Читать книгу Shadow Of The Wolf - Rebecca Flanders - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

The memory of those next few moments was confused by shock, jumbled together, irrational and unclear. Amy remembered screaming into the night, “Help us! Someone, please! Oh, God, help us! I think he’s dead!”

She dropped to her knees beside her rescuer and he was not dead; when she touched his shoulder, he pushed against her and groaned, trying to get to his feet. There were running footsteps in the distance, but she could not tell if they were coming toward her or moving away; if they belonged to the killer or to someone answering her call for help.

She whispered, “Lie still, lie still, you’re hurt…”

And he mumbled, “Let me go, he’s getting away…”

He put his hand to his bleeding neck. Amy saw that his throat was not cut, as she had imagined in that first horrified moment, but marked by three parallel slashes, as though raked by some kind of sharp instrument…or claws. She stared at the injury in shock and fascination before she came to her senses and began to search for something to stanch the flow of blood.

“Thank God you found me. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what would have happened. He was crazy…” She was babbling breathlessly, trying to keep him still, searching her pockets and the small wallet-purse that she wore on a long strap across her body for a handkerchief or a tissue or even a scrap of paper with which she could clean his wound. She was aware she was bordering on hysteria, but she was entitled.

He tried to push her away, turning his head impatiently when she tried to dab at his cuts with the scrap of a fabric softener sheet she had found in her skirt pocket. “Lady, leave me alone, get out of my way. Don’t you see he’s getting away? Let me go!”

He had been stunned by the blow, but now his senses were returning. He jerked away from her clumsy ministrations and, bracing himself against the doorframe, pushed to his feet. By now, a small crowd had begun to gather in the alley, and Amy cried, “Please, someone call the police—and an ambulance! This man is hurt! Someone, please do something!”

“He’s gone,” said the man, and he slumped back against the wall, dark eyes haunted with defeat. “I let him get away.”

Amy looked at him intently. His eyes were deep, deep violet, filled now with a pain that was more than physical, his face sharp-featured and defined by a dark beard-shadow, his coal black hair swept back from a high forehead in a way that made him look both bleak and romantic. There was such a grimness in those eyes, such a determined set to his mouth, that she almost expected an answer to her question as she whispered, “Who was he?”

But he merely returned to her a look that was strained and frustrated and still edged with residual shock, and he said simply, “You know who it was.”

Amy opened her closed fist, and looked down at the locket she still clutched there. “Yes,” she whispered shakily, “I think I do.”

Abruptly, the events of the past hour swept over her in a single, gripping wave. She clapped her hand to her mouth but was able to stumble only a few feet away before the nausea overcame her and she sank to her knees, retching.

People were watching, but she didn’t care. He was kneeling over her, sweeping back her hair with one hand, touching her shoulder, and she did care about that. She was humiliated, miserable and still very frightened. She was Amy Fortenoy, star investigative reporter of Channel Six Action News, and she was throwing up in the street like a common drunk while everyone watched…while he watched, the Dark Knight who had saved her life.

She was supposed to be intrepid, in control, unflappable. She had always pictured herself in that way; she had convinced other people she was that way; she had always believed it of herself. But she had never been through anything like what she had just experienced. She had never seen anything like what she had just seen.

The foundation of her world had been knocked out from under her feet and she wasn’t brave at all. She was weak and terrified and she would never feel in control again.

When at last the spasm had passed, her rescuer helped her to her feet, and turned her back toward the building, shielding her with his body from the curious onlookers. She cast him a grateful look.

“Are you okay?” he inquired quietly.

She started to nod, then replied more honestly. “No.” Her voice was still unsteady, and she blotted her damp face with the back of her hand. “But I think I will be.”

Understanding was in his silence. Then he said, “Did he hurt you?”

Amy shook her head, trying to repress a shudder. “No, I—he only threatened. I was just frightened.” She looked up at him, trying to regain her composure with one unsteady indrawn breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. I’m Amy Fortenoy.”

He said with a faint smile, “I know who you are.”

Even the shadow of a smile transformed his face, making Amy realize that he was a handsome man—more than handsome, striking-looking, memorable—making her wish to see more of it, more of his face, more of his smile. She was actually so taken by his face, by those deep indigo purple eyes, that she forgot what she was going to say for a moment. Then they heard the fast-approaching sound of a siren and they both turned toward it.

Chaos overtook them shortly after that, and by the time Amy realized that she still didn’t know her hero’s name, he was gone.

“You really ought to have stitches,” the paramedic told him as he placed the last strip of adhesive tape across the bandage on Ky’s neck. “Why don’t you come in with us and let the ER check you out?”

Ky shook his head, wincing a little at the pull of the tape. “I’m fine. They’ll just give me a tetanus shot and tell me to see my doctor in the morning. Had one last month and I will, first thing. Okay?”

The young EMT looked unhappy. “I’ll have to put you down as ‘refused treatment.”’

“You do that.”

Ky touched the bandage gingerly as he stepped down out of the ambulance. His shirt was still damp with blood and his fingers came away sticky. He felt a little sick as he thought, He knows the smell of my blood now…

“Is this character giving you trouble, buddy? Don’t take any of his lip, he’s known for it.”

Ky turned to meet Detective John Handley Sentime the Third, known to friends and family simply as Trey. Ky and Trey had been partners for the last three of his ten years on the police force.

“So they’re sending you down to the slums now. Who’s wife did you get caught with?” Ky said.

“Yeah, very funny, Londen. Your sense of humor was always the thing I loved best about you. You okay?” He gestured to the bandage.

“Just a scratch. I’ve gotten worse in barroom brawls.”

“What’d he get you with? A switchblade?”

“Could have been,” Ky replied evasively as they walked away from the ambulance. He didn’t like to lie to a colleague, and he would never have done anything to hinder a police investigation…not if he had thought the police had any chance at all of catching his assailant.

He knew there was no switchblade. The only weapons the man who had attacked him possessed were his hands…and his teeth.

That was all he needed.

Ky asked, “Are you taking statements?”

“Trying to. You want to sit down? You’re not looking your usual chipper self, if I may say so.”

Ky’s reply was a little dry. “Well, it’s been a full day.”

But when Trey gestured him toward the police car parked at the head of the alley, Ky shook his head. He wanted to stay within easy hearing distance of the crime scene investigators…and he didn’t want to lose sight of the woman. Amy.

The little building and the half block surrounding it had been cordoned off with police tape, keeping back a curious crowd, although there were not as many onlookers as one might expect. In this neighborhood, people stayed as far away from the police as possible, even when the trouble the cops were investigating was someone else’s.

The area was bathed with strobing blue-and-white lights, and the red counterpoint pulse of the ambulance gave the whole scene a surreal air. Flashbulbs popped from inside the building where Amy had been held as investigators gathered evidence. Ky was quite certain nothing they would find would put them any closer to catching the killer than they had been before.

Amy was sitting in the back seat of an open police car, her feet resting on the ground and her back toward the interior of the car so that she could see everything that was going on around her. Ky was dimly amused to note that she, like he, couldn’t stand to be cut off from the action, although he suspected their reasons were far from the same. Amy was being interviewed by two detectives, a male and a female. Ky knew the female—he had, in fact, dated her once—but he didn’t recognize the man, who appeared to be in charge of the case.

Trey said, “So what were you doing down here?”

“What do you mean, down here? It’s only a few blocks from my place.”

“If you don’t mind getting a knife between your ribs taking the shortcut home. What are you, working a case in the neighborhood or something?”

“I was on my way out for Thai food,” Ky said. “I got cut off by the parade. I cut through the alley to circle around and I heard a woman scream.”

“You hear women scream every hour on the hour in this neighborhood,” commented Trey. “Men, too. Go on.”

“I heard a woman’s scream,” repeated Ky, “coming from that building. And a crash, like she was being knocked around. Well, you know my Good Samaritan instincts…”

Trey gave a grunt but did not look up from the notes he was taking.

“So I tried the door, and it was unlocked. I opened it. She was in the shadows, on the floor, I think, crying or screaming. He was wearing a black turtleneck, black boots, black gloves, black tights. A costume. Black cape. The mask was one of those full-head things, glass eyes, fur-covered, big snarl—a wolf.”

“Jeez.”

“Not something you want to meet in a dark alley,” agreed Ky. “Which I guess was the point. He was about my height, minus the ears, and slim built. One-sixty, I’d guess. Moved fast.”