The knife had flown; both men were on the ground. She heard the sounds of terrible crunches as fists connected with faces. As she stared, her attacker seemed to get the upper hand, straddling over the lieutenant who was prone on the old brick roadway. The killer leaned over him, grasping for the fallen knife ...
Sean bucked. The killer went flying, and landed hard, but he was quickly up, despite the bullet wounds he must have sustained. He reached for the knife.
Sean was up, and came flying for the man, knocking him flat before his fingers could curl around the hilt of the weapon. But the killer jerked his shoulders, and Sean was cast off, landing hard against a wall. He seemed stunned, which wasn’t too surprising; Mamie had thought she’d heard his head crack against the wall.
The killer gripped the knife, and started toward Sean.
Flat on the ground, fighting to clear his head, Sean Canady stared at the man approaching him. He was barely breathing hard. His hair was pitch black— dyed black, Sean thought, because it didn’t fit with his extremely pale features. He was tall and lean and muscular in a wiry way—he surely wasn’t built like Conan the Barbarian or anything of the like, which might have explained his uncanny strength—and he looked strangely familiar, though Sean was certain they had never met before.
The killer stopped, staring at Sean, as if he, too, had suddenly recognized him.
He smiled.
“Hello, dead man!” he said softly.
With a burst of energy and pure willpower, Sean sprang to his feet as the killer reached him. He butted him dead on in the stomach, sending him back into the street, buying himself a little bit of precious time.
His gun had been lost to the shadows when he’d so desperately tackled the guy to get him off Mamie.
Blood oozed from the man’s left shoulder, and from his hand, but it didn’t stop him. He recovered quickly and started coming after Sean again. Sean braced for the attack like a boxer, balancing his ground.
But before the attacker could pounce, he heard a furious cry and was amazed to see that someone was hurtling onto the killer’s back. “Stop, stop, stop, you bastard.” Maggie. He was dimly aware that it was Maggie, and there were other footsteps racing down the alley now.
“Maggie! Get the hell away!” Sean ordered her with incredulous fear and fury. Too late. The killer, wearing a mask of pure vindictive anger himself, was reaching behind himself, grabbing her, throwing her from him. Maggie went down upon the pavement, just as Sean threw himself against the killer. With an eerie power, the man struggled from beneath Sean, managing to rise. He started toward Maggie, the knife in his hand. Sean threw himself at the killer again. To his amazement, the fellow just dragged him along. Sean tightened his grasp, at last tripping the man up, forcing him down. He fought his way back to his feet, turned, and caught Sean in the jaw with a right hook that very nearly shattered bone.
Staggering, Sean came up again. He had to. The killer was still going after Maggie. On the ground, she groaned softly. She started to rise, to face the killer.
Sean started to take a running leap after the fellow, but he was suddenly edged aside.
Another man was in the alley. Tall, dark, whipcord lean, wearing a dark silk shirt and neatly pressed black trousers. “Get Maggie!” he cried, and before Sean could stop him, the newcomer had hurtled himself toward the killer, and the two became engaged in a vicious battle of fists.
He was the cop! Sean thought fleetingly. He should be engaged in the damned battle, and the civilian should be taking Maggie away from the fray.
“Maggie!” the killer said, roaring out her name like a battle cry, and lunging toward her. He was stopped by the second man, and Sean realized that he had to get Maggie up and out of the danger zone. He could hear sirens now. Hell, about time. The cavalry was coming at last. But the killer was still raging out Maggie’s name, lunging for her. Sean tore pell-mell for her, reaching for her, drawing her to her feet.
Her eyes on his almost made him pause. There was fear within them. Liquid, shimmering. Not for herself. For him. She loved him, he realized. Really loved him.
“Get the hell out of here, get Mamie, get down the alley!” he ordered her.
“Sean, no, you’ve got to get out of here!” she pleaded.
“Maggie, go, or else we may have another victim on our hands!” He shoved her. She tried to fight back, to argue. Then she saw the two men engaged in battle, and she inhaled sharply— and suddenly obeyed. She raced to Mamie, grabbed hold of her, solicitously looking her over for injuries while trying to lead her hastily out of the alley.
The killer was up; the stranger who’d appeared in the alley staggered to his feet as well. The killer was about to escape. The stranger followed him. Sean started after them both. Running hard. The killer slipped around a corner. The second man did the same. Sean followed into the shadows.
But the men were both gone.
Suddenly, police cars were braking everywhere in the narrow confines of the French Quarter.
Uniformed officers were spilling from their cars. “He’s extremely powerful, use all caution!” Sean warned, wheezing and panting as he approached the cars, shouting directions then, and sending different groups in different directions.
They should catch the killer.
They should.
But he had the sinking feeling that they would not. Hell, the guy seemed to be on enough steroids to pump up an elephant. Bullets barely fazed him. He could probably throw off two or three men. And what about the other man?
Sore, hurting all over, he made his way out of the alley while he listened to the sounds of running footsteps. Jack Delaney, along with Mike Astin in plain clothes, had arrived. Mamie was seated in the rear of his car, shivering. Maggie stood by the car.
Her stockings and skirt were ripped and torn; her ivory jacket was muddied, and her red hair was wildly tossed. Other than that, she didn’t look much the worse for wear. Reaching the car, Sean stared at her furiously. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“What?” she said blankly.
He came to her, shaking her, so unnerved himself that he didn’t realize he was a cop shaking a woman on the street. “Damn you, that man’s a lethal killer, and you’re in an alley throwing yourself at him like Wonder Woman.”
Maggie paled, frowning. “I was afraid he was going to kill you!”
“I’m a cop, I’m paid to take risks, I’m trained to take risks, damn you, Maggie—”
“Hey, now, ladies, gents, please!” Mamie ground out hoarsely from the car.
Sean stared at her, then at Maggie. He took her roughly by the chin, moving her face so that he could study it. He wasn’t shaking her anymore. He was still shaking himself.
But she looked all right. Really all right.
His hand dropped.
“Maybe we should get Mamie to a hospital,” Jack suggested.
“No, no hospital,” Mamie said.
“Miss Johnson, maybe you belong in the hospital,” Mike Astin persisted, his voice amazingly gentle for a man his size.
Mamie smiled. “No, honey, no hospital. I’m not going to be confined anywhere. I’m going to be sleeping at my own place tonight with guys I’ve known for years out working the bar and the floor around me.”
“Maybe the killer is trapped,” Jack suggested, “and you’d be better off in the hospital. Mamie, you’re getting some bruises on your throat there.”
“I’m fine,” Mamie insisted. “No hospital.”
“The medics are here; at least let them check you out,” Sean advised.
He moved away from the car, still shaking with anger and fear. The streets had come alive with a blaze of lights and the shrill of police whistles. Cops were everywhere. Still, Sean had the eerie feeling that they weren’t going to find the killer.
Not the man who had gone after him.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he exclaimed to the night.
Jack Delaney had come up behind him.
“What?”
“There was a second man—a guy who joined right into the fight—and he’s missing now as well.”
“Who was he?”
“Damned if I know. He was just suddenly here, racing after the killer, and ...” Jack was silent.
Sean spun around to stare at him. “What is it?”
Jack cleared his throat. “We’ve had another strange happening in the last hour or so.” Still looking around the alley from which two men had cleanly disappeared, Sean arched a brow.
“Another prostitute?” he breathed.
“No.”
“Another body.”
“In bits and pieces.”
“Oh, hell.”
“The head and torso were pulled in by a fishing boat.”
“No ID?”
“Yes, we have an ID.”
“Spit it out, damn it, Jack!”
“He was identified as Rutger Leon. You know, he’s that tough guy you ran into at the bar, the one egging on the guy you shot to kill the girl? The guy threatening to come back after her.” Sean gave Jack his full attention. “Head and torso?”
Jack nodded, wincing. “They think his extremities might have been munched down by some bayou inhabitants.”
It was hard to feel sorrow for Rutger Leon.
It was even more difficult to understand what was happening. A murderer after women in a Ripperesque fashion. A man who was already a corpse beheaded. And now, a bastard like Rutger Leon ripped to shreds.
He looked back around the alley. The damned killer should have been found by now.
“I should just resign,” Sean said.
“Maybe we’ll find him tonight.”
“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.”
Sean turned away from the alley, his mood even more foul as he made his way back to the car, staring at Maggie. He walked over to where she stood.
“Who was the other man, Maggie?” he demanded harshly. “And don’t ask me what other man. You know who I mean. Tell me. Now. Who was he?”
“I—I—do—” she floundered.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know. He called you by name.”
