Deadly Contact. Don Pendleton

      “And why is that?”

      “To help us verify an identification.”

      “For who?”

      “A young woman involved in a traffic accident.” The man was trying hard to stay professional. “I have a car over there.”

      Dukas hesitated, caution holding her back, and when the man reached out to touch her elbow she drew away.

      “Why did you come to me?” she asked.

      “She kept saying your name. Asking us to find you. We looked in her bag and found your address in her diary.”

      “Is it Tira?” Dukas asked, frightened.

      “Tira Malivik could be her name, but we need formal identification.”

      “Nothing in her bag to prove who she is?” Dukas asked.

      “No. Look, Miss Dukas, we need to go now. It is urgent.”

      I’m sure it is, she thought, considering I have Tira’s bag in my hand right now.

      She finished locking her car and fell in alongside the man as they walked in the direction of the waiting car, engine running, lights on. Dukas saw the dark outline of a driver. Her escort opened the back door.

      There was no way she was getting in a car with these men.

      About to step around the open door, Dukas allowed the bag to slip from her hand and as it hit the ground she caught it with her foot, pushing it under the door.

      “Sorry,” she said.

      The man grunted, then bent to pick up the bag.

      Dukas lunged forward, using her full body weight to slam the door into the man. The bulk of the door connected with his upper body, driving him against the inner frame. Erika grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it wide, then hit it again. The man had slumped to his knees and this time the door thudded into his skull. He uttered a low moan and sprawled on the wet ground.

      Snatching up the bag, Dukas ran behind the car. As she moved she caught a glimpse of the driver’s door swinging open. She knew the area well, so despite the driving rain she had no need to hesitate. She raced across the curving swell of the grassed area and into the landscaped bushes and trees. She followed the downward slope, the dark trees closing around her. Running hard, stumbling on the uneven ground, she weaved her way to the far side of the wooded area and came out just above the feeder road. Only then did she stop to catch her breath. She took a few moments to check out her surroundings, seeking any sign of movement.

      Had they followed?

      She saw no signs of movement.

      So what now?

      She couldn’t risk going back to her apartment, or even to her car. Concern for her friend guided her. She eased her way along the fringe of the trees until she was well clear of the area, then made her way to the main road. She would hail a taxi and get over to Malivik’s apartment.

      IN THE CAB SHE CALLED Stony Man Farm and was more than relieved when Barbara Price answered.

      “Hey, I’ve been worried. Where have you been?” Price said.

      Dukas explained what had happened. “I’m checking Tira’s apartment,” she said. “I’m on my way there now. That help we talked about? I may need to take you up on it.”

      “Already sanctioned. Erika, maybe you should back off until we know what’s going on,” Price said.

      “Look, it’s been well over two hours since Tira went missing. I can’t just stand back and do nothing. I’ll be at her place in a few minutes. Barb, I have to do this. She’s my best friend and she called on me for help. She has no one else.”

      “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Price said.

      “I won’t do anything stupid.”

      “Give me her address.”

      Dukas passed along the information, then ended the call before Price talked her out of what she intended. She was afraid of what she might find, but she was unable to ignore the fact her friend was in some kind of trouble.

      3

      The entrance to Malivik’s building was reached by climbing a short flight of stone steps. Dukas got to the door without incident. Pushing inside she stopped in the lobby of the building aware of a sick feeling in her stomach. She considered the fact that she might be well out of her depth.

      She climbed to the third floor apartment. No light showed under the door. Dukas took the keys from her friend’s bag and opened the door. Through the gap she could see the room was in darkness, the gloom broken only by the pale light coming through the window. Dukas reached inside and clicked on the light. The room had been disturbed, furniture out of place and objects strewed across the floor.

      And from behind the leather couch a bare arm, streaked with blood, jutted at an odd angle.

      “Please no,” she whispered. “Not Tira.”

      Her plea was too late. When she stepped around the couch, she immediately recognized her friend lying in a wide, congealing pool of dark blood.

      She was naked. Her clothes slashed and cut away by the same brutal blade that had ravaged her flesh, leaving her butchered and bloody. Her throat had been deeply cut, the flesh peeling back in a moist, glistening layer.

      About to move toward the body, Dukas drew back. There was nothing she could do for her friend now.

      Dukas reached into her pocket for her cell, then picked up a whisper of sound from the other side of the room. She realized she was not alone. She turned for the door, catching movement out the corner of her eye—a fast moving figure coming out of the bedroom, heading directly for her.

      She reached the door and yanked it open. An arm snaked around her neck, the impact of her assailant’s body pushing her into the door frame. She stumbled, pulling her attacker with her as he maintained his grip. On her knees, she threw out one hand to grip the door frame. She could feel warm breath on the back of her neck that drew her anger as she recalled everything that had happened—the men at her apartment, discovering her dead friend and now this unprovoked attack. It gelled into a moment of pure, reflex rage.

      Dukas drove the back of her skull into her attacker’s face. It hit hard and she heard him gasp, the arm around her neck loosening. She pulled free, pushing to her feet and turning to face the man. Still on his knees, temporarily engulfed in the blinding pain of his bruised nose, he was vulnerable. Dukas didn’t hesitate. She raised her right foot and slammed the heel of her boot into his mouth. He fell back, his face bloody, and in that instant she turned and ran.

      Dukas raced along the corridor to the stairs, almost throwing herself down the steep flights, trying not to think about what she had left behind. She reached the lobby, barely able to stop herself from crashing into the front door. She fumbled for the handle, pulling it wide, and faced a dark figure blocking the entrance as she went through.

      She hadn’t considered the man upstairs might have a partner.

      Her forward rush took her headlong into the newcomer. His arms came up to grip her, but to steady her, not to imprison. Even in the flash of panic she knew to trust the voice when he spoke.

      “Easy now, Erika, I’m on your side.”

      “She’s dead. Tira’s dead,” Dukas cried.

      She felt the man’s hands on her shoulders. The gesture helped to calm her. He eased her around and she felt herself being guided to a corner of the lobby.

      “I think he was still there. In her apartment,” she said.

      “Let me worry about him. You wait here.”

      “With more of them liable to come through the front door? I’ll feel safer behind