room had an Oriental silk screen painting on
the wall. Sara placed one of the bugs on the back of the painting.
She stood in the living room and studied the surroundings. She
could always place a bug in one of the plants but all of the plants
were live and might be watered, repotted, or thrown out. She
couldn’t chance it. The fireplace had a marble mantel, a perfect
place for the second bug.
She headed for the second floor. The
staircase was marble with an Oriental runner and high-gloss wood
handrail. The upstairs furnishings proved even more extravagant.
The bed was on a platform with a velvet canopy. The bathroom had a
whirlpool large enough for six people in addition to a walk-in
shower. Gold fixtures were just a tad too much in Sara’s
opinion.
It didn’t feel appropriate to bug the
cardinal’s bedroom. But the loft did have a library and another
fireplace. Sara placed the last bug under an end table in the
library. A long conference table was in the middle of the room and
at one end of the table was an opened briefcase.
She was just about to search the case when
she heard a soft creaking, like someone stepping on a wood floor.
Sara lifted her head and focused her attention on the source of the
sound. It was coming from the cardinal’s bedroom. This was a bad
time to travel unarmed. She focused her senses on the room as she
entered. She didn’t hear anything other than her own pulse pounding
in her ears and her own breathing. Or was it hers? Was there
someone else inhaling? She stopped to listen closer. Creak. Her
attention riveted to a set of French doors which weren’t completely
closed. Sara breathed a sigh of relief. It was just the ceiling fan
causing a draft. She walked over to the French doors and pulled
them open.
A man, mouth twisted in a grimace, tumbled
toward her. Sara screamed and stepped to one side. The man fell to
the floor with a thud. Sara stumbled away and nearly collided with
the bed. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she stared in
shock at what lay before her. Blue face, bulging eyes. The man had
been strangled. Thoughts fired through her brain. She had on latex
gloves, hadn’t left prints anywhere. The bugs were planted. Time to
leave.
She ran out of the bedroom, through the
library, and right into Paul Demko.
“ What?!” Sara’s mouth gaped in shock.
This can’t be. He was dead. But here he was. Same face, same
receding hairline, same suit. Demko lunged at her but Sara called
on her unusual strength and flung him aside like a rag doll. She
dodged his second attempt and tore off for the staircase. A figure
appeared in her peripheral vision dropping from the second floor
like a suicide jumper. Demko had leaped from the loft and landed at
the bottom of the curved staircase. Sara came at him feet first,
landing a blow to his head. Something dropped from his hand and
scuttled across the floor. He shook off the shock to his body and
studied her with renewed interest, cocking his head as though
calculating his next move against a 120 pound woman with unusual
strength.
Demko took a swing at her but she ducked,
flung her feet out and kicked at his kneecap. Bone crunched and he
went down with a howl. Sara ran for the door but he hobbled right
after her, grabbed a handful of her uniform and dragged her back.
He pulled her into a headlock. Sara clawed for his eyes but his
other arm held down her hands. She kicked backward, aiming toward
his injured kneecap. She turned, moving them in a bizarre circular
dance while lights sparkled behind her eyes. She heard pottery
breaking and furniture tumbling. Finally her heel connected with
Demko’s injured kneecap and he folded like a broken chair. Sara
stepped away and took in gulps of air. Her vision started to clear
as she saw Demko grope for a pen then stumble to his feet, wobbling
in front of the tall windows.
“ Don’t you ever quit?” Sara said. She
took a deep breath then ran straight at him, leaped in the air and
caught him in the
the wall. Sara placed one of the bugs on the back of the painting.
She stood in the living room and studied the surroundings. She
could always place a bug in one of the plants but all of the plants
were live and might be watered, repotted, or thrown out. She
couldn’t chance it. The fireplace had a marble mantel, a perfect
place for the second bug.
She headed for the second floor. The
staircase was marble with an Oriental runner and high-gloss wood
handrail. The upstairs furnishings proved even more extravagant.
The bed was on a platform with a velvet canopy. The bathroom had a
whirlpool large enough for six people in addition to a walk-in
shower. Gold fixtures were just a tad too much in Sara’s
opinion.
It didn’t feel appropriate to bug the
cardinal’s bedroom. But the loft did have a library and another
fireplace. Sara placed the last bug under an end table in the
library. A long conference table was in the middle of the room and
at one end of the table was an opened briefcase.
She was just about to search the case when
she heard a soft creaking, like someone stepping on a wood floor.
Sara lifted her head and focused her attention on the source of the
sound. It was coming from the cardinal’s bedroom. This was a bad
time to travel unarmed. She focused her senses on the room as she
entered. She didn’t hear anything other than her own pulse pounding
in her ears and her own breathing. Or was it hers? Was there
someone else inhaling? She stopped to listen closer. Creak. Her
attention riveted to a set of French doors which weren’t completely
closed. Sara breathed a sigh of relief. It was just the ceiling fan
causing a draft. She walked over to the French doors and pulled
them open.
A man, mouth twisted in a grimace, tumbled
toward her. Sara screamed and stepped to one side. The man fell to
the floor with a thud. Sara stumbled away and nearly collided with
the bed. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she stared in
shock at what lay before her. Blue face, bulging eyes. The man had
been strangled. Thoughts fired through her brain. She had on latex
gloves, hadn’t left prints anywhere. The bugs were planted. Time to
leave.
She ran out of the bedroom, through the
library, and right into Paul Demko.
“ What?!” Sara’s mouth gaped in shock.
This can’t be. He was dead. But here he was. Same face, same
receding hairline, same suit. Demko lunged at her but Sara called
on her unusual strength and flung him aside like a rag doll. She
dodged his second attempt and tore off for the staircase. A figure
appeared in her peripheral vision dropping from the second floor
like a suicide jumper. Demko had leaped from the loft and landed at
the bottom of the curved staircase. Sara came at him feet first,
landing a blow to his head. Something dropped from his hand and
scuttled across the floor. He shook off the shock to his body and
studied her with renewed interest, cocking his head as though
calculating his next move against a 120 pound woman with unusual
strength.
Demko took a swing at her but she ducked,
flung her feet out and kicked at his kneecap. Bone crunched and he
went down with a howl. Sara ran for the door but he hobbled right
after her, grabbed a handful of her uniform and dragged her back.
He pulled her into a headlock. Sara clawed for his eyes but his
other arm held down her hands. She kicked backward, aiming toward
his injured kneecap. She turned, moving them in a bizarre circular
dance while lights sparkled behind her eyes. She heard pottery
breaking and furniture tumbling. Finally her heel connected with
Demko’s injured kneecap and he folded like a broken chair. Sara
stepped away and took in gulps of air. Her vision started to clear
as she saw Demko grope for a pen then stumble to his feet, wobbling
in front of the tall windows.
“ Don’t you ever quit?” Sara said. She
took a deep breath then ran straight at him, leaped in the air and
caught him in the
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