Fugitive by Blaze Ward

Author:Blaze Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781644703250
Publisher: Knotted Road Press

CHAPTER 8

Marcus had finally recovered his equilibrium, but it had taken several blocks walking to get there. He had never expected the woman to call his bluff like that.

Her building turned out to be a stack of flats that looked interwar by the exterior. Eight stories tall and in a neighborhood right at the edge of getting more colorful. Whether that meant more Hispanics and Asians moving in, or just the Black neighborhood expanding as White Flight emptied the place, he couldn’t tell. Certainly not in the dead of midnight, where they were now.

Bizarrely, she had eventually stopped holding his arm and taken his hand instead, transferring the files to her free hand so they presented like two lovers on a date.

How much further from the truth you could get was a philosophical exercise he wasn’t prepared to delve into tonight. Possibly not equipped to either, although Japanese schools were pretty good, and Brother Kitsuno had trained him to think.

Still…

Into the foyer and up a flight of well-kept stairs, stained old hardwood with marble walls that had been polished once and were still kept pretty clean.

Maybe she made better money than he had expected? Or worked several nights per week, putting away a nest egg so she could have a better life later?

That latter sounded the most likely. A woman intent on making her own opportunities, and willing to do the dirty work now to get there.

Like inviting an international assassin up to her apartment on a Saturday night.

She had turned more coy. That was the only term he could think of to describe it. Gone was the hard woman of the streets. Or the equally tough female student challenging the men on their own turf.

If he didn’t know better, Marcus would have said uncertain, but she had invited a killer to her place.

That would make anybody smart nervous.

The door got unlocked and opened. He counted three deadbolts and a custom strike plate set into the frame that took up the whole side. You would need a ram and a big man behind it to get through that quickly.

Maybe the neighborhood wasn’t as bright and cheery as he’d originally thought?

Or maybe this was just a single woman in a dangerous occupation, and she needed to be able to take care of herself? Yes, that was probably it.

Inside, the apartment was decorated in a Mod style that wouldn’t have been out of place in a flat in Soho, or near Camden Square in North London. Colorful pastels everywhere, with a mix of chairs including a futon couch like he had grown up with, although this one was almost a foot thick instead of the heavy quilt he slept on whenever he was home visiting the family.

She had dropped his hand once inside the door and now faced him from across the impossible expanse of the tiny living room. The envelope she had put on a coffee table strewn with art books specializing in photography.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, before blushing from the way her mouth fell open and her eyes reacted.

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