Inga

Ivan passed the running Cadillac and reached the doorway of the staircase that led up into the house. He paused, taking a deep breath before glancing quickly around the corner. Another body was sprawled face down on the steps on the middle landing. There was no sign of anyone else. He turned back and waved to the driver before entering.

The bodyguard sprinted up the steps two at a time, slowing when he reached the body. Charlie Matuzzi had clearly died a horrible death. He was covered in blood, and his neck had been crushed, almost flattened against the marble step on which his head rested. The walls seemed to close in a little and Ivan reeled, a feeling of déjà vu rocking him.

When it had passed, he continued up the stairs until he reached the ground floor. On his haunches, he peeked through the ornate balustrades into the living area. It was clear but to the left, through the opening to the kitchen, he could see the legs of another body. A man. He thought of Isabella and felt a sinking feeling in his guts.

There was another burst of automatic gunfire and yelling from the floor above. It was followed by more. It was clear Molenski was the target, and for the first time in a long time, Ivan wasn’t there to protect him. Spurred into action, he rose to his feet and, keeping side on to present as small a target as possible, quickly headed for the kitchen.

Apart from the body, the kitchen was empty. The dead man was another of Molenski’s guards, one that Ivan didn’t know by name. He had a neat bullet wound between his staring eyes and his automatic weapon was missing. Ivan noted a discarded pistol resting on the floor a few feet from him. He looked around the kitchen, and through the large window over the sink saw another man slumped over the railing on the patio.

Jesus, how many attackers are there? And where is Isabella?

He heard a soft scrape from the other side of the large kitchen island and immediately ducked, scrambling to the end nearest him, freakishly silent for a man of his size.

Again on his haunches he shuffled to the corner and glanced into the area between the sink and the island. Nothing but the debris of a dropped bowl of flour. In the white mess, he saw scuff marks and a partial hand print, but no sign of footprints leaving the area. There was, however, a telltale dusting of flour on one of the cupboard handles.

Still, with gun in hand and his breathing fast, Ivan sidled along the island until he was in reach of the door. He grasped the handle and pulled it open only to be confronted by a hissing, wide-eyed Isabella. She sprang from the cramped space, lunging at him with a carving knife.

Falling onto his backside, Ivan was able to deflect the blow with his forearm and grip her wrist before she could strike at him again.

“Ivan! Sorr…”

He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook his head. He put a finger to his lips and slowly took his hand away.

“Did you see them? I need to know how many men?”

She giggled uneasily.

“No los hombres! La niña, la niña demonio…”

“What? Speak English,” he whispered harshly.

“Not men! It is the demon girl.”

“Inga?”

“Si, the pretty one. She has a gun.”

“She shot them? Nyet… that’s not possible, she’s a robot, she’s not allowed...”

Isabella spat on the floor.

“She did it. I saw her. Lucky I am quick like the rattlesnake and ducked before she saw me or I would be dead too. The Russian has cursed us by bringing that demonio into this house.”

“Stay here, don’t come out till I come back for you.”

This new information certainly complicated things. He had no doubt that Garcia had probably earned his broken neck, but even so, it should have been impossible for her to kill a human, let alone seven of them. He had no doubt about her goal. The trail of bodies led to the obvious conclusion.

Ivan stepped lightly over the mess of flour and rounded the island before running down the long hallway and heading for the staircase that led up to the bedroom level. At that point, he didn’t know who he was more concerned for, his boss or the pretty robot that he had somehow managed to fall for in the space of a few hours.