Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4)

and confined in powerful arms.
    A man laughed. “You do take chances, don’t you, Wetzon?” Richard Hartmann.
    She struggled, but he held on. “Let me go. Are you crazy? Someone will see us.” She tilted her head up to see his face.
    “If they do, they’ll just think we can’t keep our hands off each other. Xenia will be very upset with you. And Alton won’t be very happy.” His lips brushed her ear, her cheek, her neck.
    Behind her on the street she could hear people strolling by, laughing and talking, and all the while, the beat, beat, beat of the rock music issued from the party.
    In that instant Wetzon knew that Smith had told him.
    “Scared?” She didn’t respond, but her heart was thudding at a thunderous clip. “Good,” he whispered in her ear. “Stay scared.” He released her. Shivering, she watched him straighten his tie. He smiled, his wandering eye looking over her shoulder. “I’m glad we had this little talk.” He opened the door, adding, “One more thing. I wouldn’t say anything to Xenia if I were you—” and returned to the party.
    Go easy , Wetzon thought, he could have killed me, but he didn’t. Maybe each time he’d stalked her, it was to scare her. Her heart was still beating double-time, but her knees had stopped trembling. Damn Smith. She doesn’t deserve me. I want to protect her and she exposes me. And herself.
    “Oh, there you are.” Alton was coming toward her carrying her trench coat, which she slipped on but didn’t button.
    Wait a minute, she thought, even if Smith had told Hartmann Wetzon was onto his money laundering, it couldn’t have been before Sunday. She closed her eyes. Was Hartmann left-handed or right-handed?
    “Is anything wrong, Leslie?”
    “How well do you know Richard Hartmann?”
    Alton looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Not well. Why?”
    “Do you think he would commit murder?”
    “Hartmann commit murder? Himself? I doubt it. If he wants someone dead, he knows enough of the right people to do it for him. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”
    “It’s nothing. Honest.” Wetzon made a calculated decision. Smith would be safe with Twoey tonight. If Hartmann were going to kill again, he would have killed Wetzon tonight. Tomorrow she would tell Peiser that Hartmann had threatened her, and why.
    “You’re sure?”
    “Just a little nervous.” She smiled at him.
    A haze enveloped the street lamps. The sky was rife with clouds, obscuring the moon. There was not one bit of wind. Only a fragile fog floated like an uncertain wraith. Lights glimmered from buildings.
    “The air feels good.”
    Wetzon nodded. “Let’s walk, okay? We can take West Broadway to Bleecker, then home.” She put her arm through his, and her stomach chose that moment to rumble loud enough to be heard in New Jersey. She patted it with her free hand. Quiet , she commanded silently.
    “I think you’re hungry.”
    She grinned. “Probably. We’re going right by John’s. We can pick up a couple of calzones and reheat them.”
    They walked up through SoHo, past great windowed art galleries in old cast-iron factories and warehouses. Two children in witch costumes, followed discreetly by a mommy, came toward them leading a golden retriever in a clown outfit, including a pom-pommed hat. The restaurants along West Broadway above Houston Street were busy with people who’d come in to watch the parade. Italian, Indian, and Chinese aromas all mixed together. A waft of garlic floated out of the open door of Tutta Pasta.
    “Smells good, doesn’t it?” Alton’s voice was husky.
    She moved closer to him. Between them was the exquisite expectant sexual tension of the unknown. There was something wonderful about letting desire build.
    They stopped at John’s and picked up the calzones, which Alton carried, and headed up Bleecker toward Tenth Street, walking among revelers and exhibitionists. When they crossed Seventh Avenue, they became aware of the roaring sound, and looked at one another. And then unexpectedly, they were sucked into a wall of humanity, all surging up Bleecker toward Christopher Street. She’d forgotten the crazies came out in full force to parade on Christopher Street, the tacky finale to the Halloween Parade.
    She was still holding tight to Alton, and he to her, but they couldn’t hear anything over the clamor of the crowd, and the constant surging was pulling her away from him. “Please,” she cried, but she was caught up in