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wrong. He hadn’t spoken to them properly from the start and he hadn’t made clear to them how serious things were and he’d overreacted with Chris when the person he was really angry with was himself.
    He couldn’t believe he’d been so sloppy, that he’d nearly let her get killed. Probably the only things that had saved her were her attractiveness and that innocently puzzled expression, and the fact that the gunman was young and stupid enough to be distracted by things like that.
    But for all Lucas’s shortcomings, she was still alive. And if he could get her out of Italy, he was confident enough she’d stay that way. What happened afterwards wasn’t his concern.
    The door opened and she came out of the bathroom, brushing her damp hair. She was wearing a tight-fitting top, a long hippyish skirt. It made her look taller than she was and highlighted her breasts, her hip bones, reminding him of the previous night, of thoughts he wanted to put out of his head, because they weren’t appropriate, because there were more important things to think about.
    ‘You look nice.’ She responded with a token smile but looked immediately concerned as she glanced around the room and saw no Chris. ‘He’s getting changed in my room.’
    ‘How is he?’
    ‘Okay.’
    She looked down at the floor for a second, then looked him in the face again and said, ‘It was unforgivable, what you did.’
    His thoughts foundered. Albeit in a shambolic fashion, he’d saved her life twice in the last twenty-four hours and killed three people in the process. But it was unforgivable that he’d made her boyfriend piss his pants for nearly getting her killed.
    Even so, he could see how it had to look from her point of view. She’d been enjoying a tour of Europe with a guy she was in love with and this nightmare had descended over them, a nightmare of which the only physical embodiment was Lucas himself.
    She was scared, worried, probably with good reason, and she had nobody else to offload any of it onto.
    ‘You’re right, it was unforgivable.’ He thought of adding something else but didn’t think he could stretch himself convincingly to contrition. ‘Put the other things you bought into one of the new bags. We need to leave soon.’ She looked like she wanted to say something else too, but after a pause she set to work packing the bag.
    There was a knock at the door and Chris said, ‘It’s Craig.’
    Lucas let him in and repeated the instructions he’d given to Ella, sparing him the awkward silence. When they were ready, he said, ‘Okay, Chris, when you spoke to your brother last night, did you say anything about me?’
    Chris shook his head vigorously and said, ‘I didn’t even tell him anything was wrong, just that we’d come back to Florence and that we were staying here. That’s all, I just wanted them to know . . .’ His words trailed off, probably with the raw memory of their last exchange on this subject.
    ‘That’s good.’ He faced both of them again and said, ‘Between here and the railway station I need you to be relaxed but stay tight, vigilant, and do everything I say. If I go down, you do anything—throw your bags at them, use a gun if you can reach one, and run, get to the police. Okay?’ They nodded uneasily, perhaps at the thought of him being taken down, having to do this alone. ‘Good. Let’s go.’
    Chris had the new backpack but Lucas gave him his other bag too. Ella had the duffel bag and Lucas his own backpack. He led them out into the corridor and through the reception, where there was still no one behind the desk. They could hear the sound of a TV from an adjoining room.
    He hesitated by the elevator. It was an old-fashioned cage, making them too easy a target for anyone waiting at the bottom. He pointed at the stairs and put his finger to his lips. They walked quietly behind him, their steps lost against the steadily growing noise of the street below.
    He stopped them a half-flight short of the