Triumph roared like a hot wind through Jack's heart. Jack jumped in front of the assassin, planted both feet, and shot out a punch.
The man saw it coming and tried to jerk his head out of the way, but Jack's punch caught him in the side of the jaw. A spray of blood spattered the rough concrete wall. The assassin bounced off two different walls and pitched full length down the third flight of stairs, landing on his side. Jack's feet broke traction and shot backward. His upper body fell forward onto the palms of his hands.
Jack picked himself up, heart hammering, and shook blood from his knuckles. The assassin wasn't moving. Jack stepped cautiously toward the killer.
Something crunched under one foot. Jack lifted his heel and saw it was one of the assassin's teeth.
Streams of blood poured down the stairs from the killer's mutilated face. The crushed jaw was hanging by a strip of skin. Jack winced. He really needed time to get used to the results of serious violence, and he hadn't had it. He hadn't been in a fight since the Stacked Deck put down in Paris.
He knelt by the man and looked at the blood-spattered face. Maybe he'd seen the man before.
The killer's eyes opened and stared into Jack's.
Death reached out from the man's eyes and seized Jack by the heart.
There was blood everywhere, and all of it was his. Spector grabbed his dislocated jaw, took several deep breaths, and jammed it back up into the socket. He blinked away the tears, but not the searing pain. Spector stood slowly and leaned against the concrete wall.
Golden Boy wasn't moving and didn't seem to be breathing either. Spector hadn't really figured he could hurt Braun much less kill him, but was happy to be wrong. This was no time to be impressed with himself. He had to move. The fight had been quick, but noisy, and more Secret Service would show up any minute.
He slipped off his shoes with his free hand and started down the steps. One flight. Two flights. He wouldn't be far enough away until he lost count. They could test the blood from the landing and find out he was an ace. A killer ace. He pressed the edges of his torn cheek together with his thumb and forefinger. The flesh began to knit itself together. Was it ten flights now? How many floors would that be?
A door opened in the stairwell above him. Spector moved to the far wall and hugged it as he descended. He knew there was someone above him, looking up and down for a hand on the rail or someone looking back. He wasn't going to make that mistake. But what was his next move? He still had the key to 1031. It was risky, but he couldn't think of anything else.
His sides were killing him. Golden Boy had broken a couple of his ribs, too. Spector was breathing okay, though; at least his lungs hadn't been punctured.
He stopped at the landing on the tenth floor and took off his coat. His jaw had stayed connected to his skull, that was something, but he wouldn't be talking for a while. Spector used his coat lining to wipe the blood from his face and neck. Some of it was already crusting over and he had to scrape it off with his fingernails.
There were voices and rapid footfalls from above. Spector couldn't tell how far away they were or even if they were headed down. He was a dead duck here, though. That much was a sure thing. He spit into his palms and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get any remaining bloodstains off. His jaw still felt like there was a circus strongman trying to pull it off.
Spector slipped his shoes back on and opened the door, then stepped out into the hall and made sure it shut quietly behind him. He folded his coat over his arm so that no blood was showing and walked slowly toward the open-air atrium. The lobby area was more crowded than the hallway, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He coughed as a bit of dried blood came loose in the back of his throat. A man at the railing turned and gave him a glance, then looked back up into the airshaft.
"Golden Boy," the man said, drunkenly, and pointed with an unsteady hand. Spector stared straight ahead and quickened his pace.