you consider that I have just shown you the path to bliss.”
“Forget it.” Lydia yanked the book out of her purse and dropped it on the table. “I’m not paying for perfect bliss. The best things in life are supposed to be free.”
“If you cannot afford to make a contribution now, perhaps you will be able to make it later,” the Greenie muttered.
“Sure,” Lydia said, moving right along.
The Greenie glanced speculatively at Emmett.
“Save your breath,” Emmett advised. “I’m a Guild man. I don’t read much.”
The Greenie sighed and huddled down into his robe.
Emmett took Lydia’s arm and steered her away from the table and up the steps of the apartment house. The door that opened onto the small, dank foyer was unlocked, just as it had been that morning when he had arrived in search of Lydia. The smell in the front hall seemed to have gotten worse in the past few hours.
The entryway was lit by a dim, sputtering, fluo-rez bulb. If there had ever been a light in the narrow corridor beyond, it had burned out long ago.
“Apartment A,” Lydia said. She started forward eagerly.
Emmett wrapped his hand around her arm and hauled her back. “I’ll go first. I’m the hunter here, remember? The overpaid bodyguard?”
“Really, Emmett, we’re not on an expedition underground. I really don’t think—”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that tendency. You ought to watch it.”
He moved into the hall, every sense rezzed.
Nothing shifted in the shadows but he noticed that there was a thin line of light beneath the bottom edge of the door of the apartment directly across from Maltby’s. That was interesting, he thought. There had been no sign of a neighbor when he had arrived earlier today.
He halted in front of Maltby’s door and tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned easily in his hand. The cops and medics hadn’t even bothered to lock up after they removed the body.
He eased the door open. Rusty hinges squeaked.
A faint scraping sound came from somewhere inside the apartment. It was followed immediately by the heavy weight of an unnatural silence; the tense, quivering stillness of someone who has been startled.
He reacted instinctively, pushing Lydia, who was right behind him, back down the hall.
“Stay there.” He gave the order the way he had in the old days down in the catacombs when he had been responsible for the safety of an archaeological team: in a flat, hard voice that let everyone know that he expected full and immediate compliance. He had discovered the hard way that it was the only surefire means of securing the attention of the P-As who tended to get completely distracted by their work and often became oblivious to what was going on around them underground.
Lydia did as she was told, hovering in the corridor. Fuzz quivered in excitement.
Inside the apartment he heard a frantic scrambling sound. Not the rush of movement that indicated someone coming toward him, Emmett realized. More like the noise a person made trying to squeeze through an open window. The intruder had chosen flight rather than a confrontation.
Emmett entered the apartment swiftly, staying low and moving at an angle so that he would not be silhouetted against the weak light from the hall. Adrenaline kicked in, wild and potent. His prey was escaping.
He reached the doorway of the study in a matter of seconds but he knew at once that he was too late. Night air poured through the open window but the room was empty.
He started across the floor, unable to see anything except the pale square of gray light that marked the window. His booted foot struck a heavy bundle of what felt like thickly wadded up fabric.
Hell, not another body. He glanced down as he caught his balance. There was just enough light from the alley outside to reveal the bunched-up carpet that had snagged his boot. The intruder must have removed it to get at the floorboards, he thought. The guy had been searching for something.
The delay cost him a
“Forget it.” Lydia yanked the book out of her purse and dropped it on the table. “I’m not paying for perfect bliss. The best things in life are supposed to be free.”
“If you cannot afford to make a contribution now, perhaps you will be able to make it later,” the Greenie muttered.
“Sure,” Lydia said, moving right along.
The Greenie glanced speculatively at Emmett.
“Save your breath,” Emmett advised. “I’m a Guild man. I don’t read much.”
The Greenie sighed and huddled down into his robe.
Emmett took Lydia’s arm and steered her away from the table and up the steps of the apartment house. The door that opened onto the small, dank foyer was unlocked, just as it had been that morning when he had arrived in search of Lydia. The smell in the front hall seemed to have gotten worse in the past few hours.
The entryway was lit by a dim, sputtering, fluo-rez bulb. If there had ever been a light in the narrow corridor beyond, it had burned out long ago.
“Apartment A,” Lydia said. She started forward eagerly.
Emmett wrapped his hand around her arm and hauled her back. “I’ll go first. I’m the hunter here, remember? The overpaid bodyguard?”
“Really, Emmett, we’re not on an expedition underground. I really don’t think—”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that tendency. You ought to watch it.”
He moved into the hall, every sense rezzed.
Nothing shifted in the shadows but he noticed that there was a thin line of light beneath the bottom edge of the door of the apartment directly across from Maltby’s. That was interesting, he thought. There had been no sign of a neighbor when he had arrived earlier today.
He halted in front of Maltby’s door and tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned easily in his hand. The cops and medics hadn’t even bothered to lock up after they removed the body.
He eased the door open. Rusty hinges squeaked.
A faint scraping sound came from somewhere inside the apartment. It was followed immediately by the heavy weight of an unnatural silence; the tense, quivering stillness of someone who has been startled.
He reacted instinctively, pushing Lydia, who was right behind him, back down the hall.
“Stay there.” He gave the order the way he had in the old days down in the catacombs when he had been responsible for the safety of an archaeological team: in a flat, hard voice that let everyone know that he expected full and immediate compliance. He had discovered the hard way that it was the only surefire means of securing the attention of the P-As who tended to get completely distracted by their work and often became oblivious to what was going on around them underground.
Lydia did as she was told, hovering in the corridor. Fuzz quivered in excitement.
Inside the apartment he heard a frantic scrambling sound. Not the rush of movement that indicated someone coming toward him, Emmett realized. More like the noise a person made trying to squeeze through an open window. The intruder had chosen flight rather than a confrontation.
Emmett entered the apartment swiftly, staying low and moving at an angle so that he would not be silhouetted against the weak light from the hall. Adrenaline kicked in, wild and potent. His prey was escaping.
He reached the doorway of the study in a matter of seconds but he knew at once that he was too late. Night air poured through the open window but the room was empty.
He started across the floor, unable to see anything except the pale square of gray light that marked the window. His booted foot struck a heavy bundle of what felt like thickly wadded up fabric.
Hell, not another body. He glanced down as he caught his balance. There was just enough light from the alley outside to reveal the bunched-up carpet that had snagged his boot. The intruder must have removed it to get at the floorboards, he thought. The guy had been searching for something.
The delay cost him a
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