The Mark of the Assassin

Bethesda--so they wouldn't be bumping
    into each other all the time. God, why couldn't she just look away? Why
    did she have to stare through the glass like a schoolgirl with a crush?
    And why was her heart beating out of control?
    The answer to that was simple. She still loved Jack, and she always
    would. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She ran faster.
    Carson struggled to keep pace. She pounded her feet savagely over the
    bricks. God, why did he have to be sitting there? Fuck you, Jack. Fuck
    you! She didn't see the tree root that had raised a portion of the
    sidewalk. Didn't see the jagged edge of brick that had been forced
    upward. She felt a sudden pain in her ankle, saw the ground rushing up
    at her in the darkness.
    SUSANNA LAY ON THE GROUND, eyes closed, gasping for breath. She felt as
    though she had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. She tried to open
    her eyes but could not. Finally, she felt someone shaking her shoulder,
    calling her name. She opened her eyes and saw Jack kneeling over her.
    "Susanna, are you all right? Can you hear me?"
    She closed her eyes again and said, "What the hell are you doing in
    Georgetown?"
    "Sharon and I had a dinner engagement. Jesus, I didn't know I had to
    call and notify you first."
    "No, you just startled me, that's all."
    "You remember Sharon, don't you?"
    She was standing behind Jack, stunning in a black cocktail dress and
    short black coat that showed off a pair of extraordinary legs. She was
    criminally skinny. The front of her coat was unbuttoned, revealing a
    pair of large rounded breasts. She was Jack's type: blond, blue eyes,
    big breasts, no brains. She said, "I wish I could say it's a pleasure to
    see you, Sharon, but I'd be lying."
    "We're going your way. Why don't you let us give you a lift?"
    "No, thanks. I'd rather be left on the street for dead."
    Jack reached down and took hold of her hand. Carson growled deep in his
    throat. "It's all right, Carson. He's evil but harmless."
    She got to her feet. "There's a cab. Be useful, Jack, get him to stop
    for me." Jack stepped out into the street. He flagged down the cab, and
    it pulled to the curb. Susanna limped over and climbed in the back,
    followed by the dog. "See you around, Jack, Sharon."
    She closed the door, and the cab drove off. She slumped down in the back
    seat, clutching her ankle. Her head leaned back against the cold leather
    of the seat. She sobbed quietly. Carson licked her hand. God, why did
    she have to see me like that? Of all times and places, why like that?
    The cab stopped at Volta Place and Pomander Walk. She reached inside the
    front pouch of the anorak, took out a five-dollar bill, and handed it to
    the driver. "Need any help?" he asked. "No, I'll be fine, thanks."
    THE COMPUTER WAS STILL ON when Mark Calahan climbed the staircase and
    entered the second-floor bedroom that Susanna used as a study. He sat
    down, removed a floppy from his jacket pocket, and inserted it into the
    disk drive of the desktop. He knew her system well now--the directories
    where she kept her notes and copy. He found the slug for the article and
    clicked on it. The encryption software asked for a password. Calahan
    provided it, and the story appeared on the screen. Calahan did not
    bother to read it; he could do that later when he had more time. He
    closed the file again and typed in the command to copy it to the floppy
    drive. Once again the encryption software asked for the password. Once
    again Calahan provided it. Since he was already inside the house, he
    decided to use the opportunity to gather additional intelligence.
    Calahan had followed the woman on several runs, and they never lasted
    less than thirty minutes. He had plenty of time. Three new notepads lay
    on the desk next to the keyboard. He opened the cover on the first. The
    pages were filled with notes in Susanna Dayton's looping left-handed
    scrawl. He removed a microcamera from his pocket, switched on the desk
    lamp, and started shooting. He was halfway through the second notepad
    when he heard the scrape of a key being shoved into the barrel of the
    front door lock. He cursed silently, switched off the light, and drew a
    silenced 9mm pistol from the waistband of his trousers.
    SUSANNA'S RIGHT ANKLE HURT like hell. She closed the door behind her and
    sat down on the couch in the living room. She removed her shoe and her
    sock and inspected the injury. The ankle was swollen and purple. She
    limped into the kitchen, filled a Ziploc