He headed down a short hall and found a wooden staircase that wound upward. Nothing elaborate, most likely a back route that allowed quick access up and down. He slowly climbed to the second floor, the risers announcing his presence with a melody of squeaks, and stepped off into another corridor, this one wider than below, with a stone floor and rugs that acted as runners. True to a convent nothing adorned the walls, all painted a soft pastel color. Light came from sconces, the shadows trembling with their flicker. Doors lined both sides of the corridor, each open and spaced symmetrically apart.
The nuns?private rooms?
He stepped cautiously to the first open doorway and spied inside, seeing a small cubicle, sparsely filled with a mix-match of furniture. He listened and heard no sounds on the floor.
The next room was similar.
As was the next.
The light that had come on after the woman entered the building? That had been in a room facing the street, toward the middle. He grabbed his bearings and realized he was at the rear, so he hustled ahead down the corridor, past more open doors, turned a corner, and made his way to the other side. More open entrances lined the way. Still no one in sight. He was taking a huge chance. Expectation ached in the pit of his stomach. But the nerve of an alley cat was sometimes required to get the job done. And no one had ever accused him of being bashful.
He made another turn.
This one leading to a corridor with more open doors to rooms that fronted the street. As he passed each he stared inside, seeing nothing until he came to one toward the middle of the floor. Lying on the bed was a bundle of black clothing.
And a laptop.
He stepped inside and saw that the bodysuit and hood were similar to what the arsonist had worn. He stared around, looking for anything that might shed light on who he was dealing with. There were a few toiletries, a brush, rosary, and a Catholic missal. He opened it and read what was written on the inner flap.
To Claire, May God always walk with you.
Okay. At least he had a first name.
Along with the laptop.
Time to get out of here.
Chapter 9
Nick grabbed the laptop and headed for the outer hall. He hesitated a moment at the door and checked for anyone around. Hearing nothing, he scampered out and began to retrace his route. It seemed like it was time to involve the local police. Kelsey had wanted her laptop returned. Okay. Mission accomplished. But that woman back in town and the one who抎 escaped to here were involved in God knows what. Nuns or not, they抎 broken the law and had to be dealt with. That meant by the locals. Of course, before any of that could happen, he needed to leave without being seen.
He turned a corner, passing more of the open doors.
Not far to go.
Suddenly, someone appeared ahead, from around the next corner. A young woman in a long gray dress, her auburn hair bound by a veil. Maybe late twenties, petite, with a pale face dotted with freckles that glowed with good health.
Until she realized that a stranger was inside the convent.
Then her countenance changed from calm, to surprise, to something else altogether. She advanced toward him, yanking the length of her habit up above her knees, pivoting off her right foot, and planting her left heel into his chest. He抎 hesitated, never thinking that a nun would use a roundhouse kick on him, so she抎 gotten the best of him. He was thrown back against the wall, his breath exploding outward. Pain shot through his head, short-circuiting his brain in a starburst of sparks that exploded before his eyes.
That hurt.
He slumped, feet skidding on the carpet, but managed to keep a grip on the laptop. He got hold of his senses and regained his balance, but the nun was not backing off. Two quick steps and she was back on him, angling her knee and shifting her weight, raising her right leg upward and throwing another kick, sweeping one side to the other, aiming for his left lower shin, just above the ankle.
A move designed to break bones.
He dropped back and barely avoided contact with her.
It was a calculated move on her part and well executed. The woman advanced again, her actions swift and natural with no hesitation. There seemed no quarrels of conscience within her. But this was not his first rodeo. And after those kicks, chivalry be damned. He feigned confusion and drew her closer, staggering upright, weaving his head in supposed disorientation. She took the bait and he pounced, gripping the laptop with both hands, swiping it hard across the side of her face.
Metal smacked skin.
She teetered, then dropped toward the floor with an unconscious grunt. He quickly reached out and braced her, lessening the impact.
She lay still.
揝orry about that,?he whispered.