The Equalisers. Debra Webb

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СКАЧАТЬ nothing specific bobbed to the surface of that murky lake of memories. Maybe she’d suppressed so much of that past that she’d lost some details.

      But she did know him, she decided after further consideration.

      She was almost positive.

      The bell over the door jingled and her head came up. Tension roared through her with the force of a freight train barreling down its track. She peeked around the piece she currently studied.

      Three women, garbed in traditional Islamic dress, full hijab, whispered among each other as they hurried over to the wall where the oil paintings were displayed.

      Willow let a whoosh of tension rush past her lips. She really did need to get a grip here. If she walked around acting like this someone would notice. Calling attention to herself was not the thing to do.

      Okay. If she couldn’t remember the guy she should start a process of elimination. First, she resurrected the long-buried images of the household staff along with the names of each man in her husband’s domestic employ.

      Nope. He hadn’t been someone she’d run into in the house on a regular basis. Not that she’d actually thought he was. She would surely have remembered someone she saw every day.

      She thought of the people she saw from time to time at the various shops she’d frequented. Not the grocery clerk. Not the postman. Not the drycleaner. Not at the pediatrician’s office.

      Then she moved on to her husband’s business associates. Not that she saw any of them that often, but she did on rare occasions. Those would be far harder to recall.

      The trio of women moved to the metal sculptures next. The gaze of the one who appeared to be the leader of the group abruptly bumped into Willow’s. Willow smiled before she could suppress the impulse. The other woman quickly looked away.

      God, she had to remember the rules of etiquette. No staring. No prolonged direct eye contact. No smiling.

      No…

      Yuri Avnery’s profile suddenly loomed in her head. Only it wasn’t the image she’d captured in the lobby across the street. He wore white robes… not the business suit he’d been wearing as he’d signed in fifteen or twenty minutes ago. Long white robes and the headdress, the ghutra. A shimmery gold over-cloak had embellished the pure white.

      There were a lot of people at the event she recalled, all dressed in the very finest traditional garb. Tables. Waiters. Her husband…

      Her breath evaporated in her lungs.

      Oh, God.

      She remembered him. Only his name hadn’t been Yuri Avnery… Abdulatif something. She couldn’t remember the last name.

      He was her ex-husband’s hatchet man. She’d only met him that once, but she remembered Khaled referring to him in just that way. She had assumed he’d meant that he was the man who got rid of the excess in his businesses. You know, the kind of man who came in and cut the fat… job layoffs, pink slips. Stuff like that.

      But her husband hadn’t meant that at all. Khaled had laughed at her later when she’d suggested as much.

      The moment replayed over and over in her mind. The way her husband had looked at the man… the way he’d laughed when he made the statement about what the man did for him.

      He was a hatchet man all right, but he didn’t cut excess employees… he got rid of problems.

      Like Spencer Anders.

      Willow was at the front window of the gallery before she’d realized she’d moved.

      She stared up at the third floor of the office building across the street.

      If she was right… God, she prayed she wasn’t… the man up there with Anders was an assassin.

      “DOES THIS suite of offices satisfy your needs then?”

      Spencer followed Avnery along the corridor that led back to the third-floor lobby that served the suite of offices.

      “I have another location to preview this afternoon, but this is very much in line with my client’s interests.”

      Avnery paused at the wall of windows that overlooked the street. “Quite a pleasant view,” he suggested with a wave of his arm.

      Spencer took his time strolling over to join him. So far the meeting had gone off without a glitch. Still, Willow had been certain she knew this man. It wasn’t impossible that she knew him in his capacity as a real-estate agent. Her ex-husband might have sought his expertise at one time or another. Or perhaps they’d met at a social function. No matter, Spencer’s instincts were nagging at him.

      Something about this man was not right.

      “I may want to come back and take some digital shots of the place,” Spencer commented. “Unless you have photos or maybe a virtual tour on your Web site.” He watched the man carefully now that he wasn’t following him around from room to room. At one time he’d been particularly good at spotting a liar. “Your secretary mentioned a Web site.” He hadn’t actually spoken to this man when he’d made the call this morning.

      Avnery nodded. “Of course. I believe you’ll find everything there that your client requires.”

      His response was slightly stilted… the least bit hesitant. Spencer’s tension escalated to the next level. “Can you spell out any unusual legalities involved with an American tenant?”

      Avnery glanced down at the street. “Ah-ha. Your lovely wife appears to have grown bored with the gallery as well.”

      Spencer’s attention rocketed to the gallery across the street. Willow stood in the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window staring up at this building… it felt almost as if she were looking directly at him.

      “I am confident she won’t be bored for long.”

      A long white limousine lurched to a stop in front of the gallery.

      Spencer went for his weapon.

      “Don’t move, Mr. Anders. I would most assuredly dislike having to kill you here. I’m certain the carpet would be ruined and my friend Avnery would be upset with me.”

      Spencer turned slowly to face the imposter. The silenced end of a.9mm Ruger was aimed directly at his chest. His fingers itched to go for his own weapon.

      “I am quite the excellent shot. You might want to consider that before you make a move for your weapon.”

      Spencer raised his hands in the air. “I’ll take your word for that, Avnery.”

      The other man smirked. “I’m certain you know my name is not Avnery, but that is most irrelevant. Let’s move to the elevator, Mr. Anders. Your next appointment will be your last, I’m afraid, but it is a command performance.”

      “Then let’s not keep the man waiting.” Spencer executed an about-face, giving his back to the man with the gun. That was, clearly, his only choice. And maybe if he kept him off guard he wouldn’t remember to check to see if Spencer СКАЧАТЬ