Last to Die

do.”
    The boy took a shaky breath. “Can I—can I hold the dog? I want the dog to stay with me.”
    “Sure, kid,” Julian said. Kneeling down, he handed Teddy the leash. “You hold on to him and he’ll protect you. Bear’s not afraid of anything.”
    That seemed to give Teddy the dose of courage he needed. He rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching the dog’s leash as if it were a lifeline, and moved across the kitchen to a door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the latch. The door swung open.
    “That’s the old wine cellar,” said Sansone.
    “It’s down there,” Teddy whispered, staring into the gloom. “I don’t want to go.”
    “It’s okay, Teddy. You can wait right here,” said Sansone. He glanced at Maura, then led the way down the stairs.
    With every step they descended, the air felt thicker, danker. Bare lightbulbs hung overhead, casting a yellowish glow on rows and rows of empty wine racks that once must have held thousands of bottles, no doubt only the best French vintages for a railroad tycoon and his guests. The wine had long since been consumed, and the racks stood abandoned, a silent memorial to a golden age of extravagance.
    They came to a heavy door, its hinges bolted solidly into stone. An old storeroom. Maura glanced at Julian. “Why don’t you go up to the kitchen and wait with Teddy?”
    “Bear’s with him. He’ll be fine.”
    “I don’t want you to see this. Please.”
    But Julian remained stubbornly by her side as Sansone lifted the latch . In the kitchen above, Bear began to howl, a high, desperate sound that sent dread screaming up her spine as Sansone swung open the door. That’s when Maura caught the scent from inside that dark room. The smell of sweat. The reek of terror. What she feared most lay before her in the gloom. Four bodies, propped up against the wall.
    The children. Dear God, it’s the children
.
    Sansone found the light switch and flipped it on.
    One of the bodies lifted its head. Claire stared at them wide-eyed and gave a frantic whimper, muffled by duct tape. The others stirred, Will and the cook and Dr. Pasquantonio, all of them bound with duct tape and struggling to speak.
    They’re alive. They’re all alive!
    Maura dropped down beside the girl. “Julian, do you have your knife?”
    The dog’s howls were wilder, more frantic, as if pleading with them to
hurry, hurry!
    With an efficient click, Julian swung open his pocketknife and knelt down. “Sit still, Claire, or I can’t cut you free,” he ordered, but the girl was squirming, her eyes wide with panic as if fighting to breathe. Maura peeled the tape off her mouth.
    “It’s a trap!” Claire screamed. “He hasn’t left! He’s right …” Her voice died, her gaze fixed on something—someone—standing behind Maura.
    Blood roaring in her ears, Maura turned and saw a man towering in the doorway. Saw broad shoulders and glittering eyes in a face smeared black with paint, but it was the gun in his hand she focused on. The silencer. When he fired, there would be no deafening blast; death would come with a muted thud, heard only in this stone room buried deep within the mountain.
    “Drop your weapon, Mr. Sansone,” he ordered. “Do it
now
.”
    He knows our names
.
    Sansone had no choice; he eased the gun out of his waistband and let it thud to the floor.
    Julian, already kneeling beside Maura, reached out and grabbed her hand. Only sixteen, so very young, she thought, as they held hands, squeezing hard.
    Bear howled again, a cry of rage. Of frustration.
    Julian suddenly looked up, and she saw his bewildered expression. Realized, just as he did, that this did not make sense.
If Bear’s still alive, why isn’t he defending us?
    “Kick it toward me,” the man said.
    Sansone nudged the gun with his shoe, and it slid across the floor. Stopped just short of the doorway where the man stood.
    “Now down on your knees.”
    So this is how it ends for us, thought Maura. All of us on our knees. A bullet to each head.
    “
Do it!
”
    Sansone’s head dipped in surrender as he dropped toward the floor. But it was only the windup to one last, desperate move. Like a sprinter exploding from the starting block, Sansone leaped straight at the gunman.
    They both tumbled through the doorway, grappling desperately in the gloom of the wine cellar.
    Sansone’s gun was still lying on the floor.
    Maura scrambled to her feet, but before she could scoop up the weapon, another hand closed around the grip.