A woman stared pale-faced at the ground beside Karen’s Metro. Two busboys stood at the back door of the restaurant and also looked at the ground.

Karen lay on her back. Both legs were twisted under her hips. Her head faced the Metro and lifeless eyes gazed at the car door. Wet, shiny blood pooled around her head and matted the blond hair against the asphalt. Blood oozed from two small holes at the back of her skull.

Death had been lightning-quick. Karen had collapsed and rolled backward on her hip.

I panned the faces around me. “Anybody see anything?”

The two busboys shook their heads. The woman didn’t react to my question.

Karen’s key ring was by her right hand. Her purse remained tucked under her left arm. Nothing was taken.

I crouched and examined the bullet wounds in her skull. The holes were identical round punctures an inch apart. Too small to be 9 mm or.38. Most likely a.22.

I scanned the ground for the cartridge cases. Nothing but gravel, gum wrappers, and cigarette butts.

Why hadn’t I heard the gunshots?

A silencer? Of course.22s were easier to silence than larger-caliber weapons. And a couple of.22 slugs into the skull was enough to flatline anyone.

The shots looked expertly delivered. Karen hadn’t been simply murdered, she had been assassinated.

Another good lead and another one dead as well. Only Karen didn’t deserve it.

Why kill her? What few personal effects Karen had were still on her body. Robbery wasn’t the motive.

Maybe the killer wasn’t after what she carried but what she had in her head: information. And with her dead, that information was gone forever.

If this was an assassination, why kill her like this and leave evidence of a professional hit? Why not run her down, or break into her house and make it look like a burglary gone bad? Or did she have to be shut up immediately?

Now I knew what she had known. Did her killer realize that? And if so, was I next?

Karen had been dead less than a few minutes. The killer had to be close by.

My kundalini noir coiled like a snake in its den-wary, suspicious, prepared.

Pedestrians gathered to gawk at the body. Was one of them the murderer? I could take out my contacts and read their auras but that would give away my vampire nature. There were about a dozen people around me, too many to hypnotize.

A waiter appeared in the back door of the restaurant, the same Asian guy who had served us. A busboy mumbled to him and motioned toward the Metro. The waiter’s expression went from concern to shock. He walked to the Metro and halted to stare at Karen’s body. His face turned ashen-white. He looked at me and pointed a finger. “She was with you.”

The crowd gave a collective accusing gasp.

The wail of an approaching police siren told me this attention was only going to make it worse for me.

I backed away toward the alley. I wanted to turn and run, but if I did that, then everyone would presume I was guilty of something.

“Where are you going?” The waiter scowled. He stepped around the Metro and followed me.

What was up his tight ass? He was no cop.

The waiter jabbed a finger toward Karen’s body. “What happened to her?”

The siren echoed within the walls of the alley.

The waiter trotted after me. “The police will be here. They’ll want to talk to you.”

Maybe this guy was the assassin. He grabbed for my arm. I moved at vampire speed and was instantly out of his reach.

He stared dumbfounded. He yelled over his shoulder in Chinese and chased me, changing his shouting to English. “What happened to your lady friend? Why are you leaving?”

I turned away to remove my contacts. Where the alley emptied onto the street, I whirled about and faced the waiter.

The pupils of his dark brown eyes gaped like tiny mouths. His aura pulsed once. I zapped the waiter hard to keep him out for a full minute at least. I lifted him into a Dumpster and dropped him on a pile of yesterday’s fried rice and peanut sauce.

I returned to my car and sped off. Even though I had an open ticket back to Chicago, I wondered if flying was the safest bet.

In the rearview mirror, I could see people run onto the sidewalk. A police car flew past me and skidded to a stop in front of them. People ran to the driver’s door and gestured after me.

The police car raced from the curb and U-turned to pursue me. Going to the airport was out of the question.

I mashed the gas pedal and the Monte Carlo catapulted forward.

A second police car shot from the next intersection and swerved into me. His front left fender crunched against my right rear. My car spun ninety degrees and I faced the wrong direction down a one-way street.

I gave the Monte Carlo more gas and bolted down the one-way. The second cop car swung around the corner in pursuit. Cars and trucks juked around me, horns blaring like shouted curses.

A city bus lurched into the next intersection. I jerked the wheel and cut in front of it. The cop behind me tried the same maneuver only to have his cruiser T-bone the bus.

I zigzagged through the city and wound up on State Highway 210 going east. A helicopter shadowed me. Blue and red lights flashed in my mirrors. The noose tightened. No way could I escape by car. Maybe I should crash into a building and disappear on foot.

Up ahead, patrol cars blocked the highway. Cops scrambled out of their cars and readied weapons.

The pursuing cars slowed and let me approach the barricade by myself. I would be the only one in the field of fire.

Well, if they wanted me, I’d make them work for it.

I gunned the engine and steered to the right. The Monte Carlo flattened sign posts and rumbled over the shoulder and across the rough grass toward the Missouri River.

The engine revved into a scream. The Monte Carlo bounced over a small cliff. The front of the sedan angled toward the water. For an instant I was airborne. The brown water of the Missouri River filled my windshield. I braced for the impact.

My front bumper smashed into the water. The airbag detonated and slapped my face.

Water splashed across the windshield and windows. The Monte Carlo bobbed in the turbulent river. Steam curled from under the hood. Lights sputtered on the dashboard.

A voice called to me from the stereo speakers. She had the perky earnestness of a Girl Scout rehearsing for a lifesaver merit badge. “On Star here. Do you need help? Are you okay?”

“Help? Think you could make me invisible?”

“Pardon?”

Bullets peppered the roof. The cops weren’t even going through the pretense of rescuing me.

“Sir, I show that you’re in the Missouri River. Is that correct, sir?”

“I’m looking for my boat.”

“Uh-uh,” the voice said. “I’m going to summon the police.”

A bullet punched through the side window. “Don’t bother. They know exactly where I am.”

“Sir. Sir. Could you verify that you’re…” The voice cut out. The lights on the dash dimmed and went dark.

I tilted the steering wheel up, undid my safety belt, and smashed the driver’s window with my elbow. Cold river water cascaded in and splashed the contacts out of my eyes. The Monte Carlo tipped to the left as brown water flooded the interior.

In seconds the coupe was rolling underwater and still sinking. I pushed the door open and swam clear. The current grabbed me like a giant hand and shoved me against rocks and mounds of silt.

The police expected the river to carry me downstream. I dug my feet into the muddy bottom, turned upstream, and plodded forward. The river current pummeled me and I groped along like a blind crayfish.