The Executioner's Game by Gary Hardwick Page A

polycord on the doorjamb was broken.
    Luther pushed Tomiko away a little too hard. He moved back and assumed a slightly crouched posture. How stupid he’d been, he thought. He knew that desire was the most potent of all disablers, and no matter how many times you read the E-1 manual, no matter how many courses in counteragent methods you took, you lost IQ points when your dick got stiff.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Tomiko breathlessly.
    Luther didn’t answer. He just watched her standing there looking gorgeous and confused. Did she know that his place had been compromised? Did she kiss him because she wanted to fuck him or because she wanted him to go inside without seeing that the polycord seal had been broken? Luther’s face fell into a flat, dangerous look, the look that said he was about to do violence, and Tomiko unconsciously took a step backward.
    If she was going to do something, it would happen right now, Luther thought, and he’d have to respond quickly and cleanly. He had a backup weapon, an S&W shorty .40 in an ankle holster. The P99 was too big to hide under his clothes. He’d have to drop her before she could reach hers. But Tomiko just kept looking at him with innocence and fear in her eyes. The moment was heavy, but he did not sense danger from her.
    Luther quickly assessed the situation and began to relax. If Tomiko was out to get him, she could have done so many times in the car or at the club. She was just what he thought she was: a beautiful woman who wanted to sleep with him.
    â€œI’m okay,” said Luther. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay tonight.”
    â€œAre you married or something?” she asked with a tiny bit of disappointment in her voice.
    â€œNo, I’m not,” he responded calmly. “Look, the guard downstairs will call a car for you. I’m sorry, Tomiko, really.”
    Tomiko was struck silent. Luther could see so many things going through her head: Was he lying? Was he gay? Was he crazy?She stood straight and then walked over to him, placing a small kiss on his cheek.
    â€œTake care, Jordan,” she said. And she said his name as if she wasn’t sure it was his real name. She had intuition, too, this woman, and he was deeply sorry to see her move away from him. He wanted to grab her, to forget who and what he was, but that feeling was buried under a mountain of training and discipline.
    Luther watched her walk off. When he was sure she was gone, he pulled the shorty .40 and went inside. He moved into the little hallway off the front door. He knew that if there were someone still inside, he would have to show himself soon or the element of surprise would be lost. Who would be foolish enough to try to take down an E-1 agent in D.C.? Not many, Luther thought, but that didn’t stop him from moving into the living room, then into the bedrooms and kitchen, looking for intruders. He checked each closet and even the ledge outside the window. He made a thorough sweep and even did a quick electronic scan for devices. It was all clear.
    But someone had been inside his place, he thought. Luther turned off all the lights, went into his utility area, and removed a pair of thermal readout glasses. Through the glasses Luther could now see impressions of depth and temperature. The glasses were effective, but they hurt his eyes like all hell.
    Luther saw his own depression tracks. Temperature readings showed pink where he had pressed his hands just moments before. Then he saw them—foot impressions left by someone else. The impressions looked to be those of a smaller person. He followed the footprints into his bedroom and saw them stop by his bed.
    He saw hand impressions and temperature readings on hisbedcovers. The handprints were thick and rounded at the fingertips, telling Luther that the intruder had worn gloves. The impressions ended at his pillow.
    Luther gently pressed the pillow and heard the soft