Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) Read Free Page B

Oddly, there was no clock in the room, and time seemed as fluid and unstoppable as the canal. She still couldn’t stop shivering, despite dry clothing, hot drinks, and the stiflingly overheated room.
    “Tell me again what he looked like,” the detective said.
    “Average height. Big body, muscular, shaved head, pale skin, dark brown or black hair. Bushy eyebrows that came together over a bulbous, hawk-beak of a nose. Like it had been broken more than once.” She sighed. The image was so sharp in her mind, but how to convey that awful menace in his eyes? “He looked like a villain out of a Bourne movie.”
    The cop smiled. “His voice?”
    “He never said a word.”
    The officer had introduced himself, but her head hurt so badly it wasn’t retaining much of anything. She checked the name stitched over his breast pocket.  A.C. Kramer. He was frowning at her now. “You’re sure you didn’t overreact, ma’am? Maybe you were out clubbing with friends. Had a few too many and fell in the canal?”
    “It wasn’t even eight o’clock,” she muttered. Clubbing indeed.  “And I wasn’t drinking. Listen, I know gunfire when I hear it.” Her voice sounded dulled to her, fatigue and pain muffling it. Like the hushed pop of her attacker’s gun when he’d shot at her. “The gun had a silencer. That must be why no one reported hearing gunfire.”
    “Silencer?” Kramer echoed, almost a chuckle. As if she was confusing reality with a TV show. She was sorry she’d mentioned Bourne. To Kramer’s credit, he didn’t smile this time.
    She wrapped her arms around her aching body and imagined bruises blossoming purple-and-green all over her. Like the kind librarian, the first police officer she’d seen had offered medical help. He’d call for an ambulance or take her to the hospital himself. A kind man. But Mercy refused, wanting to ID her attacker, the sooner the better.
    “Didn’t anyone along the street notice that you were being chased by a man with a gun?” It seemed inconceivable to her, too.
    “It was a monsoon out there. No one was on the street.”
    Kramer tucked his chin and studied her dubiously. “Did you at least try to ask anyone for help?”
    She groaned in frustration. “I was terrified he’d hurt anyone who tried to stop him.”
    “Think. Other people must have been caught in the rain, were running for shelter at the same time you say he was chasing you.”
    She couldn’t miss the telltale word choice. You say. In other words, you claim . He still didn't believe her.
    She shook her head. “I honestly never saw another soul, although I suppose it’s possible. I was too preoccupied with staying alive to take notice of witnesses.” She took another sip from the Tardis. Having lost its initial scalding warmth, the coffee was beginning to taste more like liquid burnt rubber. She set the mug down with a defeated whack on the table. It seemed her attacker would remain free. To try again?
    “Well,” Detective Kramer said, leaning back in his chair, “in the morning we’ll have a better chance of asking around. A couple of officers will go door-to-door, see what they can find out. Tonight’s a wash. Businesses are closed. Tourists gone to dry off in their hotels.”
    Mercy flashed on the moments before she’d tumbled into the canal. She’d cast off her coat and before then… She dropped her face into her hands and swore. “My purse.”
    “What about it?”
    It was gone. Her head snapped up and she frowned, the nervous knot in her stomach tightening. “I thought he was after my purse. I threw it at him but he ignored it. My house keys. My driver’s license. If he went back for it, he’ll know my address and be able to get into my home.”
    Kramer gave her a semi-sympathetic look. “Maybe you should change your locks. On your gallery, too.”
    She’d kept the antique iron key that fit in the original lock in the gallery’s front door. Not exactly high-tech security, but that key had been