"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Remodeling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

her, blocking her.

“Don't you?” His eyes narrowed. “Your husband is the one who's been complaining all the time. Too much noise. Y
know, I've been checking this out. He always complains about noise.”

“Get away from me,” she said. “This is my house. You have no right to be here.”

“There are more complaints on file under his name in this city than for anyone else, you know that? And when we m
next-door, he started in on us. We're not doing anything wrong, lady. We don't make a lot of noise. Your husband's jus
sick.”

“Please,” she said again. She couldn't stand having him this close. “Go away.”

Muff ler Man leaned even closer, his eyes bulging out. She reached for the coffee pot, but he grabbed her arm. His
fingers dug into her f lesh, pinching the nerve endings against the bone. She cried out, then bit her lip, not wanting Rick t
hear.

Somehow she knew it would be worse if Rick overheard.

She twisted, trying to get away, but Muff ler Man's grip tightened even more. Their gazes met for a moment, and in
she saw a fury so deep that it terrified her.

Then, without even thinking, she brought her knee up and slammed it into his groin.

He yelped with pain, let go of her arm, and doubled over, clasping his hands over his balls. She whirled, grabbed a l
lowerpot, and smashed it on the top of his head.

The pot shattered. He staggered and fell, thumping against the floor so hard the house shook.

Upstairs, the shower shut off.

“Ada?” Rick's voice sounded far away and worried.

Muff ler Man scuttled backwards, blood and dirt running down his face. He managed to rise and totter out the open
door.

“Ada?” Rick's voice was closer now.

She tightened the belt on her robe, felt her hands slip on the flannel, and looked down and saw her fingers were cov
in filth. She stepped gingerly over the clay shards, bits of dirt sliding beneath her toes.

The dirt didn't show up on the shag carpet, but the blood did—a little trail of it, leading to the front door.

She followed the blood as if it were breadcrumbs and when she reached the door, she slammed it shut, bolted it, an
rested her forehead against it.
 Outside, she thought she heard the faint wail of sirens.

“Ada?” Rick was behind her. She could smell the faint scent of Ivory soap. She turned.

He was wrapped in a towel, his chest hair still wet and matted, water dripping off his legs onto the dirt- and