Lederer rushed him. Devlin brought up his knee, but Lederer turned away to protect himself. The collision drove Devlin back against the fender of a car. Lederer kept coming. Devlin hit him with both fists, getting only the left past Lederer’s upraised arms. Lederer punched at Devlin’s groin. Devlin got his thigh up, but the punch hurt there. Lederer knew how to fight. Devlin was going to have to kill him. Lederer got him around the waist. Devlin punched down with his right fist. He couldn’t feel any effect. Devlin’s clothing kept him from getting his gun. Lederer bit him on the arm as Devlin punched him in the face, straightening up just in time to get kneed in the balls—hard enough to be lifted off the ground. As much as he could, Devlin rode with it. He’ll be able to kill me! Devlin came down clawing for his gun as the pain curled him into a ball. He fired once as Lederer moved to kick him again. Devlin didn’t think he’d hit him, but Lederer turned and ran anyway. Devlin was trying to keep from blacking out, trying to get himself up and moving. Lederer got in the car and started it as Devlin keeled over backward. He thought he was up again at once, but the car was already screeching away.

Liz!

Devlin hobbled into the vestibule again, broke the window on the inner door, and reached in to turn the knob on the inside. The elevator was still on the first floor. Devlin had to remember the floor of Liz’s apartment before he could push a button. He was still gasping. When the elevator door opened again, he lost his balance stepping into the hall and smacked against the opposite wall. Liz’s door was open, and light from inside slashed across the hall. He saw blood on the inside wall before he pushed the door open the rest of the way. Blood all over the apartment, in sprays, not splashes, on the walls, the ceilings, but most of it on the carpet, almost a trail back to the bedroom.

“Liz!”

He thought he was hearing something. He called her again. His pain made him hold his groin as he crossed the living room. She was sprawled on her back on her bed, her hand to her throat, covered with blood. Lederer had slit her throat and left her to run through the apartment pumping out her blood like a Sunday chicken. She was still alive. Trashing Devlin’s place, Lederer had heard the elevator ascending, watched through the peephole as she slipped the note under the door, and had thought she was Eileen. He had taken the stairs to follow her after he had seen Devlin and Levine get out of the Peugeot. It had been that close.