Crouching low, she picked up the clutch as well as the book Casimir had dropped. Spinning, she saw a knife blade tear through the canopy. A few drops of blood hit the sidewalk. The man who had been reading the book continued moving toward the street, away from the bar. Shuffling. Bent. His body awkward. Not looking back. She looked around, but no one else was close. Her gaze went back to the man that had been sitting in the bar earlier. Who else could have delivered that killing blow to the assassin lying in wait, stretched out on the canopy above their heads?
Belsky staggered away from her, nearly fell off the sidewalk and then walked right out into the narrow street. A car honked. Slammed on brakes. He reached up to touch his neck. Looked at her. Another car coming at a much greater speed slammed into the rear of the stopped vehicle, spun and slid right into the man. The body went up and over the hood to land on the windshield.
Several women witnessing the accident screamed. Loudly. Shrilly. The canopy drooped. Big drops of blood plopped onto the sidewalk almost right in front of Lissa. The sag in the canopy grew along with the slit made by the knife. The man who had leapt up to kill the second assassin was long gone. He’d disappeared as Belsky staggered into the street.
The rip went wider overhead, and the body dropped nearly at her feet. She screamed and fell back onto her butt, like any self-respecting woman would. Being a Good Samaritan, she crawled the couple of steps to him, one hand feeling for a pulse. She wasn’t taking any chances with fingerprints, although, as usual when she went out, she wore liquid prints. Not her own. Never her own.
She had only seconds to try to identify him. The dead man wasn’t wearing gloves and his fingertips were absolutely smooth. He had a knife in his fist and it was stuck there tight. He’d died within seconds of the attack on him, and that certain knowledge set her heart pounding. Whoever had killed him had done so blindly. He’d leapt up and hit his target in the heart with his knife. That wasn’t luck. That was skill. The knife had gone in smoothly, and then turned as it came out for maximum damage. There had been no sound. The killer had landed silently and disappeared within moments.
“He’s d-dead,” she stuttered, horrified, looking up at the first man who knelt beside her. “I’m sure he’s dead.” She nearly collapsed in his arms, forcing the man to drag her away from the body while others helped. He put her in a chair at one of the outside tables and then rushed back to the body.
A crowd gathered. She slipped out into the street, joining the crush there. She crouched low beside Belsky’s body, one hand feeling for his pulse while the other slipped inside his jacket and deftly removed the envelope of cash. “He’s dead,” she said, and stood up, looking dismayed. The crowd pressed closer, and she slipped back into it.
She spotted Arturo in their car several yards down. She gave one last casual glance around and made her way to the car, carrying her clutch and the book. She couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful to her savior for dispatching a man who had planned on killing her – and there was no doubt in her mind that he was lying in wait for her – but she didn’t want, nor could she afford to have a guardian.
Halfway to the house, she swept off her very expensive and beautiful wig, shaking out her own hair. It was always a production to get her wig on because she had so much hair, but she didn’t want to cut it. Her mother wore her hair long, and it was one of the few things that always made Lissa feel as if she still had a part of her.
“I’m changing,” she announced.
“Get to it,” Arturo said, completely unaffected by the fact that she was peeling off her shoes, socks and jeans to pull on a long skirt. The top and band she bound her breasts with came next, and she yanked a thin, silky top over her head to match the skirt. The tiny pearl buttons were already done up. Her heels matched the color of the top, a pale blue to match the thin stripes in the skirt. She added gold bangles to her wrist, pulled out the earrings that were simple studs and replaced them with gold hoops.
Her work clothes and shoes were thrust into a bag along with the earrings, clutch, syringe and envelope of money. She set the bag on the seat beside her and quickly began to brush out her hair. She’d changed in under four minutes. A record. The adrenaline was rushing through her veins. Her heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. She’d come to expect the symptoms after working, but this was different. This was about what she was going to do when she reached her uncle’s estate.
Absently she picked up the book. Old Poisons, New Problems. She frowned and tapped her finger on the cover. She’d read the book. Luigi had a copy of it in the library along with other reference books on poisons. She smoothed her finger along the spine and turned the book over and over. The more she stared down at the copy, the more she was certain it was from their library.