She was exhausted. Last night had been . ..

Draining. She really hadn’t the energy to deal with such a group at the moment.

Still ...

She really must have something. A little bite. She was so hungry.

Nari lifted the cowl of her own cape against the winter’s breeze, turned and moved into the crowd.

It was still light.

She simply wasn’t at her peak.

But the night would come.

“Molto, molto ...” Raphael gestured wildly, then grinned. “Sexy!” he said.

She had dressed in her costume upstairs in a fitting room; he had brought her downstairs to be presented to Anna Maria and Lynn.

Nearly encased in blood-red vinyl, Jordan laughed ruefully, catching Anna Maria’s eye. “I look like a hooker.”

“No, no, no!” Raphael protested. He shook his head, surveying her from head to toe. “No, no, add the sweep of a cape, voila, you look like a comic strip heroine! Now, the boots, the boots are the perfect addition.”

“Give her a whip and chain,” a deep voice said dryly, “and she can tame lions.” Startled, Jordan looked across the room. The tall blond man was in the shop, leaning laconically against the wall. She hadn’t noticed him at first because of the row of marionettes hanging from the ceiling and the multitude of capes and costumes hung at various places around the shop. Now he stepped forward, studying her with the same thorough assessment as Raphael, yet somehow, his studious appraisal seemed different? hostile.

“Ragnor, it is terrific!” Anna Maria said.

“Terrific, yes,” he agreed. The way he looked at her, she felt almost naked. “But I rather had the impression that Miss Riley didn’t want to appear ... obvious this evening.” A slight smile curved his lips.

“In this outfit, she will only be missed by the completely blind.” Jordan had indeed wanted to melt into the crowd. But this stranger’s unsolicited and negative remarks caused her to be completely contrary in return. She felt her hackles rising at the nape of her neck.

She looked at Raphael. “I think you’re right.” She stared at the tall stranger. “It’s definitely me. I’ll take it.”

“Molto bene!” Raphael said. He stared at Ragnor with a puzzled look.

Ragnor shrugged, idly running a hand over the black velvet cape hanging where he stood. “I merely hope that the police will be out in force. It is indeed sexy. Provocative, one might say.” His fingers slid lightly along the velvet and then fell from it. “I trust that you will have a good evening, Miss Riley.” He inclined his head toward her, kissed Anna Maria on the cheek, and left the shop.

“Strange!” Raphael said as the door closed.

“Maybe it is too .. .”Jordan murmured.

“It is too perfect!” Lynn announced. “This is Carnevale, Jordan, and you do not look too ... anything.

Except for terrific.”

Jordan glanced at her watch, feeling guilty about Cindy. “I think I’d best get back to the hotel. But I will wear it.”

“Nothing to fear,” Anna Maria said, “we’ll all be there, and we’ll protect you from wayward wolves.” The comment was said jokingly, but it gave Jordan a sense of unease. She shook it off. “Good, as long as I can be in the midst of you all, I’ll be just fine. I’ll just run and change.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Raphael offered. “The Square will be crazy now, so crowded.”

“I’ll be all right?”

“I don’t mind, and I have a costume to deliver to the Danieli.”

“Thank you then.”

In the dressing room, she wondered if she shouldn’t have taken the tall blond man’s advice.

“Hooker,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “But a high-priced one, at that.” She changed into her street clothing. Downstairs, she found Raphael carrying a garment bag bigger than he was. “Andiamo!” he told her cheerfully.

“Have no fear; we’ll find you right away!” Lynn called as she left the shop.

“Stay close behind me; we’ll bulldog our way through!” Raphael said.

She smiled, following close behind. He did know how to move. “Scusi, scusi, scusi!” he said, creating a pathway through those still in streetwear, as well as the multitude of historical personages, monsters, creatures, suns, moons, and more. Following him, she again found herself amazed by the elaborate and intricate beauty of so many of the costumes, amused and awed by all that she saw, and once more in love with the city of Venice.

They passed the basilica, and crossed the bridge from the Doge’s Palace to the Danieli, where they parted in the busy lobby. Raphael kissed her on the cheek. “You will outshine them all tonight,” he promised.

“Grazie, ciao,” she told him, and she wondered if Jared was back at the hotel.

He gave her a thumbs up sign. “Good accent,” he said soberly, then grinned. “You will truly be splendid.

My work of art.”

“I’ll try to make you proud,” she teased and started up the stairs.

Ragnor arrived at the palazzo in a hired launch, telling the boatman to wait, even if he were inside for an hour.

He stepped carefully from the launch to the contessa’s dock, listening as the seawater lapped against the piling. Long, determined strides brought him quickly to the contessa’s door. When his knock wasn’t immediately answered, he thrust the door open, heedless of the groaning hinges and the snap as lock and bolt gave. As he had expected, the contessa’s servants, a tall, skinny man of about sixty in black livery and a sour-looking woman of the same age with iron gray hair, were standing just inside. They had been more than aware of his arrival, but why they had ignored his knock he didn’t know. They must have expected him to enter, whether or not they opened the door.

“Where is she?” Ragnor demanded.

“She is not at home,” the man said, looking at the door with disapproval. “And you have recklessly broken into this palazzo, destroying the contessa’s private property?”

“Call the police,” Ragnor suggested. Ignoring the pair, he started across the marble floor of the entry to reach the landing. Halfway up the stairs, he swung around. The servant had foolishly seized a sword from the arms display on the wall of the foyer and was attempting to lift the heavy metal in a wild swing. The fool. He’d have never reached Ragnor’s neck, being nearly a foot shorter, down a number of steps, and absurdly out of his league.

He avoided the first hapless swing, ducking low and sweeping back up to catch the weapon at the hilt.

He tossed it to the floor below, where the clatter against marble seemed to echo with a shattering recall.

He pushed the fellow against the banister and continued up the stairs. Reaching the entrance to the contessa’s bedchamber, he thrust it open.

Apparently, however, the servants had not lied. The contessa was not in. Ragnor strode into the room, throwing open the wardrobe. He stepped into the dressing room and bath, but there was no sign of his quarry.

In disgust, he turned, left her bedchamber, and strode down the hallway to the second-floor ballroom.

His eyes swept the scene where her “merrymaking” had taken place the night before. They had scoured the scrubbed, gleaming marble flooring and columns, the grandly carved great hearth, and the stained glass doors to the terrace, now closed. He walked on into the room, eyes still sharp, senses keen. He knelt down to touch the floor. The heavy scents of bleach and disinfectant filled his nostrils.

He rose and turned in a sudden fluid motion. The disarmed servant had gone for backup. The two men now glaring at him from the ballroom entry were near his own height. Bulky as freighters.

And well armed. Where had she found these two?

He swept out a hand. “Gentlemen, come and get me.” He glanced at his watch. “And do it quickly, please.”

If the contessa wasn’t here, where was she?

CHAPTER 4

Unlike the invitation-only party the contessa had thrown, the artist’s ball was open to everyone, and it seemed that half the population of Venice had decided to attend. Just walking through the streets, Jordan felt the charged atmosphere of laughter and expectation. Groups of friends rambled through the streets, laughter was continuous, and those beings more reserved due to the character of their costumes and masks greeted one another with silent, polite bows and gestures.

Jordan had linked arms with Cindy on the way to the ball, ignoring Jared who continued to be obstinate.

He had tried to dissuade her from coming. “Jordan, I don’t think this is a good idea. After last night?”

“I’m not going to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“Jordan, you overreact?”

“Are you worried about me, Jared, or your own appearance?” Despite the dottore mask he was wearing again, she knew he was scowling. “Does it matter? If you’re going to go running out screaming about blood and monsters and cults?”

“Jared, guess what? I won’t even be with you at the ball.” That seemed to disturb him. Poor Cindy was torn, at a loss with Jared’s harsh manner, trying to be loyal to him and concerned about Jordan at the same time.

Jordan was sorry about what her argument with Jared was doing to Cindy.

She also wished Jared would jump in a canal.

“You’re going to go walking around by yourself? In that costume? You think you were scared last night; you’ll have every stray dog in Venice at your heels?”

“Thank you, Jared.”

“Jared, stop it, she looks terrific, and it’s a costume party?”

“She might as well have just painted her skin?”

“She can wear it! She looks beautiful, be proud of her!” Cindy insisted.

“Cindy?”

“Jared, we’re already on our way,” Cindy said.

“Yes, and you know what, Jared?” Jordan said, not wanting Cindy to have to fight her battle. “I think I’ll move on ahead, and then you won’t have to worry about me doing anything gauche or ridiculous?such as claiming that people are being murdered?in front of your friends.” That said, she hurried on ahead, and was surprised when he came running up behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Jordan! I’m sorry. Don’t go running off alone.” She hesitated. She couldn’t see his face, only his eyes. He looked like the old Jared.