Hemlock Bay

a bitch, but he didn’t feel much of anything. His hands were numb.
    He dove just as he saw Alpo raise a gun and fire. The frigid water splashed up in Simon’s face, close. Too close. He dove at least ten feet down and swam with all his strength toward the side of the canal.
    When he came up, his lungs on fire, the boat was nearly on him. The second boat was behind him and now all the men were in it, searching the black water for a sign of him.
    Ian shouted, “There he is! Get him!”
    Gunshots split the water around him.
    Then he heard the sirens, at least three of them.
    He went under again, deeper this time, and changed direction to swim toward the sound of those sirens. It was so cold his teeth hurt.
    When he couldn’t hold his breath for another second, simply couldn’t bear the water any longer, he came up as slowly as he could, his head quietly breaking the surface.
    He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A half dozen police cars screeched to a stop on the edge of the canal, not ten feet from him. Guns were drawn, men were shouting in Swedish, flashing lights on Ian and his crew.
    A man reached out his hand and pulled Simon out of the canal. “Mr. Russo, I believe?”

27
    Lily walked beside Olaf’s wheel- chair back to the main entrance hall with its huge black-and-white marble chessboard, its three-foot-tall pieces lining opposite sides of the board, in correct position, ready to be moved.
    He motioned for a manservant to leave his chair right in the middle of the chessboard, squarely on the white king five square. He looked at Lily, who stood beside the white king, then glanced down at the watch on his veined wrist and said, “You didn’t eat much dinner, Lily.”
    “No,” she said.
    “He’s dead by now. Accept it.”
    Lily looked down at the white queen. She wondered how heavy the chess piece was. Could she heft it up and hurl it at that evil old man? She looked toward the silent manservant, dressed all in white like a hospital orderly, and said, “Why don’t you get an electric wheelchair? It’s ridiculous for him to push you everywhere.”
    Olaf said again, his voice sharper now, not quite so gentle, “He’s dead, Lily.”
    She looked at him now and said, “No, I don’t believe he is, but you soon will be, won’t you?”
    “When you speak like that, I know you aren’t at all like your grandmother, despite your look of her. Don’t be disrespectful and mean-spirited, Lily. I don’t like it. I’m quite willing to present you the Frasiers’ heads on platters. What more can I offer you?”
    “You can let Simon and me leave with my grandmother’s paintings.”
    “Don’t be a child. Listen to me, for this is important. In a wife I require obedience. Ian, I’m sure, will help me teach you manners, teach you to curb your tongue.”
    “It’s a new millennium, Olaf, and you’re a very old man. Even if you died within the week, I would refuse to remain here.”
    He banged his fist on the wheelchair hard, making it lurch. “Dammit, you will do what you’re told. Do you need to see your lover’s body before you will let go of him? Before you accept that he really is dead?”
    “He’s not my lover. He just wants to be my consultant.”
    “Not your lover? I don’t believe you. You spoke of him as if he were some sort of hero, able to overcome any obstacle. That is nonsense.”
    “Not in Simon’s case.” She wished that she really did believe him capable of just about anything, even if it was nonsense. But she was hoping frantically that Simon wasn’t dead. He’d promised her, and he wouldn’t break his word. When they’d taken him but two hours before, he’d lightly cupped her face in his hands and whispered, “I will be all right. Count on it, Lily.”
    And she’d licked her dry lips, felt fear for him moving deep and hard inside her, and whispered back, “I’ve been thinking about those new criteria, Simon. I admit I sure do need help when it comes to men.”
    He patted her cheek. “You got it.”
    She’d watched the three men take him out of that beautiful grand mansion, watched the door close behind them, heard the smooth wheels of Olaf Jorgenson’s chair across the huge chessboard foyer.
    Olaf brought her back, saying, “You will forget him. I will see to it.”
    She glanced at the two bodyguards, standing utterly silent. They’d both come with them from the dining room.
    “Do you know I have an incredible brother? His name is Dillon Savich. He