Disclaimer: The characters belonging to Janet Evanovich are used strictly for entertainment purposes.

A/N: Sorry it's so late at night for this chapter. I hope those of you who celebrate it had a happy Thanksgiving! It's already been a long weekend here! :)

Quick Note: Just a reminder that Italian is still marked with italics since I don't speak it. :)

…

Chapter 21

It was pitch black when I woke. Or I thought it was until I felt the cloth against my face. The bag. The back of my head pounded out the rhythm of my pulse and my mouth was dry from sleeping open-mouthed inside the hot material. I closed it to try to work up some saliva to wet my tongue with no luck.

"Ugh." Cotton mouth. Not fun.

"Shh." The sound came from my left.

"Marco?" I whispered.

"Sí, don't speak. I'm trying to free my hands. If they know we're awake …" His whisper was hard to distinguish through the bag, but I understood him and clamped my mouth shut. No talking.

A metallic clang resounded throughout the space where we were. It sounded very large and empty. A warehouse? The echo seemed endless. Metal wrenched against metal and then there was a heavy rolling sound, as if something large was being moved on wheels.

I held my breath, terrified. I hated not being able to see where I was and felt the claustrophobia closing in around me. I gave myself a little pep talk to remember that I wasn't in a casket or a little cupboard. It was a big room with lots of air. I sucked in a breath and the cloth followed the air into my mouth. I pushed it out with my tongue in a panic. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly. I chanted repeatedly, breathing with my own instructions.

"Almost there," Marco whispered lightly.

Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly. I could do it. I would not panic; would not scream. In. Out. My heart lurched and then thudded when I heard something slide against the cement floor. I squeezed my eyes shut tight so I couldn't see that I couldn't see. Reverse psychology. I could shrink myself. Who needed Walker?

"I'm sorry, Luca," a voice said from very close to my right ear. "Or should I say Marco? I don't think you will get your hands free after all."

I went completely still and the blood ran cold as ice in my veins. Holy crap. Adriano.

A thousand things run through a person's mind when they think they are about to die. The crazy thing is that I wasn't thinking about dying. I decided, instead, to be pissed that we'd dropped the pasta and the incredible smelling sauce. It was probably open and running down the sidewalk. How unfair life could be.

I may have been in denial a little bit. Food was a pleasant thought, even wasted food. It kept me from thinking about the implications of being tied up with a bag over my head and Adriano walking around free. It kept me from thinking about Ranger receiving a frantic call from Walker that Marco and I went to get food and never returned. It kept me from thinking about Tank and Lester looking for clues and finding the spilled bag of pasta and no us.

Worst of all, once my denial ran out, I suddenly started thinking about the things I'd been avoiding and wondered if they'd actually bury my body under the headstone in Trenton and remove the imposter body. I shuddered. A little too close to home right now.

I knew Adriano's goal was to kill me. He'd told Camila that if she ever left him, he'd kill her. He'd tried once. This time he could just do it. Ranger didn't know where I was or how to find me. Marco was incapacitated at the moment. No one could stop him. Another shiver ran down my spine. Yep, a little too close to home.

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" he taunted. I figured he was speaking to me.

"This warehouse is a little cliché, don't you think? I thought you were more creative than that."

I muttered a low 'oof' when he backhanded me across my right cheek. Damn, why did they always hit that bone? I took a deep breath and shook my head slightly.

Marco hissed in air through his teeth. "Only a coward hits a defenseless woman."

"If you don't shut up, I'll hit her again." There was silence and I guessed the two men were staring each other down. After a minute, Adriano's voice turned back my way. "This isn't a warehouse." He sounded amused, which I never took as a good sign from any psycho, but knew from my dream-memories that it was bad, bad news with Adriano. "But it is cliché for the sidekick to die right about now. So…"

There were two loud 'pops' and Marco slumped against me. The scream started in my toes and worked its way slowly up my body to my mouth. By the time I actually let it out, I felt like I'd been screaming for a while. Adriano backhanded me again in the same spot. Son of a bitch! I wanted to tell him to pick a new spot, but then I was afraid he would.

I stopped screaming, but this strange whimpering sound prevailed. Adriano said, "Shut up."

I closed my mouth as tight as I could and breathed heavily through my nose. Deep breath in, quick breath out. I did this several times until I thought I could keep it together. No thinking about Marco.

The bag came off and Adriano was crouched in front of me, larger than life. His cold smile looked exactly as I had seen it in all of the flashbacks. I wanted to smack it off his face. He stared at me and then scowled at my defiant look. I couldn't help the defiance. I was born and raised in Jersey. It's part of a Jersey girl's makeup arsenal.

Adriano smirked and patted my cheek. I jerked back, smacking my head on the hard wall behind me. He stood up and said, "I'll be back in a few moments, try not to hurt yourself."

He walked across the huge room and disappeared through a large steel door. I looked around and realized I was in a large open loft. Unfinished with large, airy windows that no doubt afforded an incredible view of the city. I could see a kitchen on the left side. Large, with a center island and bar seating that separated the living space from the cooking space. The kitchen was finished, very expensively. Granite countertops, real wood cabinets, carved in intricate designs, all the way to the ceiling which was probably twelve feet high, maybe fifteen. It was hard to tell sitting down.

I took a deep breath and bit my lips together before looking at Marco. Studying the room had been a good way to delay looking at a dead man. He lay on his side, hands still tied behind him. He didn't move and I didn't see any breathing.

"Marco," I whispered. "Marco!" Louder this time. There was no movement from him. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked furiously and looked away from him. As long as I didn't see any blood, I could believe he was fine. Adriano could have missed. Anything was possible.

The door opened and Adriano stepped through. He took out a key and locked the door, pocketing the key afterward. "Get up, Camila. Come over to the kitchen."

This guy was a few Oreos short of a whole pack. I stayed still, my eyes on him.

He made an impatient hand gesture and then crossed the large floor swiftly, his loafers clicking on the cement floor. When he reached me, he bent down and grabbed my chin in his hand, forcing my eyes up to meet his. "I said get. up."

I blinked in surprise. "You wanted me to get up?" His eyes narrowed, but I continued anyway. "Because, I thought you told someone named Camila to get up."

He growled like a pissed off Rottweiler and grabbed me around the upper arm, yanked me to my feet, and marched me across the floor to the kitchen. He threw me to the floor and, since my hands were behind my back, I couldn't stop my momentum and fell on the same cheek he'd struck twice. I bit my teeth together, refusing to groan or show pain. It took a whole lot of effort, but I got myself rolled over on to my back and struggled to a sitting position.

Adriano reached across the counter and drew a knife from the knife block near the stove. He took a step near me and I leaned away from him. He took another step and my heart beat a wild staccato against my rib cage. He bent down and leaned toward me. I hoped getting stabbed didn't hurt as bad as getting shot or burned with a poker, because if it did, I was screwed.

What he did surprised me and drew a wild yelp from me. He reached behind me and grabbed the ropes around my wrists, lifted them straight up, stretching my shoulder muscles to the very limit, and sliced the ropes, freeing my hands. Quick as lightning, though, he squatted back down in my face, the knife tip held against my nose. "Scream again, and I'll start removing parts and I'll start with this one."

He really didn't want me to scream. It made me wonder what was below the loft. The window revealed a dusky sky, so it was most likely after office hours. Were we in a residential building?

Adriano stood and slid the knife back into the block. He slid his hands into his pockets casually, and said, "Get up."

I reached up and grabbed the towel rack on the front of the oven with one hand, pulling myself upward and wincing at the pain in the top of my shoulders and the front of my arms. When I was standing, I looked at him and waited.

He looked at the Espresso machine. It was in the same place he'd kept it in his house. Beside the sink, pushed back against the wall. I looked back at him. "Fancy coffee maker."

He backhanded me. Same cheekbone. It brought tears to my eyes and made the whole right side of my face throb. The skin had split this time. I only knew because I saw blood on his knuckles. I didn't actually feel it happen, thank God for small favors.

Keeping up with the charade, I crossed my arms and said, "I don't know why you're angry. I don't know what you want from me."

He stepped very close to me, hands on my shoulders to keep me steady. "Are you trying to tell me you don't remember how to make espresso?"

What the hell was it with this dude and espresso? "No, no espresso. Not even coffee." Okay, so that was a lie. Stephanie Plum could make coffee. Not espresso.

He leaned in until our noses touched. "You're a very bad liar." I took offense at that line. I'd always been a very convincing liar. "Make the espresso."

With shaking hands, I turned to the machine and pulled it forward. I prepared it and pulled out the parts I needed. I measured the water and poured it into the machine and gripped the portafilter. Beans. Where were the beans? I pulled a canister forward and took off the lid. Empty. I checked another. Empty.

My hands began to shake. I didn't remember where he kept the beans. They'd always magically been there in my dreams. What a time for them to fail me.

Sighing, Adriano opened the cupboard above the espresso machine and lifted out a large, ceramic canister with a stainless steel lid. "Always in the cupboard," he said.

"Right." I reached for the grinder and measured the beans, pouring them in and grinding them to fine powder. The process was usually fairly quick in my dreams, but my hands were shaking with such violence, I thought I was lucky that I didn't spill anything, yet.

"You're very different from her," Adriano said quietly.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I said, "I'm not her."

He traced a finger up my arm while I switched on the machine. Instinctively, I knew he was trying to make me piss him off, so I held still, but I wanted to pick up the heavy machine and clock him with it.

"It's too bad," he said quietly. "You're still an attractive woman, even with the contemptuous attitude."

I'd show him contemptuous. And then an idea so horrible popped into my head that I had no choice but to try it. When the espresso started to pour out into the carafe, I pressed my fingertips into the counter to keep my hands from shaking. If he was going to kill me, then I had to try to run.

The brew cycle finished and I opened the cupboard to the left of the beans and, sure enough, espresso cups. I took one down and picked up the carafe, turning to face Adriano. I began to pour the beverage into the small cup, but when it had barely dribbled out, I threw the rest into his face.

He screamed, covering his face with his hands, then removing one to grab for me. I jumped back and grabbed a heavy iron skillet from the rack over the island and swung it as hard as I could, smacking him in the side of the head. He bent down, groaned, and then growled, so I raised the pan over my head and smacked him over the back of the head. The thud it made was sickening. Adriano went down, silent.

I nudged him with my foot and he didn't stir, so I reached into his pants pocket and grabbed the key, hurdled the unconscious man, and ran to the door. I stopped short, key outstretched toward the lock, my eyes flying to Marco. He hadn't moved. I felt like a traitor as I unlocked the door, but if I was going to help either of us, I had to leave in case Adriano woke. I only hoped Marco would understand. If he was still alive.

I barely noticed the stairs and seemingly flew down to the first landing, turning, and flying down the next. A door leading outside was at the base of this staircase and I shoved my way through it, running hard down the alley. I charged out from between the two buildings and saw a man walking down the sidewalk to my right. He turned as I approached and I gasped out, "I need to call the police, do you have a mobile phone?"

"Yes," he answered. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and then I felt a pinprick in my arm and blacked out completely.

…

My throbbing cheek woke me. Actually, the person slapping my throbbing cheek woke me. I jerked away from the hand and a harder slap tore me painfully away from sleep. My eyes popped open and I sucked in a breath of air.

"Surprised to see me?" Adriano asked.

I gaped. He looked terrible. Half of his face was flaming red and puffy from the scalding shower I'd given him. There was a large bandage on the back of his head and a huge bruise on the side by his ear. Oh boy, he did not look happy, either.

His smile was nasty, evil. It didn't reach his eyes and scared me all the way to my toes. My spirit completely deflated. The guy with the phone was one of Adriano's men. The damn dreams had failed me on that point. I wanted to smack my forehead, but didn't want Adriano to know how stupid I felt. It didn't matter anyway, because I couldn't move.

I wiggled my fingers and looked down, ignoring the big tha-wump of my heart when I realized I was naked on a metal table, strapped in with leather straps. The view sparked my senses, but I couldn't pinpoint why.

I looked around and noticed we weren't in the same room as before. This one was even more unfinished than the other. The walls were still in their skeleton stage and there was metal scaffolding erected on the far end under a window that looked recently installed and not completely finished, yet.

Adriano's hand trailed down my leg from my upper thigh to my knee, giving it a squeeze. In a calm voice, he said, "I expect you to answer when I ask a question. Are you surprised to see me?"

Deciding a little honesty couldn't hurt, I said, "I was distracted by your appearance, but no. In answer to your question, not much can surprise me at this point."

"Such a tough girl." He looked over to the corner of the room and I heard the squeaky wheels of a cart start to turn and move closer. I craned my neck and saw a thin man, looking very nervous, wheeling a strange machine toward me. There were buttons and levers all over the surface. Near the top were gauges and digital screens, but they were blank, probably because the machine wasn't on. Coming out from the side were what held most of my attention.

There were three, thick spiral wires in bright blue, red, and green. At the end of the blue and green wires were long probes with very sharp, pointy ends. The red wire had a tiny needle at the end. I held my breath and swallowed hard so I wouldn't throw up. I didn't like any objects with sharp points and the two big ones looked very painful.

Adriano motioned impatiently to the man and said, "This is Dr. Spreng. He's going to get Camila for us."

Get. Camila. I stared at Adriano. "I don't understand."

He chuckled without humor. "Oh, come now. You know you didn't just suddenly wake up as her one day. Someone had to help with that." He raised a hand in display toward Dr. Spreng. "Here he is: the one who created Camila."

Created? I looked at Dr. Spreng, but he didn't look up at me. He was busy with the machine, which was now running, twisting knobs and sterilizing the pointy things with alcohol swabs. Then the full weight of Adriano's words broke through my confusion.

"Would you be willing to explain?"

Adriano stared at me for a minute and then patted the top of the machine. "This machine emits an electric pulse to an area of the brain where the good doctor directs it. Once the pulse hits the right spot and the correct frequency, he can speak to you, tell your mind exactly what to believe, what to think. It certainly redefines the term artificial intelligence, wouldn't you say?"

It certainly explained how I'd been able to carry a baby to term without him having any apparent side effects. Unlikely if a drug had been used. I know Walker and Ranger had discussed the issue, but I hadn't heard all of the theories. I wonder how close they'd gotten.

I realized something else right then. "You were in on this whole thing?"

The doctor glanced up at me and then at Adriano before busying himself with the wires and buttons on the machine. Adriano sat in a high stool near my bedside. "No, it was Harry's doing. I didn't learn of his scheme until you gave birth to that bastard."

"What do you mean?"

His face twisted in disgust. "Can you imagine what a shock it was to have my delirious wife call out to a man I'd never heard before?" He raised his voice to mimic a feminine whine, "Ranger. Ranger, I need you."

Shit. Not only had I called out to him when I was with Marco, but I'd unknowingly given myself away, most likely when under the influence of pain medication. "How did you find out who he was?"

"I went to the only man who knew your history." Harry. "The look on his face when I told him what happened was priceless."

"Why did Harry do this in the first place?"

Adriano shrugged. "I didn't ask specifics, but I believe Harry needed you out of the way. What better way to do that than to make you forget who you were?"

"Why didn't you turn him in to Seppe?"

He watched the doctor work the machine and his eyes sharpened, glittering with some inner secret. He looked back at me. "Power. I know his big secret, I own him."

That I could easily believe. I remembered another memory from my dreams and decided it couldn't hurt to ask him about it. "Why did you accuse Camila of having an affair on her previous fiancé if you knew it wasn't true?"

He shrugged. "I had to stay in character. It was easier to control her when she was off balance. As long as she felt unworthy, she would stay with me. Interesting how she loved that bastard, but didn't have enough confidence in his love to walk away from me for him."

"You hardly gave her a choice."

Adriano smiled. "Ah, yes. The boy. Another insurance policy."

"It's ready," the doctor said.

"Wait," I said. "Why did you kill my baby? You knew the truth, how could you? Was I … did Camila get pregnant?"

Adriano ignored me and nodded at the doctor. "Begin."

"Adriano."

He looked at me, but only answered one question. "No, she never got pregnant."

I wanted desperately for him to tell me about Carlo, but knew he wouldn't. I was also relieved to know there hadn't been a pregnancy, either from Marco or Adriano, but now I had a more pressing concern. "If you're just going to kill me, why change me into Camila?" Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer.

"Because, I want her to know. I want her to break before I kill her." Anger management issues. What a psycho.

The doctor walked over to me, wearing gloves, and I forgot about Adriano's crazy mind. Shit! I didn't want this. He reached for my head and I jerked it out of his reach.

Adriano stood and said, "I can make it very painful for you if you cause problems. Hold still, this is your only warning." He picked up the knife he'd used earlier from the set in the kitchen. It had been laying on the edge of the cart. He laid the blade crosswise over my pinkie. His meaning was clear.

I held still, keeping my eye on Adriano's knife while the doctor worked on my head. He took several small, shiny metal pin-like objects and slid them into the veins at my temple, on my crown, and the base of my skull. I winced at the pricks, but otherwise they were shallow and didn't hurt afterward. At one point he said to Adriano, "Her head should be shaved for this."

Adriano made an impatient gesture. "What does it matter?"

The doctor hesitated, possibly calculating whether or not it was wise to challenge Adriano in his current mood, and then said, "I'll be able to see that I'm placing them in the right spots without any … interference."

"We're running out of time. Just bring her back!" Adriano barked and the doctor never said another word.

I shuddered. No way did I want my head shaved, my hair was short enough. But his comment made me wonder about the 'tumor' Seppe told us about. If someone messes with a person's head, a person who is perfectly healthy, and shaves it, but doesn't want anyone to know why, a brain tumor is a pretty good cover story. A very good cover story. In a strange way, I was relieved I might not really be sick. Not that it mattered much at this point.

The doctor picked up the small needle on the red wire and tipped my head so my chin was against my chest. I stiffened and Adriano pressed the knife against my knuckle in reminder. I didn't move, but I hissed in a breath when he inserted it into the back of my scalp. He placed at least four more pins in my skull and then declared himself ready.

Adriano moved to the other side of the metal table, taking a seat in a chair I hadn't noticed. The doctor sat on the stool and picked up both of the other long spikey probes in his hands and pressed a red button on the machine. I heard the distinct electrical sound of a current. Zzwerb. And, thanks to Mooner, I knew it sounded a lot like a lightsaber. Thank God for Sci-Fi.

"What are those for?" I asked.

The doctor ignored me, reaching up with both probes and touched them to two of the pins on top of my skull. As soon as they touched, a piercing beep filled the room and a shockwave jolted through my brain. The way it felt, I figured that my head lit up like in the cartoons when someone got electrocuted.

Finally, it was over. Adriano slapped me and I realized I'd been screaming. "Shut up."

Sweat broke out on every inch of my skin from the horror of what this guy had just done. Aftershocks twitched somewhere just under my skull and my fingers and toes reacted, clenching and unclenching. I could tell the physical twitching was only a reaction and that my body itself wasn't being shocked.

Dr. Spreng adjusted several knobs and pushed a lever up, then turned back to me. I whimpered, my eyes pleading with him. "Please, don't." While my body didn't hurt, a headache had begun to form, and I knew this second jolt would be even worse than the first.

The probes touched again in two different spots, the beep sounded, and the shock reverberated through my skull like an electric ping pong ball. My head felt like a light bulb. Everything turned white behind my eyes and, even when the pain stopped, I couldn't see anything but clear, white light. Images flashed briefly, but they were gone so fast I couldn't tell what they were.

I felt flickers of pain now. Quick flutters that were gone before I registered them as such. A low hum buzzed behind my eyes. Pulsing, penetrating. It grew and grew until I was in such agony I cried out, my voice echoing in the void around me. I was floating in nothing, no, I was falling. Fast. The intensity built up until I couldn't stand it any longer and shut down completely, letting go of everything I'd told myself to hold onto.