2I felt sweat forming along my hairline. I now had an explanation for both his physical fitness and his entry through the locked front door. My voice harsh, I said, “Get out of my house.”
He bent forward, putting his face six inches from mine. His nose was too large and bony, his mouth too wide, his lips too thick. Bone and sinew were clearly visible beneath the taut skin. The effect was elemental—and frightening.
“I want to help you,” he said.
“How?”
“I have some photos which will interest you.”
They don’t want Ewa, I’d told Matt last night. They want you. Someone will give you a chance to save her.
My turn, now. To save Matt.
Krajewski, and his French tobacco, had followed him to the party. He’d likely been ready to move in and complete the entrapment when I intervened. I gave the
