Read Soul of the Assassin for Free Online Page B

began walking away from the hotel—away from Ferguson and what he was doing with the blonde.
     
    She shouldn’t care—she didn’t care—and yet her whole body vibrated with anger.
     
    Something moved in the shadows at the edge of the street. Thera slipped her hand inside her jacket pocket, wrapping her fingers around the small pistol there. But it was nothing—a young man and woman, making out near the portico’s pillar.
     
    Thera continued around the block, her sneakers rubbing on the pavement. She needed a mission, a mind-set: she became a tourist, coming home after dinner. She quickened her pace, slightly worried about the unfamiliar surroundings.
     
    She turned the corner and saw a small crowd of people gathered near a café at the far end, spilling out into the street, laughing and having a good time.
     
    Ferguson was just doing his job, Thera told herself. It shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t bother her.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    H
    e fell asleep after they were done. Arna Kerr pretended to doze herself, then got up and went to the bathroom, grabbing his pants along the way.
     
    No keys, a few euros of change, an Irish pence.
     
    The license looked genuine, but that wasn’t much of a trick— her own documents, after all, were phony. She repeated the number to herself three times, enough to memorize it: Arna Kerr had always been good with numbers. She slipped the credit card receipt out, thinking she would take it as well, but most of the account number was x’d out.
     
    The license would be enough. She fingered the wallet. There wasn’t much in it besides money: the credit cards she’d seen earlier, a few business cards. No photos, no phone numbers of lovers, just the bare essentials. Very businesslike.
     
    The sex had been businesslike as well. She sensed he was holding back. Maybe he was married, despite the lack of a ring.
     
    Arna Kerr flushed the toilet and ran the water, purposely making enough noise so he could hear and stir if he was awake. She cracked the door to see, but he was still lying motionless on the bed.
     
    Reaching for the light, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Arna didn’t like to see herself naked. Being naked meant being without defenses.
     
    That was what sex was, wasn’t it?
     
    She turned off the light and tiptoed into the room, went to the bed, and ran her fingers across the side of his face, tickling his ear and neck. He didn’t move. Between the wine and the sex, he was totally out.
     
    She went back around to the other side of the bed and picked up her underwear. Pulling on her panties, she went to the bureau and eased open the drawers. The top one was empty; the bottom held a pair of pants and a sweater. She slipped her hand in and checked: nothing.
     
    There were more clothes in the drawer to the right. Underwear— silk boxers—a soft, thick T-shirt, socks. A pair of jeans.
     
    In the closet, she found a leather briefcase and a suiter. These she took, one at a time, into the bathroom so she could search them thoroughly. The suitcase was empty, except for some tissues and a disposable razor. The briefcase had four yellow folders, some pens, and two pieces of paper that had addresses and phone numbers, all in Bologna. At least two belonged to galleries, and from what she knew of the locations she guessed the others were galleries as well.
     
    Wouldn’t a man like this have a laptop with him, or a PDA? If so, it wasn’t in the luggage. She put everything back the way she found it, then searched some more. Finally satisfied that her lover was at least roughly who he said he was, she got dressed to go.
     
    Arna Kerr hesitated at the door. There would be no possibility of seeing him ever again.
     
    No?
     
    No.
     
    Outside, she saw someone in a car half a block from the hotel. He seemed to be looking at her. But then she saw a woman coming along the street behind her, crossing to the car—he’d been waiting for a girlfriend.
     
    Well,