Ripping Time

Her aunt nodded. "Alston wanted to spend a semester interning in Congress. Role research. I... I set it up, got him a job in your father's office. Asked him to snoop around for us. Find out things Noah couldn't, didn't have access to." Cassie Tyrol bit a well-manicured lip. "Je

"Dead?"

Cassie was crying, smudging her careful eye makeup into ruins. "Four hours ago. It hasn't hit the press yet, because the FBI's put a press blackout on it. I know because Noah dragged me out of my house, scared spitless because they'll come after me."

Je

Noah Armstrong spoke quietly, with just a hint of anger far back in those piercing grey eyes. "Surely you've heard the scuttlebutt about people close to your father? To know Senator John Paul Caddrick is to inherit a tombstone?"

White-hot anger blazed at the crude insult, jolting her out of shock sufficiently to glare murderously at the detective. There were plenty of reasons to hate John Paul Caddrick, Senator from Hell. But murder wasn't by God one of them! Then she saw the sick, anguished pain in her aunt's eyes. Anger slithered to the floor in a puddle at her feet and Je

Cassie Tyrol's lips trembled. "When we leave here, Je

She was crying harder, voice shaking. Shocked by her collapse into violent tremors, Je

Cassie tightened her fingers around Je

Je

Cassie tried to smile, failed utterly. "You're going to need a friend, someone to protect you, while this is breaking loose, Je

"What?" Je

Cassie tried to smile, failed. "Don't be angry with me for prying, sweety, please. I'm just trying to look out for you. So." She slid an envelope across the table. "If you want to go, you can probably get out before the press gets wind of this. And don't go all stubborn and proud on me and tell me you've got to do things on your own. You think the press has been savage before? You have no idea how bad it's going to get, hon. They're going to crucify us. All of us. So take it, grab your passports, both of you, and get out of town. Okay, Je

She just didn't know what to say. Maybe that crazy scheme to get down time to film the Ripper terror wasn't so crazy, after all—and here was her aunt, handing Je

"Okay, Cassie. I'll go. Mind if I call Carl?"

Her aunt's attempt at a smile was the most courageous thing Je

She scooted back her chair and kissed her aunt's cheek. "Love you, Cassie. Be right back." She found the phones in the back beside the bathrooms and dug into her purse for change, then dialed.

"Hello?"

"Carl, it's Je

Gunfire erupted in stereo.

From the telephone receiver and the restaurant. Carl's choked-off scream, guttural, agonized, cut straight through Je

Someone shouted her name. Je

"Run!"

She found herself dragged through Luigi's kitchen. Screams echoed behind them. The gun in Armstrong's hand cleared a magical path. Waiters and cooks dove frantically out of their way. At the exit to the alleyway behind the restaurant, Armstrong flung her against the wall, reloaded the gun with a practiced, fluid movement, then kicked the door open. Gunfire from outside slammed into the door. Je

More deafening gunfire erupted from right beside her. Then Armstrong snatched her off balance and snarled, "Run, goddamn you!" The next instant, they were pelting down an alleyway littered with at least three grotesquely dead men. All three were dressed like middle-easterners, wearing a type of headdress made popular during the late twentieth century by a famous terrorist turned politician, Je

Je