The Equalisers. Debra Webb

want to come back and take some digital shots of the place,” Spencer commented. “Unless you have photos or maybe a virtual tour on your Web site.” He watched the man carefully now that he wasn’t following him around from room to room. At one time he’d been particularly good at spotting a liar. “Your secretary mentioned a Web site.” He hadn’t actually spoken to this man when he’d made the call this morning.

      Avnery nodded. “Of course. I believe you’ll find everything there that your client requires.”

      His response was slightly stilted… the least bit hesitant. Spencer’s tension escalated to the next level. “Can you spell out any unusual legalities involved with an American tenant?”

      Avnery glanced down at the street. “Ah-ha. Your lovely wife appears to have grown bored with the gallery as well.”

      Spencer’s attention rocketed to the gallery across the street. Willow stood in the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window staring up at this building… it felt almost as if she were looking directly at him.

      “I am confident she won’t be bored for long.”

      A long white limousine lurched to a stop in front of the gallery.

      Spencer went for his weapon.

      “Don’t move, Mr. Anders. I would most assuredly dislike having to kill you here. I’m certain the carpet would be ruined and my friend Avnery would be upset with me.”

      Spencer turned slowly to face the imposter. The silenced end of a.9mm Ruger was aimed directly at his chest. His fingers itched to go for his own weapon.

      “I am quite the excellent shot. You might want to consider that before you make a move for your weapon.”

      Spencer raised his hands in the air. “I’ll take your word for that, Avnery.”

      The other man smirked. “I’m certain you know my name is not Avnery, but that is most irrelevant. Let’s move to the elevator, Mr. Anders. Your next appointment will be your last, I’m afraid, but it is a command performance.”

      “Then let’s not keep the man waiting.” Spencer executed an about-face, giving his back to the man with the gun. That was, clearly, his only choice. And maybe if he kept him off guard he wouldn’t remember to check to see if Spencer was armed.

      “One moment, Mr. Anders.”

      No such luck. Spencer stopped.

      Oh, well, that left him with only one option.

      Avnery or whoever the hell he was patted his left side first since it was his left hand that was free. It was in the pivotal instant when he switched his weapon from his right hand to his left that Spencer made his move.

      He twisted one-eighty, slammed against the man’s right shoulder with his full body weight.

      The silencer hissed. A pop followed.

      Spencer shoved the man’s left arm upward as they went down together.

      They hit the floor.

      Another hiss and pop.

      Spencer had a good thirty pounds and six inches of height on the guy, but the other man was strong. Enough with this.

      Spencer drew back and jammed the heel of his right hand beneath the guy’s chin. His head snapped upward. A final hiss and pop erupted from the weapon clenched in his hand. A violent twist of his head and the fight was over.

      Spencer scrambled to his feet and ran for the stairwell.

      He buttoned his jacket on the way down. Ran a hand through his hair to ensure he didn’t look as if he’d just been in a fight. No need to tip off the clerk any sooner than necessary.

      At the door to the lobby, he paused long enough to catch his breath. He opened the door a crack and scanned the area.

      Two men hustled through the front entrance and spoke in Arabic to the man behind the desk. Spencer didn’t catch everything that was said, but he got that they were looking for him.

      If those men were from the limo, he had to assume that the vehicle was still out there and that meant Willow would still be close by as well.

      When the two men headed for the elevator, Spencer opened the door a little wider to watch them board.

      The elevator doors glided closed. He counted to three and exited the stairwell.

      Barely suppressing the need to break into a run, he strode across the lobby.

      “Mr. Anders!”

      Spencer ignored the clerk.

      He didn’t have to look back to know the man would attempt to contact the men headed to the third floor.

      They’d have to catch him if they wanted him.

      He burst out onto the sidewalk.

      Two things were immediately clear: the limo was still parked in front of the gallery and Willow was no longer standing at the shop window.

      He ignored the blaring horns as he dashed across the street.

      The limo windows were too dark to see inside, but the driver’s seat beyond the windshield was empty.

      That meant that any other occupants besides the ones who’d gone after him were likely inside the gallery.

      Withdrawing the Beretta, he burst through the shop door. It wasn’t like they couldn’t see him coming. But he couldn’t not go in… Willow was in there.

      Other than the whoosh of the door closing behind him the shop appeared dead silent.

      No signs of a struggle.

      No milling customers.

      Nothing.

      He moved deeper into the gallery, around sculptures, beyond complicated displays of smaller pieces of artwork comprised of various mediums.

      As he moved past the counter, a muzzle rammed into the back of his head.

      “Mr. Anders.”

      Spencer froze. He analyzed the voice. Male. Western… almost.

      “I’ve been waiting for you.”

      Three more men stepped out of the shadows of the farthest recesses of the gallery, weapons trained on one target… Spencer.

      The man who’d spoken moved in closer behind Spencer. “Before you die,” he said, his words uttered softly now as if he were speaking for Spencer’s ears only, “I have only one question.”

      He jammed the barrel of his weapon harder into Spencer’s skull. “Where is my wife?”