Inside the apartment, draperies were pulled shut over towering windows. In the subdued artificial light, a stranger couldn’t have told if the opulent furniture was fake or the real deal, but I knew from previous visits–and the occasional tidbit from Claudia–that Tariq’s obsession with the English Regency and its trappings knew no bounds. I wondered if I was supposed to stand there, admiring it all before the man decided to step from the shadows. “Tariq?” I called as I opened my coat and dropped it over the back of a sofa.

No one answered, but the lights went out in the room. I heard footsteps clacking on the parquet floor and I turned around. For a second I thought it was an animal, but then something hit me in the chest.

CHAPTER 8

I took a step back as someone tried to slap me. I ducked to the side and my attacker stumbled. For a breathless second I thought of my mother, who had waited up for me once while I was out late with a boyfriend. She had surprised me as I came in the door, hitting me with her fists for making her worry. This attacker was angry but inept. “You bitch,” she hissed. With her French accent, it sounded like beech. “How dare you come here.”

“Are you insane?” I spluttered. She grabbed the front of my dress with one hand and there was a furious rip of fabric as I twisted away.

“I’ll get even for what you did,” she said, and lunged for my throat. I felt her pointed nails sink into my neck, and instinctively I lashed out, hitting her squarely in the nose.

“Ahhhh!” she screamed.

I wanted to rush to the door, but I was disoriented now. As I got away I tripped over a table. Crystal shattered as I fell. Scrambling to my feet, I made it to the wall. Feeling for the door I found a light switch instead. A woman sat on the floor, legs akimbo. She wore a black dress that clung to her curvy but slender body, and there was a tattoo of a dragon on her pale shoulder. Claudia, I almost said aloud when I saw it. But even though I couldn’t see her face—it was hidden in her hands—I knew it wasn’t my sister.

“My nose, my nose!” she cried. Had I actually broken it? I stood back, watching her. When I didn’t come closer she eventually dropped her hands. “Beech,” she hissed from the ground.

“Who are you?” I demanded, more incredulous than angry. “Why did you hit me?”