| Subject: Ice/8 |
Author:
b/b
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Date Posted: 22:02:47 12/18/01 Tue
In reply to:
BonnieBoX
's message, "Ice on Fire" on 07:06:59 12/15/01 Sat
##
A good shadow picks her time. In the end, it always comes down to timing. And this was the perfect time in the evening for tailing someone. The downtown going-home crush had finally ebbed, and the theater-and-dinner traffic was beginning to pick up. Just enough pedestrians to mingle with and hide. But not too crowded to lose sight of Madeline Lenoir with her shopping bag. An easy target. That screwy hat with a pointed cluster of feathers and a little veil. There couldn't be two of those hats in the world. It may be high fashion but it looked damn ugly to me.
Madeline Lenoir buzzed two short, two long before she used her key to enter the apartment building. Great. I knew this one well. Only one real way in, same way out. I crossed the street, ducked into an alley, which had a good view of the entrance and the fire escapes on the side of the building in case anyone decided to get creative. There. The second floor, far right. Curtains drawn back. My eyes were fixed on that window as I watched the silhouettes of Madeline Lenoir and a thin hawk-faced man meet in the middle of the room. As good as a shadow play. Better. I was going to get lucky. I could feel it in my bones. Tonight was going to be a good night's work. I leaned against a brick wall, was just settling into a comfortable position, when someone grabbed me from behind.
A strong hand clamped over my mouth as I was yanked back against a hard chest. Bit my assailant. Only got a mouthful of kid leather and a good shaking for my efforts. I struggled against arms like iron girders, steeled with muscle and just as unyielding. Caught a hint of lavender-pepper. That aftershave. Only one man I knew wore that scent.
Michael Samuelle. Had Hillinger gone this way? Stupidly, quietly into the night? A lamb to the slaughter? Jeez. This guy was strong. Maybe Hillinger had submitted, but not me. Not a chance. Not tonight.
I slumped as if defeated. Just when his grip relaxed, I suddenly exploded into action: one move flowing into the other, all the hard hours of practice coming together and erasing any thought. A feint, twist. Using the power of my long strong legs to push off, wheel around, kick. Heard a few quiet grunts when my elbow connected here, my knee jolting a nerve point there. But Michael didn't yield. I struggled harder, felt his grip slip as I twisted so that his hands slid upwards and touched my abdomen, chest, upwards where I was softer and definitely not male. I heard him draw a quick harsh breath as if shocked by his discovery. For a brief instant, we both froze, his hands cupping me before they moved on.
I had always dreaded this moment. My cover blown to an assailant who seemed to be more than my match. My body tensed, mind raced; searching, hoping for any opportunity, something I could turn to my advantage. I only felt more determined.
Then something round jabbed into my back. A forty-five caliber something. His wide palm shoved my head backwards so that his voice calmly whispered into my ear. "Be still. Very still. Don't force me to use this. Nod if you understand."
I obeyed. What else could I do?
##
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