Slaughter - Lutz John (читать книги без txt) 📗
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Table of Contents
Praise
ALSO BY JOHN LUTZ
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
PART TWO
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
PART THREE
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
PART FOUR
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
Epilogue
Postscript
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright Page
For The Aardvarkian, Mr. B, Mr. E,
Ms. El, The Em, Mr. J, Mr. Lucas,
The Soph, The journey.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to acknowledge the invaluable aid of Michaela Hamilton, Dominick Abel, Marilyn Davis, and Barbara Lutz.
PART ONE
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
—THOMAS GRAY, “Ode on a Distant
Prospect of Eton College”
1
Rose Darling knew she’d begun jogging too late. Unless she lengthened her stride, she’d be caught in Central Park after dark. Not that she hadn’t been warned, but hadn’t everybody at some time or other been warned not to be in Central Park after dark?
The trouble was, she had a date, and if she turned her daily jog into a track meet with the clock, her long dark hair would become a sweaty, unmanageable mass in the summer heat.
Rose was an attractive woman, tall and athletic, with shapely legs and a graceful way about her. Men would stare at her when she jogged.
Like the guy she was approaching on her left, who had a bicycle upside down so it rested on its seat and handlebars. Was he only pretending to work on his bike, so he could stop and watch her pass? Maybe he’d give her a few seconds, make up his mind, and start after her. He could catch her easily on his bike.
And he did straighten up and give her a direct, leering look from beneath a broad blue sweatband.
She averted her eyes and stared straight ahead as she jogged past. When she was well beyond him, she risked glancing over her shoulder, half expecting to see him pedaling hard and bearing down on her.
But he was bent over his upside-down bicycle again, busy trying to repair whatever was wrong with it.
Big wuss, I am!
She almost smiled.
Breathing more freely, she adjusted her pace so she did a minimum of bouncing, preserving her hairdo. She continued telling herself to calm down, she’d make it to the Central Park West and 81st Street exit before the sky became dark. She’d be out of the jungle then, into the bright lights and ceaseless motion of the city. Safe.
Safer, anyway. A different sort of jungle.
After about five minutes the trail bent and she looked directly ahead and saw the tall buildings along Central Park West. Their windows were beginning to show lights in uneven patterns, reminding her of a crossword puzzle that was all blanks. Behind the jagged skyline the blue sky had become an endless deepening purple.
Rose looked around her. There was no one in sight.
But she could hear the rushing whisper of the traffic now. Ahead of her.
