front of the adjoining door. "You just had to make it worse."

The recoil of the gun still buzzed through my shoulder. My ears still rung from the shot. The shock continued to linger, leaving me frozen in place.

I actually shot her.

Wood cracked and splintered as Chaya slammed into the door again.

"Help me," Desirae grunted.

But before either Artemisia or I could move, there was a dull metal thud against the floor.

And then another.

This one a softer, fleshier thud.

Red began to seep under the door into our room.

"Chaya?" My voice cracked a little as my fingers tightened around Georgiy's phone.

No muffled cry came from behind the door. Not even an agonized groan.

My hand went to reach for the brass knob, but Desirae smacked it down. "No. Absolutely not. We need to leave, Kirby."

Hangers clanged to the floor. Behind me, Artemisia had already begun to ransack the wardrobe.

My eyes kept going to the blood creeping into our room. "I wasn't trying to kill her," I insisted. "I—" The pair of leather leggings I had stolen from the villa in Sicily hit me in the face. All clean now. No blood. "I just didn't want her to kill Lucia."

Artemisia tossed a mocha blouse my way. "And why not?"

"Why not? Because I—we might need her. You're the one who told us to wait. You didn't want her to as much as I didn't. We just had different reasons."

Artemisia's jaw popped. She was grinding her teeth. "I just wanted to watch. To see it for myself."

Liar.

I kicked off Lucia's heels and slid the pants and top over the leather harness. There was no time to figure out how to unfasten the straps at this point. I could at least tuck the phone into it. Artemisia and Desirae had already claimed the only two pairs of somewhat sensible shoes. Looks like I was back in Lucia's stilettos.

My feet moved towards the hallway door, but my mind was still back in Lucia's room. "I feel like I should check on her."

Artemisia's brows furrowed. "Why do you care?"

"Because she fucked her." Desirae grabbed the last unopened bottle of champagne and the metal ice bucket next to it. "Let's go."

Artemisia's blue eyes iced me over. "You fucked her?"

"Not Lucia," I clarified. But I could tell she didn't believe me. "Artie, I—"

Desirae opened the door and pushed me out into the dim hallway. Artemisia locked it behind us. My mind felt blurry again, like it couldn't keep up with my body. As I went to turn the corner to the stairs, the barrel of a gun pointed in my face for the second time in less than ten minutes.

But this one looked bigger.

Shutting my eyes, I tried to retreat, but Desirae wrapped one arm around me, the other rested on my shoulder with her own gun drawn.

Aiming at Soraya.

"Who are you with?" Desirae asked. Her steady, careful breaths warmed my neck while my heart raced three beats for every one of hers.

"I heard the gunshot," Soraya calmly stated with just a hint of an accent. Clearly, that had been an act.

Desirae's arm tightened around my waist. "Who are you with?"

"MI-6," Artemisia murmured.

"Mmm... Close. But I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." Soraya's dark eyes flashed towards me over the sight of the gun. "Kirby, you good, habibti?"

"Never better," I gulped. "Exactly where I wanted to be at three in the morning. At the center of three beautiful women, with guns on both sides of my head like they're Shaun Leane body ornaments for an Alexander McQueen show."

"Chanel did pistols in 1980," Artemisia informed us. "But they were gold clip-on earrings. Much smaller."

I took my eyes off the gun just to turn around and glare at her.

Soraya smiled. "Whose body am I going to find on the floor in there?"

Desirae lowered her gun. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." Her hand left my waist as she pushed past.

Artemisia followed, but stopped to give Soraya a double kiss goodbye. There was a brief exchange of Arabic between them. I thought I heard Artemisia mention Sousse, but their syllables had been so quick. She could have said anything.

"It was uh, nice to meet you. Or whatever." I went in for an awkward handshake past the gun, but she pulled me in to kiss my cheeks. The gun pressed into my stomach. I inhaled sharply to put an inch of space between my skin and its cold metal nose.

"I am sure our paths will cross again, Kirby."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

Soraya slowly circled around me, gun still at the ready as she backed up down the hall towards Lucia's door. "I'll let you decide."

Before opening the door, she slipped the gun into the pocket of her white robe and tightened the belt around her waist.

I really wanted to follow her inside. At least to peek. I wanted to see them both for myself, with my own eyes. They were like that Schrodinger's cat theory. Both dead and alive at the same time until you look in the box. Or the room in this instance. Lucia hadn't called out for me. I hadn't heard her say anything after I shot Chaya. No begging me to untie her. To come back for her. Not that I wanted her to.

Artemisia grabbed my wrist. "Were you flirting with her? She is a spy."

My eyes rolled as I turned back around. "So is Desirae."

"That is different."

"What did she say to you?"

Artemisia pulled me down the staircase. "She said my accent was sexy and asked where my mother was from."

My heels clicked in a hurry against the tiled floor. We passed the dining room. The kitchen. Then the study. I stopped hard in its doorway. Lights illuminated the garden through the large windows, while inside, only silhouettes of furniture could be seen.

But I knew Charlene's body was in there somewhere.

I could almost imagine it beneath the easel.

Maybe I wasn't imagining.

Artemisia tugged me out of my head and onward down the hall to the back door that led out to the pool. Inside the hot tub, a group of women were still fucking, completely oblivious it seemed to the carnage inside. As we snuck past, I recognized a blonde head of wavy curls from behind.

At least Lisette was still having a good time.

And alive.

Past the bathhouse, another longer building ran parallel with it. Artemisia punched in a code on a door and pulled me inside. Overhead fluorescent lights automatically illuminated a row of old cars when we entered.

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head. Everything was still moving so fast. "What's the plan, Artie? Where's Desirae?"

She went over to the wall where the keys hung on hooks and grabbed a ring. "She will meet us out front."

The garage door opened in front of a white Alfa Romeo Sprint Coupe from the late 70's. It reminded me of the old muscle car one of my mother's boyfriends had growing up. Artemisia opened the driver's side door and slid the black leather seat back for me. I crawled into the middle of the back and buckled up like I was back in my childhood.

As Artemisia was about to take the driver's seat, footsteps padded on the tiled walk outside the garage. We both held our breaths. Relief flooded her face when she saw it was Desirae. She hurried over to the car and shoved the ice bucket of champagne into the back with me.

"I don't think we need anything more to drink tonight," I mumbled.

Artemisia gave her the keys and then slipped into the passenger's seat. They both looked at each other like they were waiting for the other to say something. But something definitely wasn't being said.

Guilt began gnawing at me, for dragging them into my mess again.

The keys barely jingled when Desirae put them into the ignition. The engine turned over with a loud purr, but she didn't let us idle long enough for anyone to find us. We coasted out of the garage and down the pebbled drive. Looking over my shoulder, I watched through the rear window as the old Baroque mansion grew smaller.

Stacked stone fences blurred under the bright moonlight as we picked up speed on the main road leading out of the countryside. Tall grasses and cactuses lined either side of the road, shining silver in the night. We would be at the port in less than twenty minutes.

The gentle hills led us past a winery with acres of vineyards and olive groves. The rows of grapes reminded me of the little town outside of Bay City where my mom and I had lived in a safehouse for a summer. It was maybe the most normal summer I ever had. I couldn't wait to try the grapes fresh off the vine in our backyard, but my mom got back together with her boyfriend right before harvest season. Even now, I could still smell the sweet grapes from that summer in my head.

The car began to slow. Gravel rumbled beneath the tires as Desirae pulled off to the shoulder of the road.

"Chi c'è?" Artemisia looked out the window, at the dash, then to Desirae.

"I want you two to keep going—"

I leaned forward between the seats. "What?"

"Ma chi minchia fai?" Artemisia grabbed her arm. "No. That is not the plan."

Desirae cupped her hand and turned towards us. "I'm going to walk to the American Embassy and try to get ahead of all this. It's just up ahead through those fields."

My stomach dropped. "Are you turning me in?"

"No is the easy answer," she assured me. "But it's far more complicated than just that."

"Then I'm going with you and turning myself in."

"Don't be stupid, Kirby."

"You are being stupid," Artemisia shot back at Desirae. "We stay to the plan. We stay together."

I sunk back into the seat and shook my head. "No, you both go to the port. Take the sailboat and go back to Sicily. I can't keep dragging you deeper into my messes. I should have done this from the start."

Desirae's eyes found mine in the rear view mirror. "And you'll be a sitting duck in prison once Dmitry Mikhailov finds out you killed his wife. If you even make it alive that far."

"We do not even know if she did," Artemisia said carefully.

"Oh no, I'm pretty sure I fucking did," I mumbled.

"Maybe it was me." Artemisia unbuckled her seat belt and angled herself to look at us both. "You do not know. I had more motive than anyone. Besides, I dragged her into the freezer. My hands are just as red as hers. I will confess too if either of you leave me."

Desirae pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"The freezer...?" I realized Artemisia meant Charlene's body. "Is that what you were doing when you went to make me coffee?" My hand went to my shoulder. "You knew it wasn't my stitches ripped open."

Chaya had been right, Artemisia was covering for me.

"We just need more time," Desirae murmured.

And Desirae was covering for us both.

She looked back up at me through the mirror. Her dark brown eyes were glassy like she was holding back tears. Her fingers went to her chest where the ghost of her wedding band continued to haunt her. "He said this was going to happen, didn't he?" Her voice caught as she laughed softly, wiping at her eyes. "I feel like by proving him right, I'm letting him down."

I reached forward and squeezed her leg.

Artemisia's fingers threaded through mine over her thigh. "He is still proud of you, Desi, I promise. Maybe not how you think, but you will see. And I promised to show you the piece I have of him and I keep my promises. We just have to stay together. All of us."

Desirae breathed in deep and placed her hand over ours.

The headlights beamed back on, spreading out over the skinny pines and cactuses draping over the stone walls. Desirae put the car into drive again and pulled back out onto the dark road.

More cars began to pass us as we neared the port, despite the early hour. We would have to be careful getting in and out of the harbor without anyone noticing us. Desirae parked as close as she could to the private yacht marina where we had docked.

"That's the security office," Artemisia whispered as she let me out of the back seat.

Desirae nodded, scooping up the champagne bucket and tucking it under her arm. I guess if anyone asked us what we were doing, she'd make up some celebratory reason we were out at four in the morning.

We walked past the clubhouse restaurant and turned down the travertine walkway, but Desirae stopped us before we left the building's shadow. Two uniformed policemen guarded the berth where we had docked the sailboat.

Interpol had tracked us down.

"Let's go back to the car," Desirae suggested. "Before anyone notices us."

"We can't walk past the security office twice." Artemisia studied the officers at the slip. "They might not know I am with you, no? I can distract them while you two board."

"We'll never be able to sneak out from underneath them," I said, scanning the other berths. "And we're not splitting up." A baby yacht a few docks away looked familiar, but I couldn't be certain. I wandered back around the other side of the clubhouse for a better view of her name.

La Sirène.

"Kirby," Desirae called for me under her breath. "Where are you going?"

"Come on." I stepped as quietly as I could along the travertine in Lucia's stilettos. Desirae and Artemisia hesitantly followed. Every five feet, a lamp post lit the walk to the wooden gangway. "That's Lisette's yacht at the first berth."

"And once we're onboard, we'll be trapped. So unless you have the keys to the engines, that does us no good."

I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure the officers hadn't spotted us. 

"It's keyless. And I know her PIN."