Sara's Italian Job Pt.1

"Tttthhhssss ssss lllll rrrrrnnnn fffflllltttt!" Vicky snarled at me through the cloth stuffed in her mouth, visible through layers of clear tape plastered over her lips.

      "Sssssttttt pppp bbbccchhh!" I snarled back through my identical gag at the freckled face held only centimetres from my own.

     "Wwww ddddsss tttssss hhhhpppnnn wwwttthhh yyynnn?"

     "Tttt hhhhpppnnsss ttttnnn yyynnnn tttnnn!"

      "Wwwwhhhnn yyyynnn sssstttlll mmmmm cccssss!"

     "Mmmmm dddnnntt ssstttlll nnntthhhnn!"

     God this was tortuous. I'd spied half a dozen support pillars, a couple of sturdy office chairs and even a hook attached to a dangling chain, any of which a snooping girl could have been tied to. But I just had to be lashed against my least favourite detective in the world, to the point that my vision was filled with her freckled nose, blue eyes and bright blonde hair.

    Vicky gave an angry tug on her bonds, making me tug in tandem with her. I groaned in discomfort, focused instead on finding a knot to pry loose in the rope connecting my wrists to my feet in a loose yet effective hogtie. A large amount of time spent wriggling around on my part suggested the chance of liberation was largely zero.

    And that wasn't even the half of it! Once Vicky had been identically bound and gagged our captors had taken great delight in positioning our bodies so we were pressed together front to front, lying on our sides. We could merely grunt as ropes were wound about our waists and above our knees, tightly locking our bodies against each other. Limited to wriggling our conjoined hips and torsos, with our faces almost touching, our captors had taunted us for falling into their clutches.

    Well, all apart from that Italian who'd helped submit us to this ordeal.

   Now left alone, I shook a strand of my brown hair out of my eyes as I responded to Vicky's increase in wriggling activity. Our hooded tops and nylon clad legs emitted rustling sounds as we rubbed them together during our flexes and twists. The ropes holding us fast creaked as we tried kicking loose our hogties. Ultimately we fell still, resting on already numbing shoulders and sides. We breathed in deep through our noses, gathering strength for another assault on our bonds. Yet as we relaxed we involuntarily let the tips of our noses touch. That got an instant reaction from us, jerking our heads away like they were attached to wires while emitting horrified squeals.

    Trying to take my mind off this intolerable situation I wondered what that Italians role in all this was. He obviously had experience in restraining a meddlesome snoop, but he'd done so with obvious reluctance. And what was a handsome Italian doing with a bunch of Scottish jewel thieves anyway?

    And how did that cow fit into this mess?

    Vicky roused me from my daydreams with a deliberate jiggle of her knees, causing a painful yank on my arms. "Wwwwkkkk pppp!" she scolded. "Wwwwttt dddd www ddddd nnnmmm?"

       "Kkkkpppp sssttrrgglllnnn!" I retorted, knowing we had precious other options. The light filtering in through the cracked window, with glass lying shattered underneath, was dimming as evening fell. The ground on which we lay was getting increasingly uncomfortable, and I was beginning to feel the chill through my totally unsuitable for snooping attire. We knew this time we were in serious trouble.

     Just then the door creaked open, the light from the outside corridor falling on our conjoined bodies. Only after our eyes had adjusted to the light did we see this Italian stood in the doorway. We pleaded at him, wriggling against our bonds and each other, wondering what he'd been sent to do.

     Though to our double amazement he knelt down and put his finger to his lips. "Calm down donna belles. I have formulated a plan that will allow you to escape. I ask only that you trust me!"

    Vicky and I stared blankly at him; then stared blankly at each other. Who the hell was this guy?



    Only a few hours ago life had been going swimmingly. At half past twelve I walked to the table in the college cafeteria around which my friends were sat, trying to contain my smile while clutching the folded paper in my hand. They all gazed at me expectantly when I took my seat, as Rachel asked me, "Well?"

    "Bad news," I answered in mock sombreness, before a grin exploded over my face. "You no longer have the joy of chauffeuring me about Carrington."

    "You passed?" Abigail squeaked.

   Slapping the test results on the table triumphantly I gloated, "And with only five minor faults!"

    "Welcome to the highly glamorous designated driver club," Harriet joked.

    Abigail picked up my result and examined it enviously. "Now I'm the only one who hasn't passed."

     "Well take some lessons then! You spend far too much money on clothes," I laughed, still flushed with success.

      "Speaking of clothes was it really a good idea to go on your driving test dressed like that?" Rachel asked with her eyebrow raised. She was referring to the grey zip up hoodie, jean miniskirt, black tights and bright blue flat pumps I was still wearing.

    "My idea for her to get the legs out," Harriet admitted cheekily. "I wore something similar for my test. The instructor was so busy checking out my sumptuous figure that he failed to notice when I stalled three times at a green light."

    Beside Harriet her girlfriend Eleanor remarked incredulously. "You actually wore a skirt? I'd like to have seen that."

   "Bet you would've" Harriet grinned, placing her arm around Eleanor. Harriet had come out to everyone as being bisexual, as had her blossoming relationship with Eleanor. We were worried she'd get trouble from our contemporaries for this revelation, but thankfully the pupils of Carrington Sixth Form College were fully supportive. Plus there's no way you'd ever be stupid to mess with Harriet over something so sensitive.  

     "Thanks for the advice, but my instructor was this red headed woman with a really posh accent," I told her.

    "Hey, could still have made an impact," Harriet winked at me, who'd become even more boisterous since she laid her soul bare to me after our encounter with the Gentleman Robbers.

    Before we could discuss the matter further we heard a loud cough originating from behind Rachel, before a voice we all recognised, though you won't, said, "Sounds like a congratulations is in order Sara."

    "Thanks very much Neil," I replied to the boy our age standing behind a suddenly alarmed looking Rachel.

    We'd only known Neil Smithson-Smithe since the beginning of Sixth Form, as he'd been educated in the posh private school on the outskirts of Carrington beforehand. He was a strange lad, not unpleasant or nasty by any means and harmless enough. He was an ardent Conservative who dreamed of becoming a Tory MP and considered his heroes to be David Cameron, Harold Macmillan and, above everyone else, Margaret Thatcher. He regularly clashed with the more Labour orientated views of Rachel during their politics classes, which only made his obvious crush on my best friend even more befuddling.

   I watched Rachel squirm in her seat as he leant in over her shoulder. "I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed our debate over welfare reform. It's always a pleasure locking horns with one so passionate and intelligent," he told Rachel with his incredibly posh voice, fiddling with the large spectacles on the bridge of his nose, his dark hair immaculately trimmed with a sweeping side parting.

    "Er likewise," Rachel replied politely, twiddling the ends of the pink scarf around her neck, dressed in a black and white striped top, peach coloured denim trousers and brown ankle boots.

    Undeterred Neil continued, "Though your opinion on Margaret Thatcher I find rather outdated. May I suggest you read her autobiography, it may change your view."

    "Stranger things have happened," Rachel humoured, looking like she wished the earth would swallow her whole. Neil was fast becoming another chapter in Rachel's illustrious history of terrible love interests. But fortunately from her perspective she was rescued by a knight in shining armour. Well, when I say that, I mean she was rescued by my twin brother Chris.

   "You sitting here Neil?" he asked obliviously, his tray brimming with food and snacks, politely barging the flustered Neil aside as he sat down beside Rachel, achieving a very grateful look from her.

    Neil hung about as Chris took a bite out of his Pepperoni Pizza slice, before deciding he was no longer needed and saying, "Well must dash. I'll get that autobiography for you Rachel."

   "Sounds great," Rachel murmured as he walked away, though her attention was still very much fixed on Chris.

    There was movement at my side as another boy with straggly blonde hair sat down. "So any evil combine harvesters of doom this time?" my boyfriend Matthew asked me with a wry smirk, referring to my disastrous first test.

    "You won't be laughing when I'm driving you to the Fox and Hound later," I retorted.

    "Well done babe," he told me as he presented me with a congratulatory kiss.

     Chris merely glared at me from across the table. "OK, we're going to have to lay down some ground rules if you're going to be using my car!"

     "Our car you mean," I reminded him.

      Chris pretended to ignore me. "Rule number one. No lipstick of makeup will be left inside it. Rule number two, Damien must be back home by one in the morning and not a second later…"

    "You've given your car a name!" Abigail exclaimed before she could stop herself.

    "I think it's cute!" Rachel remarked with an amused smirk.

    Chris blushed a little but continued his rant unabated. "And most important of all, rule number three. On no account are you to even consider using my car…"

   "Our car!"

   "…On one of your snooping expeditions!"

   I sighed. Despite our parents buying a second hand blue hatchback for us both my brother was fiercely possessive over it. Yet another thing we continually bickered over. I remember inanely telling my test instructor as much while passing conversation on the duel carriageway.

    "Relax Chris, it's all gone quiet on the insane criminal front. I won't be using it for any of my investigations anytime soon."

     Again Rachel's eyebrows arched to the ceiling. "You mean you aren't in the slightest bit interested in that spate of jewel robberies in the Herringford area?"

     "To be honest I'd rather take you all on a road trip this evening. Round seven good?"

    "Provided there are no combine harvester's on route," Matthew joked, at which I playfully slapped him over the head with my test results.

    And to my credit, I did indeed intend to take them on a road trip. But given I had the afternoon free from lectures there was one place I wanted to visit first.         



    As Rachel had mentioned, there had indeed been a spate of jewel robberies in the area, four in the past three weeks. Carrrington itself hadn't been hit, but neighbouring towns and properties had been. No-one had been harmed as of yet, only restrained in a number of imaginative ways. Police found all seven employees of a jewellery store bound to the same metal shelving unit. And a woman got the shock of her life when she discovered her husband and his secretary/mistress tied together in their plundered bedroom. The culprits were unknown, though we knew it was a woman who did most of the ebinding, due to how she lifted up her balaclava to plant a kiss on each victims, leaving a distinctive lipstick imprint.

     There was only one criminal I knew who left such a trademark, and I had a serious score to settle with her.

    Which was why at half three in the afternoon I pulled up Damien on a deserted road that ran alongside an old brickworks. I'd surmised the robbers must have had a hideout, and had devised a list of possible locations. This abandoned building was near the bottom of my list, because I'd needed transport, which until now I had not had.

    Yeah yeah, I'm a terrible person for flat out lying to my brother, but I was sick of our constant arguments over my detective activities. I felt more guilty about telling the rest of my gang where I was going, but I'd decided they didn't need to know. I only intended to spend a quick half hour trying to find some sign of the thieves. Besides, their stake in this wasn't personal.

    Switching off the engine, I looked over the seat to grab the bag containing a dark sweater, jogging bottoms and trainers. The bag I swiftly realised wasn't lying on my back seat. The bag I realised that I'd left in my locker at college.

     Cursing my now famous impatience I glanced down at myself, still wearing the denim skirt and tights I'd worn on my test. I was hardly scaling Everest, so I caught myself muttering, "Sod it," as I opened the door, and instantly regretted my haste as my blue pumps splashed into a freezing puddle.

    The brickworks had been abandoned for years, with an application to convert it into flats being processed. Currently the area was deserted, weeds poking through cracks in the loading yard, graffiti emblazoning the walls and the fence rusted through at the point I ducked underneath. I couldn't see anyone but still I stuck to the sides. I sidled up to fire exit and completely ignoring the keep out signs pushed my way inside.

    The building was in a bad state, paint peeling off walls also caked in graffiti with piles of dirt in the corners. I walked along dingy corridors using light pouring through the cracked windows to search the surroundings. Only the old newspapers and rusted beer cans gave any indication of the homeless and the drug users that often frequent here. But it seemed far from a bustling hive of criminal activity, and I began wondering if this was all a waste of my time.

   Then I heard footsteps echoing from further down the corridor, beyond where it took a sharp left turn. My heart leaping into my mouth I took a split second to check my surroundings. Spying the large red wheelie bin I leapt inside it, lowered the lid over me and crouched down.

    Surrounded by empty cans and the reek of months old rubbish I listened as the footsteps drew closer. The person was treading lightly, practically walking on tiptoes, and was taking their time. I held my breath (from the smell as well as from the tension) while silently praying they were not about to discard their coffee cup. Then to my relief I heard these footsteps move off down the way I'd come.

   And then, just like in every clichéd Saturday morning cartoon under the sun, I sneezed.

    Immediately the footsteps stopped, then they were running back to my hiding place. Whoever it was hesitated; then hauled the lid open and stared at my hunched up form.

    "Should've known it would be you Philips!" Vicky Masterson snorted at me.

    "God Vicky you scared the hell out of me!" I hissed, drawing myself to full height in order to bestow upon her my best death glare.

    Vicky narrowed her eyes at me, her blonde hair held back by a dark headband. She wore a grey v-neck top underneath an open purple zip up hoodie, black denim minishorts, dark tights and black converse shoes. I felt my insides steaming as I realised she was now copying my fashion sense. I'd worn that style before it became cool.

    "Look at you," she sneered. "Crouched in the perfect metaphor for your professionalism; utter rubbish."

    "Quit with the thinly veiled insults, I know why you're here," I told her.

    "So you figured out it was her behind those robberies? Well deduced Sherlock Philips, maybe there's yet hope frrrrmmmgggg!"

    I cut off her sentence by clamping my hand over her mouth. Much as I'd wanted to do this anyway, it was more down to the sound of footsteps now stomping their way down the corridor.

    Vicky's eyes widened over my hand as she too heard them. Then without either of us saying a word she jumped into the bin and crouched down while I lowered the lid over us. We then waited in agonising silence as the footsteps drew closer, until they were accompanied by an intense sounding conversation.

     "…Another job would be too risky. That's all I'm saying!" said a man with a thick Glaswegian accent       

     "Come now Alfie, you can't back out now. Where's your sense of adventure?" a drawling, aristocratic female voice asked, accompanied by the clicking of stiletto heels on the stone floor.

    Vicky and I used the thin crack of light filtering in to glance at each other. We both recognised that cow's voice.

    "Should've known you'd be a handful," the Glaswegian remarked. "I heard about when you left Lord and Lady Pilkingsmith trussed to each other on their four poster bed."

   "To be fair when I burst into their bedroom Lady Pilkingsmith had already done half my job. The British Aristocracy is so delightfully kinky."

   "Maybe so, but you'd better pray to whatever deity you believe in if you blow our cover."

    "Just one more target, promise; then we go our separate ways. Though perhaps after you've taken me out for dinner handsome."

    "I'm a married man!"

    "What's to stop your wife joining in too?"

    Their voices disappeared as they walked on. Vicky and I relaxed, but still waited until absolutely sure we were alone. "I knew that psycho cow was behind this, I just knew it!" Vicky breathed.

     I nodded at her. "Let's get out of here and tell the police, before they clear out of…"

     The bin lid was thrown open. A tall, tanned, middle aged man with a stubbly handsome face and jet black hair stared down at our huddled forms with his dark eyes. Vicky and I gazed back with dread, both of us thinking what you all probably are: That it had just struck rope'o'clock.

    Imagine our surprise then when instead he held out his hand to lift us out. Speaking in a hushed voice he said, "You must leave now donna belles. They will not be gone long."

    We boggled at this strange Samaritan as we leapt out of the bin at his behest. "Who are you?" Vicky asked as her and my feet touched concrete.

     "My name is not important. Now go, before they find…"

     "What you skulking round there for Adriano?"

     At the sound of another Scottish accent from around the corner Vicky and I whirled about in shock. But we got a greater one when the man clamped his hands over our mouths and pulled us both against his body.

      "In here, I found a pair of snoops!" he shouted over our muffled yelps.

      I cursed myself for being reeled in by this man's innocent act as I clawed at his muscled arms. But neither I nor Vicky could break free before we were surrounded by additional gang members, three in total. "Where'd they come from?" asked one of them.

     "They were hiding in here," the Italian explained, motioning to the bin with his head. "I don't know how much they heard."

   "I expect they heard more than enough," spoke a drawling female voice, as the sound of clicking high heels returned. The Italian turned us around with him and we came face to face with a glamorous middle aged woman with frizzy, sandy blonde hair and pearly white teeth, dressed in a pristine white trouser suit with a purple neck scarf and bright red stiletto heels. Vicky and I recognised her instantly as infamous jewel thief, 'The Scarlet Rose.'

    "If it isn't my favourite interns Sara Philips and Vicky Masterson," she cackled, clapping her hands with glee. "How are you my lovelies? Learnt to get on with each other yet?"

    "Scccrrrrr yyyynnnn!" Vicky and I chorused through our handgags.

     The Glaswegian ringleader, an average sized man with short greying hair, glared at us with a mixture of confusion and anger. "You know these two?" he asked the Scarlet Rose.

      "We had a brief encounter not so long ago, though seems neither girl learnt to mind their own business." She looked to the Italian and smiled sweetly, "Well done for capturing them Adriano!"

     "What do we do with them?" this Adriano grunted as I kicked him in the shin.

     The Scarlet Rose licked her lips in anticipation. "Let's take them to the office upstairs, and bring the rope. My devious imagination has come up with a way for these pretty ladies to spend some intimate time with each other."



   Which brings us to the beginning. Vicky and I were hauled upstairs, given the old bind and gag treatment and left alone, only able to jiggle against our conjoined hogties and gag swear at each other. This remained the case for just over two hours with little else worth reporting on, so I'll skip forward to the point where the mysterious Italian cut through the ropes binding my hands with his knife, finally releasing them and my legs from that irritating hogtie.

     Beside me Vicky was peeling away the clear tape from her mouth, our bodies no longer tied together and her hands freed by the stranger. As she spat the rag out she asked in a hoarse, breathless voice, "Ok, I'll ask again. Who the hell are you?"

     "And as I said before, my name is not important," the Italian repeated to us, proving handy with his knife as he sliced through my ankles bonds like they were made out of liquorice.

    I shut my eyes in discomfort as I peeled the tape away from my own mouth. God I hate tapegags, even removing them is a nuisance. I was glad to be rid of mine, and feeling my skin smart as I spat out my wadding I then said, "I'm guessing you aren't a jewel thief are you?"

     The man shot me a smile as he cut through Vicky's ankle bonds. "No not exactly."

     "Are you working undercover then?" Vicky asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

     "Sort of."

    "You with the police?"

    "No."

    "The secret services?"

    "Far from it."

     Vicky and I looked at each other, as again doubts began to form regarding our rescuers motivations. "You're a vigilante aren't you?" I deduced.

     "Well that's an ugly way of describing my actions," he told us, helping me to my feet before repeating the courtesy for Vicky. "Can you walk? We have to make the most of this opportunity if you are to escape."

    My legs and arms ached but I'd had worse. "Never felt better," I responded with an air of bravado, as we walked to the door to the office, leaving the severed ropes behind us.

   The Italian poked his head around the door to check the coast was clear. My heart skipped a beat when we heard laughter from the depths of the brickworks, but the voices were not close by. The Italian pointed in the opposing direction and we silently set off. It was almost dark by now and I could barely see where I was going. I walked on tiptoes, following the dark form of our rescuer as we walked in single file down the blackened corridor. For the first time I began to feel escape was possible. If we could get outside without being noticed Damien was only a short sprint away, and the keys remained in the pouch of my hoodie.

    But such hopes were dashed when Vicky didn't see the rusted beer can lying in her path. She unwittingly kicked it, and sent it rattling through the building with a noise that to us sounded like a gunshot. And sure enough, the noise that was heard by the jewel thieves behind us.

   "What the hell was that?" we heard the Glaswegian say in alarm. "Barry, check it out!"

    The Italian held his arm out to stop us, worried the sound of our footsteps would reach those thieves now on full alert. We merely listened in silence as one walked through the building to where he was expecting us to be stashed. There was a worrying pause, broken by a panicked cry of, "Damn it! The girls, they've escaped!"

    The Italian swore in his native tongue, though his voice was drowned out by the frantic sound of the gang as they leapt into action, running to see the situation themselves. Turning to Vicky and I the Italian hissed, "There is a fire exit ahead on the left. Get out while you still can. I'll create a diversion!"

    "But I…" I began, protesting against his rash decision.

    Yet he simply gave me a wink and replied, "I will be fine donna bella. Now go!"

    With that we moved off in separate directions, Vicky and I towards the exit with the Italian going back the way we'd come. Stealth was not an option now. We needed to make the most of our head start. But we hadn't got very far before we heard the echo of stiletto heels up ahead. I froze on the spot, but Vicky reacted faster than I (to her credit I guess), and hauled me behind a trolley filled with flattened cardboard. We crouched down just as the Scarlet Rose jogged past, having obviously been having a moment alone. By some miracle she didn't see us, and ran right past and around the corner to where the rest of her gang were gathering.

     "How the hell did they escape? There was no way they could have wriggled out of all that rope," we heard one voice say.

    "Look at the ends. They weren't loosened, they were cut!"

    "Cut by who?"

    There was a long silence, broken by the Glaswegian saying, "What have you got to say for yourself Adriano?"

     "You can't honestly expect me to have something to do with this," we heard the Italian reply.

     "Well you did just skulk off just as those girls magically disappeared."

     "I was outside having a cigarette!"

     "Oh how convenient. I never trusted you, given you're all I could find to replace Simon on short notice. So care to explain why have none of my contacts ever heard of you? And where do you keep disappearing off too at night? Make a habit out of releasing snooping girls do you?"

    "Don't be thick Alfie. When have I given you any reason to distrust my intentions?"

    Suddenly their argument was interrupted by the Scarlet Rose. "Stop bickering and get searching will you. They can't have got too far!"

    "And you'd better hope we find them Adriano, because if we don't I'll be testing that knife of yours on you instead!" Alfie the Glaswegian announced.

    This put me in a real dilemma. Not only were we now being hunted, but now the man who had risked his life to present us with this opportunity to escape was in danger. Through the darkness I saw the green coloured fire exit, no more than a few feet away. It would have been so easy to just run through it. But there was no guarantee we'd make it with that gang of goons on our tail. At how could we live with ourselves knowing we'd be leaving the Italian at the mercy of these desperate jewel thieves?

    As I thought through my dilemma I came up with a mad and reckless idea. But given our current situation I saw little alternative. I whispered into Vicky's ear, "Get out of here while you can and raise the alarm. I'll stay behind and draw their attention!"

    Vicky blinked at me before replying, "Not a good time to be telling jokes Philips!"

    "I'm serious!" I hissed. "You'll stand a better chance getting out of here on your own. And I can stay back and help that Italian!"

    Vicky had always been reluctant to follow my advice, and she didn't buck that trend now. Only her motivation had changed. "Of all your hairbrained…that's incredibly dangerous."

    "Better than both of us getting caught again!" I insisted. "Only you'd better tell my dad about this, otherwise, I will kill you slowly and painfully!"

    Vicky hesitated, obviously not keen on the idea of abandoning me here. But she sensed there was no use in arguing with what little time we had. Preparing to dart from our hiding place she gave a resigned sigh before saying, "You are unbelievably stubborn Philips, you know that?…Just…don't do anything stupid." Then she rushed forwards as silently as possible, inched open the fire escape and with a swish of her blonde hair disappeared into the night.

   On my own now, I turned my attention to the voices encroaching upon my position. I took a deep breath to control my nerves and shoved the flattened cardboard from its resting place on the trolley. This caused a loud thumping sound to echo down the corridor, and it was instantly heard by the searching goons.

    And with that I began to run. I didn't worry about making no noise. I only focused on outrunning the panicked voices originating from over my shoulder. I skidded as I rounded the sharp corner, wishing I was wearing my gripping converse shoes as opposed to these fashion orientated pumps. But my hours of cross country training meant I could still run at a fast pace, and keep ahead of my pursuers.

    The corridor brought me to a huge, empty room, flanked by rows of iron support pillars and surrounded by large windows which were either dirty, cracked or completely broken. I continued to run, blindly thinking an exit would magically appear, hoping to run in the opposite direction to Vicky and keep them off her trail. The thundering footsteps from behind indicated my tactics seemed to be working.

    But then suddenly there were footsteps ahead of me as well.

    I skidded to a halt as I saw torchlights bouncing off the walls of another corridor ahead. Some of the gang had double backed through the square shaped building, trying and succeeding to cut me off. I took a split second to check my surroundings for another way out, seeing a broken window pane that was slightly ajar. I darted over and began pulling on it. It was jammed but as I jiggled it wildly I felt it begin slide open further.

    But not fast enough. Suddenly my shoulders were grabbed from behind by a pair of strong hands and I was hauled back. I said nothing as I was pulled away from the window, thrashing against their grip and scrabbling my feet against the dirty concrete floor. But I could not break away, and soon I was flanked on all sides by the gang members. Among them was the Scarlet Rose, who was unemotional, the Italian, who was stoic, and Alfie the Glaswegian, who was furious.

     "Think you could squirm away from us girlie?" he growled at me.

     "Worth a shot," I grunted back.

     "Where's Vicky snuck off to dearie?" the Scarlet Rose asked, even though her expression did not match the sweetness in her voice.

    "Left her to fend for herself; can't stand the cow," I replied.

     "How the hell did you escape?" Alfie asked dangerously.

     My reply to his question was crucial. I had to give an answer that convinced him Vicky and I had escaped through our own efforts, with no help from the mysterious Adriano. I racked my brains to think of a response, while taking great care not to look at the Italian and thus give the game away. Then, as I pictured the office in my head, I had a brainwave.

    "We cut ourselves loose using the shards of glass from the broken window," I said. "Oldest girl detective trick in the book."

    The gang all weighed up the likelihood of my story in their heads, leaving me to contend with nervous wrenches in the pit of my stomach. But the Scarlet Rose seemed very keen to believe me, and with a shake of her curly blonde tresses she laughed, "Oh you little rascal Sara; you do keep on surprising me." Then turning on Alfie she said simply, "I believe you owe Adriano an apology."

    Alfie shuffled anxiously on the spot momentarily, before regaining his composure and saying, "Maybe later. We still need to find that blonde girl. Spread out and find her. Except Barry and Jeff, you deal with little miss smart mouth here. And this time, make sure she can't escape!"  

   And that's what his hulking subordinates did, each grabbing a forearm and hauling me away as the group dispersed to search for Vicky. Even as I wriggled fruitlessly I looked over my shoulder at Adriano. He looked straight back at me, a stern yet worried look on his handsome face. I could tell he wasn't appreciative of the sacrifice I'd made for his wellbeing. Now there was only a dreadful sense of déjà vu. Vicky may still have been undiscovered, but I was right back at square one.