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were as comfortable as wooden church pews after a while. |
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Pity, he thought as he settled down in the seat and closed his eyes. She really is a looker. |
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Kyna cracked one eye and watched until Cyrus's breathing became regular. She knew he had been looking at her, studying her. Men were always looking. She had been mentally kicking herself for the last hour. What had she been thinking of? Twelve mill in hot rocks and a stranger dogging her every step? Bryan was going to go ballistic. What would she do if Cyrus got suspicious? She'd have to call Bryanif she could find the prickand ask him to take care of it. |
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Pity, she thought. Russ has the personality of a rock, but he is kind of cute. |
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The air in Kyna's bathroom was thick with the fetor of butchery and bayberry. The cabinets, the sink, even her tastefully framed New Yorker cover reprints hanging on the walls, were splattered with blood. The white tile floor was a mosaic of red hand- and footprints and melted wax from dozens of thick black candles. In the bathtub, the cabdriver's body floated half submerged in a pool of his own blood. The flesh of the man's throat and his chest had been torn out by some incredible force. The Dark Man was leaning over the sink washing his face and watching water the color and consistency of tomato soup corkscrew down the drain. His bald-headed assistant was using the shower in the other bathroom. |
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"I found these in that brush over there." The goateed man held out a knot of auburn hair. |
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The Dark Man nodded his approval. "Excellent! As soon as you finish harvesting the driver's organs and blood we will hold the ceremony." |
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"Is it really possible that this redheaded woman is responsible for Tomas's death?" |
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Probing, the Dark Man thought. He is always probing. |
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"Unlikely. But she can lead me to the one who is." |
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