“There are eight or nine Roger Wilde books, so you must have solved the problem.”

“I didn’t,” Roland said. “Will was the one. We were drinking in a pub in London and I was crying in my cups, telling him my problem. He wasn’t sympathetic. He said he’d been in a military unit dubbed ‘Thatcher’s Butchers’ by other commandos and that he’d faced a lot worse than-as he described Roger-‘that silly ponce.’ Then he proceeded to tell me some things… If my hair hadn’t already begun to go gray it would have started on the spot that night. We went back to my flat in Cadogan Gardens and I showed him my troublesome pages. He suggested a few changes to the situation, and then he showed me how Roger could rescue himself. It turned out to be a great scene. Many of the reviewers mentioned it favorably, even the ones who look down on the espionage genre.”

“That was a lucky meeting,” I said. “Will has the most interesting business card-he gave it to me the night you were in St. Clare’s Hospital. ‘NID question mark, space, and then WCD.’ I figured out the WCD pretty quickly: ‘Will Can Do.’ But what does the NID question mark stand for?”

“That’s one of his old cards. Those first three letters stand for ‘Need It Done?’ and then you were right, the rest is: ‘Will Can Do.’ ”

“What does it mean?” I made my tone light to sound innocently curious. “Is he a kind of handyman?”

“Not in the usual sense of the phrase, as you might understand it,” Roland said. “Will likes complex challenges. But he can also fix anything mechanical. I haven’t needed to hire a plumber or an electrician in ten years.”

Roland finished his first cup of tea and asked for another.

Since he was already talking about Will, as I poured, I took a chance and probed deeper. “I met Yvette Dupree the night of the gala. She’s delightful. Have she and Will known each other a long time?”

“Oh, at least a decade or so, but Will likes to stay out of her limelight. He never goes around with her to social engagements, but they’re quite devoted to each other. I call them-jokingly, of course-Beauty and the Beast.”

At that moment, I heard a slight squeak, and felt a whoosh of air from the swinging door opening behind me.

“You bloody dim-witted sod!” Will Parker said. “Why don’t you tell ’er the lot? I warned you this bird knew too much already.”

Turning, I saw that he’d leveled the barrel of a pistol at my head. Screwed onto the end was a sound suppressor.

Terror held me frozen for a moment, but then the powerful instinct for self-preservation took over. I dropped my teacup, letting it break on the top of the table, grabbed the full bowl of pudding beside me, and heaved it at Parker’s head.

His reflexes were too good. He ducked, but my white Wedgwood missile struck him on the shoulder and split with a crack. Great globs of chocolate fudge pudding splashed all over the front of his shirt.

Enraged, Parker screamed, “Bloody ’ell!”

I jumped out of the chair, but he caught my arm, spun me around, and hit me a sharp, terrible blow on the side of the head. I went down…

When I woke up, I sensed that it was dark, but I kept my eyes closed and lay still. I heard Roland Gray and Will Parker talking and hoped they’d think I was still unconscious. Moving my limbs just fractions of an inch at a time I realized that I was bound at the ankles and that my wrists were tied behind my back with some soft material.

I was lying on my side, one cheek and my nose pressed down against the carpet. There were particles of dust caught in the fibers. I had an urge to sneeze, but forced myself to hold it in while I listened and tried to learn what my fate was going to be.

“Compare me to a bloomin’ plumber! Weren’t fer me, you’d be teachin’ in some low-class boarding school, licking the ’ead master’s arse.”

“Will, don’t say things like that. We’re a team.”

Parker’s voice was bitter. “Some bloody team. You get all the credit,” Parker said.

Roland sounded close to tears. “We split all the money. I told you it has to be this way because the publisher pays more with just my name on a book.”

“You wouldn’t get a freakin’ Euro without me. An’ we wouldn’t be in this fix if you ’adn’t started everything by messin’ with that girl’s speech. Bloody stupid prank you pulled. Nobody with the brains in a donkey’s arse deliberately makes an enemy-especially not one that rich.”

“Eugene Long humiliated me. I had to get back at him. He said my books were dreadful, and he said it in print where people could read it!”

“So the bloody ’ell what? They sell in the millions! And they’re our books, not yours. Don’t you forget that.”

“Look, Will, why don’t we talk about this when we get to Rio?”

“We got something to do first-an’ this time you be the one to do it.”

“What are you talking about?” I heard sudden panic in Roland’s voice.

“ ’Er,” Parker said. He kicked me in the stomach. It hurt, but I willed myself to stay nonreactive. “I’ve been doing every bloody thing! I tried to scare ’er off the scent by letting myself be seen watching ’er at the library. Then when I figured she’d gone to see old man Long, I slashed ’er tires. I took care of Ingram for you before he could expose you as a fraud and spill the beans about me doin’ most of the work on the books.”

“Now wait. You killed him for Yvette, too. He was blackmailing her-”

“Leave ’er out of this. Not a word out of yer ’ole about ’er or I swear to God I’ll shoot you for real, not like that trick we pulled at the coffee’ouse.”

I heard Roland gasp. Or maybe it was a choked-back sob. When he spoke again it was in a defeated tone.

“The plane for Rio leaves at nine o’clock. If we’re going to get there in time to go through all the security… What do you want me to do?”

I felt rough, strong hands pulling at the cloth around my wrists.

“Untie ’er ankles,” Parker said.

I heard Roland kneel down-his knees actually creaked. He began to fumble with the binding around my ankles, pulled the fabric off, and stood again.

My hands and feet were free now, but I lay limp and kept my eyes closed.

There was a tremor in Roland’s voice. “She’s so still. Maybe you killed her.”

“She’s got a pulse. Maybe she’s faking. We’ll see.”

I braced for another blow-

“No!” Roland cried. “Don’t do that. Here, this will tell us.”

I felt liquid splash against my face, but I didn’t flinch. A drop went between my lips. It was tea.

“ ’Elp me get ’er on ’er feet,” Parker said.

The two men, each grabbing an arm, pulled me upright. I let my head fall forward toward my chest and remained a dead weight.

“This way,” Parker said.

I felt myself being dragged… dragged toward fresh air. Out onto the balcony.

Oh, God! They’re going to throw me over!

I felt the men prop me up against the waist-high iron railing.

Suddenly Roland began to sob. He dropped my arm. I heard him shuffle backward. “I can’t!”

Cursing, Parker leaned forward, his head against my chest. One of his hands held my arm and the other reached down behind me toward the back of my knee-

Now!

I let out a blood-curdling scream, twisted around, scratching at his eyes as I thrust my knee as hard as I could toward his groin. I only caught him on the thigh, but I was close enough to the sensitive area that he let out a yelp.

Cursing again, he threw his arms around my torso in a grip so hard I cried out in pain. He was squeezing the life out of me!

Desperate, I threw my body side to side, forward and back, twisting. Putting most of my weight behind it, I stomped on his foot with the high heel of my shoe. He grunted and slapped me. But to slap, he had to loosen his grip.