He was padding back across to check on Alisha’s progress when he heard something out of place on this private floor of the building. It was the faint crunch of a heel on grit. Most people would have gone back to the front door to peer out through the peephole, but Rickard didn’t act the way others did. He knew without checking that someone with no right to be there was in his hall. He ducked into the bedroom, pulled on his trousers and unsnapped the ceramic knife from its holder. No time for shoes or shirt, he moved to the en suite bath. Alisha had her back to him and the scratches on her back were livid. He unsnagged her gown from where she’d hung it and threw it to her. “Put that on. Lock the door and don’t come out until I tell you. Whatever you hear.”

Alisha’s face elongated, but before she could say anything, he pulled the door closed. He heard her throwing the bolt: another alien sound to this apartment.

Then he moved back across the room. He cursed the fact that his gun was locked inside his car, but shoved the thought aside. His knife would be enough, until he could arm himself otherwise.

On his way into the apartment he’d been distracted. He had not armed the intruder alarms. He hadn’t thrown the locks on the doors. Okay, so there’d be less damage when they came in, maybe that wasn’t so bad after all.

They.

He was sure that there’d be more than one.

Only a series of unforeseen events had caused the mess-up in Maine, but his employer knew how good he was. More than one man would have been sent to dispatch him; to close down the trail that might lead back to its source.

He avoided the urge to peer out the peephole. He’d heard of assassins waiting until the peephole became shadowed, when they would press a gun to the lens and fire a round through the orbital socket and into the brain. Maybe that was just in the movies, but Rickard wouldn’t fall for it. He moved instead for the door leading to the flight of stairs to the roof. He’d been remiss in locking that door, and the one on to the roof.

Although he owned the uppermost floor, building regulations meant that there had to be ample escape routes in the event of an emergency. He could lock the elevator by way of his key, but access could be gained via two fire escapes; one was inside the building and one outside. The internal one had already been breached and so too, he guessed, had the metal stairwell on the side of the building. Against fire regulations he’d installed a gate that he kept padlocked, but anyone with a pair of bolt cutters could be through that in seconds.