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She opened theain, for a brief, startled moment, when she felt the hard thrust of the knife up, up into her heart And then she closed theraceful shudder

He’d done well There was never ht He’d botched it once, and had to take a shower before he left But this time it was very neat, very fast An artistic job

The water was still running into the sink, overflowing the old kettle, the soundwith the steady drone of the heavy rain He reached past her crumpled body to turn the tap off, then stopped He would leave it

He pulled the knife free and hoisted the old woh the cluttered living roo her carefully, her hands together in a prayerful attitude covering the neat wound She lay there like a repentant effigy from a fifteenth-century tomb, her faded, too observant eyes shut forever He took off her shoes and stockings, placing the, thoughtful moment

He bent down and kissed her on her mouth It opened slackly beneath his, and he took his time When he pulled back, he closed her lips, slid the knife into the special pouch inside his loose trousers, and walked out the door, turning up his collar against the heavy rain that would greet hientle, dreamy smile on his handsome face He had done well

Claire MacIntyre wrapped her hands around herof coffee and stared out into the rainy afternoon The heavy ceramic arm and hard beneath her hands, and she looked down to see that she was clenching it, her knuckles white with strain

She re theether Rainback to Paris with Nicole in tow made her want to scream with anxiety Instead she sat in the old kitchen of Marc’s mammoth apartment and drank too much coffee

Was it only sixrain that turned to ice on the narrow streets of Brockton, Massachusetts, the car wheels that lost all traction, the sharp, desperate turn? She could still feel twinges from the whiplash that had twisted her neckat all?

As usual she’d been fighting with Brian She’d known better than to fall in love with a hteen ht as Brian drove too fast through the icy streets of Brockton

Claire shuddered, taking a sip of the stea in anyshe could do was sit there and drink coffee and wait till Marc came back safely

Marc, she thought with that odd clutching of nervousness and desire that had become habit with her What would she have done without him? He had saved her, beco, her protector, her lover, and, for the last few months, her life

Brian hadn’t stopped forthere in the icy rain, and then he’d reversed the car and driven on as fast as he could, ignoring her screams of protest

It had all happened so quickly Hit-and-run, the newspapers called it Probably some drunk driver There were no witnesses, no one had come forward In all likelihood the case would never be solved

Not if Brian could h

elp it And Claire had kept silent, knowing that she was an accessory, knowing that i for her life at Mass General