“What time is it?” Holly asked, her mouth half full.
Stone consulted his watch. “A little after eight. Man, this is good cheese.”
“Bread, too,” she said. “Night or morning?”
“I don’t know. Night, would be my guess. More wine?”
“Please.”
He poured it for her, then gulped. “I just had a thought,” he said.
“Share it.”
“Last meal?”
“Stop sharing.”
They heard a noise coming from outside the door, steel clanking against concrete. It went on for some time, then it changed to the sound of a pick and shovel in dirt.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Stone said.
“Maybe it’s construction work.”
“Somehow, I don’t think so.”
“I told you to stop sharing.”
Stone walked over to the door and listened. The sounds were clearer and even less encouraging. He could hear two men grunting at their labor. “Why would they feed us, then kill us?” he asked.
The answer came back from the other side of the door. “Because I’m a romantic.”
“You’ve been listening to us, ah . . .”
“Screwing? Yeah. How could I help it?”
“Well, thanks for the food and wine.”
“Don’t mention it. Nice Chianti, huh?”
“Very nice,” Stone replied. He went and sat by Holly.
“I think that answers your question,” he whispered.
“More wine,” she said.
Stone poured for both of them.
“You’re taking this a lot better than I am,” Holly said.
; “No, I’m not. I’m just . . .” Stone stopped and listened. “The digging stopped,” he said.
“Oh, shit. More wine.”
Before he could pour, the door opened and a man stepped inside holding a shotgun.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.