"Tanya Huff - Victoria Nelson - 01 - Blood Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

onto the track.


Cinders crunched under her boots, metal rang, then she had her hands on the edge of the platform and
was flinging herself into the air. The world filled with sound and light and something brushed lightly
against her sole. Her hands were sticky, covered with blood, but it wasn't hers and at the moment that
was all that mattered.



Before the train stopped, she'd flung her coat over the body and grabbed her ID.

The center-man stuck his head out.

Vicki flipped the leather folder in his direction and barked, Close the doors! Now!

The doors, not quite open, closed.

She remembered to breathe again and when the center-man's head reappeared, snapped, Have the driver
get the police on the radio. Tell them it's a 10-33 . . . never mind what that means! She saw the question
coming. They'll know! And don't forget to tell them where it is. People had done stupider things in
emergencies. As he ducked back into the train, she looked down at her card case and sighed, then lifted
one gory finger to push her glasses back up her nose. A private investigator's ID meant absolutely
nothing in a case like this, but people responded to the appearance of authority, not the particulars.

She moved a little farther from the body. Up close, the smell of blood and urine-the front of the boy's
jeans was soaked-easily overcame the metallic odors of the subway. A lone face peered out through the
window of the closest car. She snarled at it and settled down to wait.

Less than three minutes later, Vicki heard the faint sound of sirens up on the street. She almost cheered.
It had been the longest three minutes of her life.

She'd spent them thinking, adding together the spray of blood and the position of the body and not liking
the total.

Nothing that she knew of could strike a single blow strong enough to tear through flesh like tissue paper
and fast enough that the victim had no time to struggle. Nothing. But something had.



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And it was down in the tunnels.

She twisted until she could see into the darkness beyond the end of the train. The hair on the back of her
neck rose. What did the shadows hide, she wondered. Her skin crawled, not entirely because of the cold.
She'd never considered herself an overly imaginative woman and she knew the killer had to be long
gone, but something lingered in that tunnel.