marched across his spacious bedroom and into the adjoining annex. Huffing in annoyance, he slammed the window shut, trying to remember when he had opened it in the first place. He prayed to the god he had never believed in that his mind wasn’t going.

Back in bed, he finished off the Scotch and dropped his newspaper on the floor. He settled himself into his usual sleeping position and flicked off the lamp. He searched with his cheek for a smooth area of the pillow. Ferguson sighed, contented.

Cool metal pushed against his temple an instant later.

He gasped.

A man spoke to him from the darkness. It was the last voice he ever heard.

‘It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.’

Вы читаете The Hunter
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