Chapter 11: Draw 156

I did not step into the lift.

I walked through the lobby toward the revolving door, and the driver let the lift go and came after me.

He was a big man with a flat, patient face.

He caught up with me under the hotel's awning.

"Miss Ellison," he said. "Mr. Lowell would like a word."

"Which one?"

"The elder."

"Tell him to send a letter."

He took my arm above the elbow.

His grip was iron and his face did not change.

"It wasn't a request, miss."

"Let go."

"There's a car."

I looked at the street.

A black car waited at the curb with its engine running, and its back door was already open.

I breathed in once.

Then I stamped my heel down on his instep as hard as I could.

He grunted and his hold loosened, and I wrenched my arm free and swung my bag into his face.

It was a small bag.

It had my phone in it, and a very heavy lipstick.

He staggered.

He swore and came for me with both hands.

I ducked under the left one and kicked the case out of his other hand.

The steel case hit the pavement and skidded.

He turned to snatch it.

I got there first.

I grabbed the handle and swung it with both hands.

It caught him on the knee with a crack that I felt in my teeth.

He went down on one leg.

The latch burst.

The case flew open on the pavement.

Six clear plastic bags slid out of it, each full of dark red blood and packed in ice.

Every bag had a white tag.

The doorman at the awning had stopped moving.

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