Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [39]
The one smaller building, a wine shop, had a flat roof, but the others were sloped, or steeply pitched, as were most of the buildings on the main street. They were close together, providing another route through the town. Deliberately he slowed his steps, not wanting to reach his goal until the small crowd of people had completely enclosed themselves in the wine shop. Music and laughter poured into the street, the people unknowing of the two dangerous men hunting each other on their quiet streets.
The narrow alley leading back to the second row of shops was just past the gallery, just ahead. Once inside that space the gallery would shield him from view and Ivanov would have to shift position to keep him in sight. The mouse would become the hunter of the cat. Stefan just needed a couple more minutes—a few more steps.
He let out his breath slowly, evenly. No hurrying. Just strolling through town, getting acquainted with the layout. Three more unhurried steps and he turned into the small courtyard beside the gallery, leading to the shops behind the main street, the one blindside the assassin had. He sprinted behind the gallery, knowing Ivanov wouldn’t panic for a few minutes, assuming he was exploring and would reappear soon. The back porches were small and stone steps led through gardens of flowers and green plants.
Immediately he sprinted through the brush and flowers, racing around the gallery between the two rows of buildings, staying in the shelter of the back porches’ overhang, coming up behind the corner structure. The tower was in his sight now and he crouched low, going completely motionless—waiting with all the patience of a great jungle cat.
Thomas Vincent was gone, and in his place, Stefan Prakenskii became what he was: a hunter. And he was hunting, totally in his element. He completely shed his brilliant-but-bashful businessman persona and moved quickly to turn the tables on the assassin. He felt his lungs expand and something stealthy and feral unwound in the coil of knots in his belly.
The minutes ticked by, one slow second at a time. The sky darkened again as the clouds moved swiftly, obliterating the light from the moon. Even with the expanse of ocean surface, the darkness went from gray to inky. The wind built to a howl and then subsided, gusting off the sea in a fit of temper.
Stefan’s gaze continually swept the rooftops, looking for all the places a sniper could hide with a full view of the main street of town, but always came back to the tower. There were several water towers in town, many had been converted to be used for other purposes, but the one on the main street gave the best view of the streets and buildings. There were only a few blind spots and Stefan crouched in one of them. He was absolutely positive that Ivanov was in that tower.
Minutes ticked by. This was definitely a waiting game and few were better at it than Stefan. His breath slowed, his heart, his body calm and coiled, just waiting. Killing Ivanov could cause a few problems down the road, but it would keep Lev safe, and possibly Ilya—at least until the brothers had time to regroup and get the message out to the others to expect a possible purge. Banded together, the Prakenskii brothers would make a terrifying enemy and anyone coming after them would know it.
The sky grew darker still as another gust of wind scattered roiling black clouds over the few remaining stars. Something moved against that dark sky. A figure slid down the ladder from the top of the tower to the second story, a rapid descent, and stepped quickly into the shadow of the circular tank where Stefan lost sight of him for just a moment. In that split second, Stefan realized Ivanov’s instincts had kicked in and he knew the tables had turned—that Stefan was aware of his presence and was now hunting him.
At once he was up, leaping onto the fence surrounding the back of the building and running along it, careful to keep from tripping on the posts sticking