The Sinister Touch by Jayne Ann Krentz Read Free Book Online Page A

silent for a moment. “I discussed business with Elizabeth and then went home and started calling you. That’s all there was to my wild evening, too.”
    “I don’t like being called your mistress.”
    “I’m sorry. Lately I’ve been feeling”—he paused—“possessive.” His gaze was steady. “What should I call you?”
    “The name is Gwen. You don’t have to use any other labels.” She turned away to reach for a couple of mugs and saw the light come on across the street in Mason’s apartment. There was no sense adding new fuel to a fire that was starting to die out, Guinevere decided. Catching sight of Mason through the kitchen window would probably not set well with Zac. Out of sight, out of mind. She put the mugs down on the counter and went to lower the blinds. Her hand was on the cord when an abrupt movement in the studio caught her eye.
    “Zac!”
    He was at her side instantly. “What is it?”
    “Zac, there’s someone in Mason’s studio. Oh, my God, look!”
    Mason had sauntered into the high-ceilinged room, automatically turning on the lights. A dark, hooded figure, who had apparently been inside the apartment when Mason opened his door, dashed across the floor, hand upraised. From their vantage point Guinevere and Zac could make out Mason’s startled reaction, and then the hooded figure was upon him.
    “Call 911.” Zac was already on his way out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.
    Guinevere reached for the phone, punching in the short emergency code. With her eyes riveted to the drama taking place across the street, she quickly gave the address and situation to the person on the other end of the line. “Just hurry, will you?” she snapped when the dispatcher patiently asked for her name and address as well as that of the victim’s.
    Guinevere slammed down the receiver and leaned forward, staring out the window. She could see Mason’s crumpled body on the floor. The hooded figure was straightening slowly. Some instinct must have warned him that he was being watched. Turning, the man glanced out of the studio window. For a taut moment his gaze locked with Guinevere’s.
    She couldn’t see much, Guinevere realized as she frantically tried to take mental notes. The hood fell forward around his face, hiding almost all of the details one was supposed to recall in this sort of situation. Besides, she was too far away to make out such things as the color of his eyes. But she could see the heavy line of the jaw, and there was a certain sense of bulkiness under the old shirt and pants he wore. A heavy man. She was almost positive she wouldn’t be able to identify the man if she ever saw him again, though. Frantically she tried to find some unique feature. The hood, itself, was the oddest part about him. It was shaped like a cut-off monk’s cowl. It shadowed his face and fell into a short cape around his shoulders.
    As they stood facing each other through the windows, it occurred to Guinevere that the cowled man had as good a view of her as she had of him. Belatedly she reached out and turned off her kitchen light.
    But the man in Mason’s apartment was already swinging around in alarm. He must have heard Zac’s footsteps on the stairs. Or perhaps seeing Guinevere had jerked him into action. Whatever the trigger, it sent him running out of the apartment.
    Helplessly Guinevere watched as Mason’s attacker fled. With any luck he might run into Zac on the stairs, she thought. But a few seconds later Zac burst through the door and went straight to Mason’s prone figure. There was no sign that Zac and the cowled man had tangled.
    Guinevere raced across the kitchen and out her front door. At the last minute she remembered she wasn’t wearing any shoes. As she grabbed a pair of sandals out of the closet, she heard the first police sirens in the distance. She shoved her feet into the sandals and hitched up the narrow skirt of her suit. Then she was running down the two flights of stairs to