There Fell a Shadow by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page A

a second to prepare. He sprang and slashed in one motion. I leaned way back, as if dodging a right cross. The blade flashed by my eyes. For an instant, Colt’s killer was exposed, his arm extended. In that instant, I drove the stiffened fingers of my hand deep into his armpit.
    He cried out, fell back a step. He should have been hurt bad. He wasn’t. He recovered and jumped at me. He swept the knife up toward my gut.
    I dodged to the left. I felt the blade pass by my shirt. I slammed into something—a lampstand. It toppled over and so did I. I hit the floor on my back. The wind was knocked out of me. This was definitely one of the worst hangovers I’d ever had.
    The killer had stumbled a step away from me, carried by the force of his own missed jab. He steadied himself and turned. He leapt on top of me, pinning my arms with his knees. He raised the knife for the kill.
    I lifted my right side off the floor. The movement took all my strength, but it pitched him over. I rolled in the opposite direction. Scrambled to my feet. Spun around just as he rushed me again.
    I caught his knife hand by the wrist. His fingers gripped my right hand as I went for his eyes. We locked like that, inches apart, my eyes burning into his, his into mine, our teeth bared, our hot stale breath whistling into the small space between us. I tried to knee him in the groin. He blocked it with his legs. He tried to cut his way free. I shoved him. We both went down.
    We rolled over and over on the floor. The blade of the knife kept flashing on every side of me. I kept fighting for a grip on his wrist, losing it, finding it again just before he plunged the dagger into me. I was bigger than he was, but he was tough like jerky, sinewy. I was fighting for my life, but he was doing a job he knew well.
    I was weakening. The booze of the night before seemed to have eaten away at me. The cigarettes of a lifetime were making me wheeze as we rocketed back and forth across the stale shag carpet.
    We went over again, the two of us, locked together. His brown face was twisted with effort and rage.
    We slammed into the coffee table. I was hit hard. I landed, dazed, with my head on Colt’s leg. The killer pulled his left arm free and belted me in the mouth. I felt my lip split. He jerked his knife hand clear.
    Again the blade went up as he sat atop me. I threw my left arm in front of my face. I felt the metal pierce the flesh just below my elbow. I screamed as he yanked the knife out again. I reached down and grabbed his balls and made a fist. He screamed and rolled off me. He curled up on his side, moaning softly. I curled up on my side, coughing dark phlegm. I could feel the old cigarettes welling in my lungs. I could not catch my breath.
    My head was swimming. My forearm burned. I fumbled for purchase on the coffee table. I slipped, hacking, and splashed into Colt’s bloody shirtfront. I felt the give of the breath-empty flesh beneath. I slipped off him to the floor again. His blood was smeared all over my cheek, and the carpet shag stuck to it. I got up on my hands and knees. I could not stop coughing.
    Vaguely, I saw the assassin uncurl. He climbed to his knees, too, bent over, heaving, cradling his crotch with his hand. He swept the floor with his eyes. I realized he was looking for his knife. He’d dropped it. I looked around frantically.
    We saw it at the same time. It had been flung over near the sofa. We both started crawling to it. I got there first. I wrapped my fingers around the handle—a golden handle with rubies inlaid. But before I could use it, the assassin climbed onto my back. He grabbed my head under the chin and tried to rip it off my neck. He dug a thumb in my eye for good measure.
    With a yell, I let the knife go and thrashed around wildly, trying to shake him. He slammed into the sofa and fell off me. I crawled toward the knife again.
    The room blurred as my left eye streamed. I lost my sense of perspective. I was