Page 95 of Two Kinds of Stranger

He looked left and right, checking the street. The car alarm would bring any passing eyes directly on him.

Bloch rolled onto her knees, tried to get her feet beneath her. She was panting, her head was fried and her side was in agony. Bruno took one step toward her, sent a boot into her stomach. The force of the kick lifted Bloch’s body into the air and slammed her back into the BMW. She landed face down on the sidewalk and heard Bruno’s boots again. She flipped over onto her back, and lashed out wildly with her feet, kicking at Bruno, and felt her boot connect with his wrist. She heard the metallic sound of the knife landing some feet away.

He lashed out, sweeping her feet aside, and bent down, taking hold of her by the coat. Bloch made a grab for his wrists, then felt herself being lifted clean into the air, up, over Bruno’s head, and then down, fast.

She closed her eyes, locked her fingers behind her head and then screamed as Bruno planted her body through the windshield of the BMW. She heard the sound of glass exploding, felt an unbelievable pain in her lower back, then found herself falling into the passenger seat, her legs draped over the steering wheel.

Over the sound of the alarm, she heard Bruno’s boots again, running away before somebody saw him.

Bloch tried to move, heard the glass clinking and rattling around her. She was cut, her right arm bleeding badly.

The effort was too much, and she collapsed as she heard the voices of passers-by running toward her. Male. Maybe two of them. And a female, calling a paramedic.

That’s the thing about New York City. No matter what shit goes down, there is always a stranger who will come and help.

35

Logan

His foot still hard down on the accelerator, Logan checked the rearview mirror.

Following the investigator, Lake, had proven useful. Logan had spent his life studying human behavior. He could tell, just by the body language, that Lake had gotten a hot lead from the HOME-STAT surveyor. There was an urgency in Lake’s step after that conversation. When Lake spoke to the old woman, who pointed him toward the two men at the fire barrel, Logan knew Lake had hit paydirt. Then his interaction with the men, and the man agreeing to come with him confirmed it. Logan couldn’t see much of the homeless men’s faces, but he recognized the coat. He’d last seen it being worn by Joe Novak as he was crouched over the convulsing body of Elly Parker.

There was no doubt, Lake had Novak, and now he was bent over the homeless man, giving him CPR.

He couldn’t be sure, but Logan thought he had hit Novak at least twice in the chest, high up near the throat. Usually, Logan knew he had landed a fatal shot by watching the victim’s expression change. No chance of that with Novak, all wrapped up in that scarf and headgear, but still. The shots were good. He didn’t manage to get a clean shot on Lake, though. Just tagged him. Maybe.

It didn’t matter.

The witness was dead already, even if Lake didn’t realize it.

And so was any hope of a defense for Elly Parker.

Logan put a good mile between him and the scene of the shooting before he pulled over, and got out of the car. He removed the magnetic license plates from front and back, crossed the street to the river, tossed the gun and the plates in the Hudson, then buttoned his coat and made for the nearest subway.

He checked his phone, found a text message from Grace.

I know what you did. Please come over.

He texted back, said he was on his way. As he stepped down into the subway, he felt his legs dragging. One thing Logan hated was uncertainty. There were only really two ways this could go tonight. Maybe she would be overwhelmed with joy at what he had done. Or she might be really offended and tell him that she didn’t ever want to see him again. That would be an unfortunate reaction. For Logan and Grace. Logan didn’t want to lose her. Of that, he was certain. If she rejected him, or found what he had done controlling and didn’t want to be involved in a relationship, Logan didn’t know exactly how he would deal with that.

He rode the trains and thought about how he felt. The mere fact that he was nervous about meeting her wasn’t just from the uncertainty–it was also that a big part of him really wanted her. Never having experienced it himself, infatuation was an alien concept to Logan. There are psychological tricks to make up for a lack of empathy, but nothing that came close to being able to fake something like love. Chemicals, hormones, social conditioning, psychology, primal instincts, none of this explained it. Poets came about as close as physiologists.

Logan experienced a weird feeling in his stomach as he climbed the subway steps a block away from Grace’s building. His heartbeat quickened when he thought of her. Especiallywhen he thought of those quiet moments, when he was just staring into her eyes. It made him feel more than content. And it was different from the exhilaration of taking a life and hiding the crime so perfectly. The joy and satisfaction of seeing someone else pay for your crime. This feeling when he thought of Grace, it was different to all of them. And more than all of them.

When Grace confessed to Logan about feeling lonely, he’d felt a powerful connection with her. All he had ever known was loneliness. He knew it like he knew the taste of coffee, like he knew the sunrise, even the lines on his own face. And here, for the first time, was someone who felt the same way. It felt, to Logan, that Grace somehow knew his heart, and his deepest sorrows, and hopes, all at once. He felt understood, even accepted.

Fear was part of love, he decided. The fear of losing this person, that connection, was powerful.

Ten minutes later, Grace opened the front door to her apartment wearing her blue pajamas and a bathrobe. A puddle of water had gathered around Logan’s feet, his raincoat steadily dripping onto the tiled floor.

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound somehow echoed his heartbeat. The sound of water dripping sent Logan’s mind back into a dark, red memory. He fought to clear his head.

Strands of hair stuck to his wet face like cold shards of ice.

Grace said nothing. Her expression was blank.