Free The Killer in My Eyes by Giorgio Faletti

and Hardy had done a good job on him. His eye was swelling up and his mouth and nose were dirty with half-congealed blood. He turned on the faucet and washed himself. The cold water felt good on his swollen face.
    He took off his shirt and used the clean part to dry himself. As he went back along the corridor towards the living room, he heard the hum of a hair dryer. He opened the closet where he had put his backpack that morning, and from it he removed a clean shirt. As he changed, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in the bathroom. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such a stunning creature. Closing the closet, he put the backpack down on the couch next to his helmet.
    At that moment, the woman appeared, wearing a blue robe. Her dark hair was still a little damp. Her large liquid eyes were the most incredible hazel, almost golden.
    ‘Now then, are you going to tell me why you’re here?’ she demanded.
    ‘I live here.’
    ‘Strange, I thought I’d just rented the place. Maybe there’s some detail I missed.’
    Jordan felt the same sense of inadequacy he had felt a while earlier in the bathroom. ‘Let me rephrase that. I
used
to live here.’
    ‘Are you Jordan Marsalis?’
    ‘That’s right. And you must be Mrs Guerrero . . .’
    ‘Not exactly, but more or less. My name’s Lysa.’
    Jordan shook the hand she held out to him. It was warm and soft, a tactile sensation that was complemented by the delicate vanilla scent she gave off.
    ‘I was told you’d be here in three days.’
    ‘That was the idea, but I decided to come earlier because the agency told me you’d be leaving today.’
    ‘I was supposed to, but then . . .’ Jordan made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Well, things don’t always work out as planned. I’m sorry I startled you. I’m really embarrassed.’
    ‘Do you always get a nose bleed when you’re embarrassed?’
    Jordan lifted a hand to his face, and when he took it away it was stained with blood. The wound had started bleeding again. He walked to the kitchen door and looked around for something to stem the flow.
    ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a really bad day.’
    ‘I’d already guessed that. Sit down on the couch. I’ll be right back.’
    She left him for a moment, and when she came back she was holding a dressing-case that looked more like a first-aid kit. She put it down on the couch next to Jordan and took out some yellowish cottonwool.
    ‘Don’t worry. I used to be a nurse. Anyway, I don’t think I’d manage to make it any worse.’
    She stood in front of him. Again, he smelled that vanilla scent of hers. She gently touched his nose and eye, then put her hand under his chin and lifted his head.
    ‘This is going to burn a little.’
    Having applied the haemostatic agent, she stepped back.
    ‘All done, the blood’s stopped. Your nose isn’t broken, you’ll be pleased to hear. That would have been a pity, it’s a nice nose. There’ll be a bruise, but it should match your blue eyes.’
    Jordan felt as if she was looking deep inside him, searching out his secrets.
    ‘You look like a man who’s had more than just a bad day,’ she went on.
    ‘Yes. Someone I knew was murdered today.’
    ‘I watched the news on TV. They said Gerald Marsalis, the Mayor’s son, had died. Was he a relative of yours?’
    Gerald is history. It’s a name that doesn’t belong to me any more
. . .
    ‘He was my nephew. Christopher Marsalis is my brother.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    Jordan stood up and picked up the helmet and backpack. ‘Well, I think I’ve disturbed you long enough. Good night, and thanks.’
    He was on his way to the door when Lysa’s warm, calm voice stopped him. ‘Listen, I feel guilty about sending you away in that state. If you like, you can stay here tonight. You know the apartment. There are two bedrooms and two bathrooms and we won’t bother each other. Tomorrow you can decide what you want to do.’
    ‘Won’t your husband mind if I sleep here?’
    Jordan