Suspense mounted in his mind. He counted his pulse beats, quieting himself. He tried to relax. Then fearfully checked her position again. That involved receiving a sharp slap of assault, for she had been ready with an almost trigger response.
And she was closer. She seemed to be advancing confidently.
In nervous haste he began to dress.
And then she struck with her full hellish power from very near at hand.
Amazement and abject fear flamed in his mind. He fought to strengthen the shield. She forced it back, got a single hot tentacle of thought through into his mind proper, and it lashed about like a living thing before he could force it out.
Gradually he came to realize that she was not near enough for the kill.
He staggered to the door, his mind numbed and spinning as if a giant explosion had gone off by his ear.
And then, somehow, he was in the street, half dressed. Somehow he managed to find a cab. It was all a blur to him that might have taken two minutes, five minutes, or twenty minutes. She had abandoned the assault. She was moving closer.
Then, before the cab began to move he saw her. Two blocks away. Coming toward him. Her face was impassive, but even at a distance, the eyes ... or was it his imagination? The focus gun ... in his pocket.... The cab drew away. He leaned out the window, twisting back, tried to aim at her. The shot, silent and lethal, sped away. The distance was too great.