Spirit Bound (13 page)

Rather than run straight, Ivanov angled back toward the street again, toward the front of the building, and then disappeared down the other side of the roof. That action warned Stefan that the killer had a plan. He didn’t slow his pace, but heightened his awareness as he ran, puzzling over the route, trying to get ahead of the assassin in his mind to figure out what he had in store.

Below him was the main street of the town. Across the pavement the ocean pounded at the cliffs, dark water throwing spray high into the air. The wind slammed into him as he raced over another gallery, this one two stories with multilevel roof lines so that he had only brief glimpses of Ivanov who had managed to gain the roof of the bar.

Instant awareness hit him. A neon sign had been flashing two nights earlier when Stefan had checked the streets so carefully. The beckoning light pulsed red and blue in the night sky, but it was now unlit, leaving the overhung balcony roof dark and silent. He changed his angle as he jumped the distance between the two buildings, landing on the sloped roof rather than that tempting flat upper deck.

Ivanov was two buildings ahead, running up the third-story roof of the Sea Haven Hotel. Stefan had to keep him in sight at all times. If the exterminator was allowed to lengthen that distance between them, the odds of his getting away went way up. Stefan was totally exposed to the increasing strength of the wind as he ran across the next building, a larger store that sold clothes and an assortment of high-end gifts. The building was quite large and by the time he’d crossed the roof, Ivanov had disappeared on the other side of the hotel’s roof.

Cursing, Stefan raced up the very steep angle, the tiles slippery. Ivanov paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder even as his feet angled three steps to the left. Stefan would have thrown his knife, but the angle was all wrong and in a flash, Ivanov went over the ridge to the other side of the hotel, disappearing from sight. Stefan put on a burst of speed, marking the exact spot Ivanov had used to go over the ridge of the hotel. He needed to follow that exact route, otherwise he could be in trouble. Why had Ivanov taken the time to move to his left when a straight line would have been faster?

Something grabbed at Stefan’s ankle, biting deep, sweeping his leg out from under him. He went down hard and rolled immediately, knife in one hand, the other up to defend himself, his radar screaming a warning at him. A dark shadow launched itself at him, knife stabbing down. He caught Ivanov’s wrist with one hand and drove toward the man’s side with his own knife.

He heard Ivanov grunt as the blade penetrated through clothing to pierce the skin. Ivanov kicked him hard in the ribs and Stefan slipped backward on the steep slope. The exterminator took another swipe at him as Stefan tried to save himself from falling off the roof. The attack with the knife came in a figure eight, catching his forearm twice, nicking his jaw and slicing shallow cuts through skin as he fended the blade off with his arm. He lunged at Ivanov a second time, his own blade slicing across the assassin’s stomach, driving him back and away. Stefan continued to slide backward even as he dug in his heels to slow his steady descent to the edge.

Jamming the blade of the knife hard into a tile, he gripped the handle and rolled over, getting his feet under him, all the while trying to keep Ivanov in sight. The tile splintered, the bottom half falling away to hit loudly on the gutter and fall farther to the ground below. Stefan whipped his head around, looking for the next attack from Ivanov, but just that fast, the exterminator was gone, running back up the hotel roof, timing his footsteps to avoid the trip wire he’d laid out probably days earlier for just such an opportunity as this.

Stefan gave chase, clearing the trip wire this time. He made it to the top where the roof peaked and stopped to look over the other side, cautious now that he had given Ivanov a few seconds to formulate another ambush. The roof of the next building was empty. His quarry had disappeared. He went still, listening. The waves slammed into the bluffs, crashing over rocks and sending white spray high into the air. The sound of music and laughter poured out of the bar, but there were no footsteps running over the rooftops. Another vicious cut of the wind whipped through his clothes. He ignored it all, his mind fully on his prey.

Stefan proceeded much more cautiously. Ivanov could be waiting anywhere just ahead to ambush him. He eased down the descending slope leading toward the next building, examining that rooftop, quartering every section with extreme care. He crouched down and touched two small spots on the tile, lifting his fingers to his nose. Blood. He was leaking a few drops, but this was definitely Petr Ivanov’s blood. He let out his breath slowly. Chasing a wounded Ivanov was much like pursuing a wounded Grizzly, but he had no real choice. If Lev was to be safeguarded, Ivanov had to die.

The spots were in a diagonal pattern, leading across the roof, not straight to the next one. Ivanov could not possibly have made it over the peak before Stefan had done so on the hotel’s roof without Stefan catching sight of him. That meant one thing . . .

Stefan examined the layout of the hotel roof. Toward the front of the building, a jutted outcropping overhung a small balcony, which several other rooms on the third floor had. If Ivanov had slipped into one of the rooms and back out on the other side, he could be anywhere, even coming up behind him. The urge to pursue was great, but self-preservation lent him caution.

He hunkered down again, studying the three windows. If he had been the one considering that he might be chased across the rooftops, he would rent the corner room, leave the window open and slide in, close it and go out through the downstairs and mix with the people, or go back out the window in the front and access the roof to come in behind any pursuer.

Swearing under his breath, Stefan crept back toward the peak of the roof, avoiding that beckoning balcony and the front of the building. He searched the street below. The wine shop was still filled to capacity but the street itself was empty and dark. Two kids made out behind the restrooms across the street, and Old Bill the homeless man moved restlessly in his small alcove between buildings, but otherwise no one moved.

Keeping low, he inched his way down the steep roof to peer onto the building between the hotel and bar. A flitting shadow moved, so small, at first Stefan thought it might be a cat, but he took a chance, suddenly running down the side to leap onto the building. The shadow stretched as it crossed to the bar, racing around to the front where the broken sign helped to hide the fleeing assassin.

Stefan jumped, flinging his body down onto the flat deck just above the bar, driving Ivanov to the floor. He hit hard, the distance a little too long, the angle steep, forcing the air from his lungs. He heard an ominous crack and Ivanov’s breath rushed out in a hiss of pain even as Ivanov gripped his knife hand.

They rolled over and over, crashing into the broken sign, the metal and glass cutting into Stefan’s back and shoulder, both men fighting to keep blades from piercing their bodies. They fought silently, fiercely, a ferocious life-or-death battle between two highly skilled warriors. Breaking apart, they both scrambled to their feet and circled each other in that same silence.

Stefan was a man of few words. He didn’t need to bolster his courage with a lot of threats. His enemy’s breath was slow and measured, but accompanied by a hiss of pain with each inhale, indicting a bone had fractured or actually broken. Ivanov was a deadly enemy, fast and skilled. One misstep and he was dead. The assassin didn’t get angry, he simply killed. Three times his blade slashed across Stefan’s wrist and forearm. The exterminator was marked up as well.

The sound of laughter spilled out of the wine shop, suddenly much louder. Ivanov rushed him, slapping his blade aside, forcing Stefan to catch the man’s wrist. At the last moment he realized the assassin’s intention, but it was too late. The momentum carried them both over the low railing so that they fell to the sidewalk below. Stefan landed under Ivanov, holding grimly to his wrist to prevent him from whipping the blade across his throat.

For a moment, Stefan couldn’t move, almost paralyzed, desperate for air, his lungs burning, his body barely registering pain as it dispersed along every nerve ending. Ivanov slammed so hard into him, the force drove his body back into the sidewalk a second time, so that the world faded a little around the edges. He held firm on the wrist of his attacker, even as he attacked with his own knife, whipping past Ivanov’s guard to streak the tip of the blade under his chin, carrying through with the sweep to slash his upraised arm.

Ivanov threw the blood from his weeping arm at Stefan’s face, trying to hit his eyes and temporarily blind him, at the same time twisting his wrist in order to slide the blade against Stefan’s skin. Stefan had no choice but to let go. Ivanov leapt back, whirled around and rushed away.

The door to the wine shop opened and people spilled into the street, calling to one another and laughing as they said their good-byes. Stefan rolled over, suppressed a groan and got to his feet. He slipped back into the shadows as quickly as his body would allow. Ivanov was hurt. At least one bone was broken and like Stefan, he’d suffered numerous cuts. Hopefully he’d hide in another of his holes licking his wounds and regrouping, allowing Stefan enough time to do his job, find his brother and hunt the assassin down.

“ I’M
so happy, Blythe.”

Judith couldn’t contain the sheer joy spilling out of her through every pore. She
felt
. Every single cell in her body was alive again, truly alive. She didn’t understand how or why, but here in the privacy of her home, she could let herself be absolutely, utterly happy. She laughed aloud and threw herself onto her bed, sprawling, arms and legs out like a child making an angel in the snow.

“The house is glowing,” Blythe observed. It was impossible not to feel Judith’s happiness. Blythe laughed softly and sank down onto the end of the bed. “Literally glowing, Judith. I’d say tone it down, but I haven’t
ever
seen you like this and it feels good.”

“It’s him. Thomas.” Judith hugged a pillow to her stomach, her left hand smoothing over the cool Egyptian cotton. “There’s just something about him that reaches for something in me. He’s so . . .” She trailed off and rolled over, looking at Blythe. “I don’t even know how to explain him.”

“You have stars in your eyes.” Blythe pushed back the fall of Judith’s hair and studied her face. “What happened between the two of you?”

Blythe couldn’t help but be happy along with Judith, swept up in her joy. She wanted to be practical and caution Judith to go slow, to remember that Thomas was only thinking of buying the gallery and could be gone in a few days, but the happiness pulsating throughout the house was too contagious.

“Nothing.” Judith sat up, unable to be still. “Everything. I wanted him. Not just wanted him, Blythe. I wanted to be inside his skin with him. I felt like Sleeping Beauty. He came along and woke me up and I don’t even know how. I feel alive for the first time in years. I can’t remember being happy, Blythe, not like this.”

Blythe took a deep breath. Someone had to be reasonable. Practical. “Sweetie, you can’t just blindly jump off a cliff. You know that, right?”

She might know it, but that was the biggest part of the problem. “I might be afraid—no, terrified—and yet . . . honestly
exhilarated.
It feels as if I’ve woken up after a long sleep.” Her eyes met Blythe’s. “I forgot how good it feels to be aroused by a man. To know he thinks I’m desirable and beautiful.”

It had been so long. She’d been afraid she was permanently damaged as a woman, so scarred by her past that her mind and body refused to acknowledge men. So broken that no one could fix her. Yet, miraculously, she’d been attracted to Thomas Vincent. The real deal. A fierce, driving passion that had come out of nowhere and was so overpowering it had driven all sense out of her head so that elation was alive in her. There was no containing the intensity of the emotion, no reining it in. She could breathe all she wanted and no way was it going to help. She didn’t want to rein it in. She wanted to feel . . .
everything.

“Most men find you desirable and beautiful. You don’t notice them, Judith,” Blythe pointed out. “This isn’t like you. It’s . . .” She trailed off.

“Intense.”
Judith finished her sentence for her. She touched her lips realizing she’d said the word aloud. She laughed softly. “I feel like dancing.”

“A little scary don’t you think?” Blythe’s voice was gentle.

“I know, Blythe, I do, but right at this moment, I’m willing to jump right off that cliff with my eyes closed. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and be Judith again, all contained and frozen, but tonight, just for tonight, I want to believe I can live again.”

Blythe frowned. “Frozen? Is that how you’ve felt? That you aren’t really living? Judith, I thought you were happy here with us.”

“I am. I have been. It isn’t the same, Blythe. I worked so hard to contain my feelings. Do you really think someone is so perfectly pleasant at all times? I smile when deep inside I want to scream. I get frustrated and angry just like anyone else, but those emotions aren’t safe for me to feel around other people. So I push them down and smile until I’m perfect and pleasant and safe.”

Judith leapt up and paced across her floor, unable to stay still. She wanted to. She felt a little crazy with her heady happiness and she knew Blythe was growing afraid for her. She couldn’t care about that right now. There was no tamping down strong emotions and any intense emotion would affect everyone around her. Living in such close proximity to those she loved was a good idea, until her body woke up, until she stopped feeling dead inside. She could contain anger and sorrow, but the sheer joy and trepidation, the way she felt so
alive
being with Thomas Vincent—that was impossible. Joy spilled out and, God help her, she needed to feel real emotion again, even if it was in the safety of her home and for one single night.