Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(27)

What was that noise? Every muscle tensed and her breath left her body in a rush. Her mouth was bone dry.

It was so horrible huddling here in the dark like a fox hounded to earth. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed impossible that it wasn’t making a noise. It sounded loud to her. Surely it could be heard in the next room?

She wiped her face on her sleeve. Whatever happened, she needed to be able to see. Even if it was only the gun that would end her life. She swiped at her eyes as she bit down on her lips and ordered herself to stop crying. To stop trembling. She pressed her hands between her knees so she could tell herself her hands weren’t shaking.

She never knew she was such a coward. How could she have known? She’d never faced danger—real danger, as opposed to the danger any woman living alone is subject to every day—in her life.

I don’t want to die, she thought again as she rested her forehead on her knees. A tear dropped on her knee and ran down her calf.

She waited in the dark, endlessly.

Her watch was on the bedside table. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d spotted the intruder. Since she’d called John. Ten minutes? Two minutes? Half an hour? There were no bearings here, in the muffled scented darkness of the closet, no way of telling time except by her thudding heart.

Had she sent John to his death? He hadn’t even hesitated, had simply said he was on his way, but should she have called the police instead of him? She might well die, but she might go down having brought another man to his death. A good man. A man who willingly stepped into danger for her.

Right now, he might be out there, bleeding, dying…

Somehow, that was the worst thing of all.

Suzanne straightened abruptly. That had definitely been a sound. Like something heavy falling. A piece of furniture? A…body? The sound came from the living room, right outside the bedroom door. A long moment of silence, while she strained her ears.

And then another sound, metallic this time.

Someone picking the lock.

Suzanne wiped her eyes. Whatever was going to happen in the next few seconds, she wanted to be clear-eyed.

A scraping…the chair was pushed out of the way. Suddenly, light flooded through the louvered slats of the closet door. A shadow fell across the door.

Suzanne waited, dry-eyed now, breathing slowly. Trying crazily to brace herself against a bullet. She scooted as far as she could go against the wall, pressing against the wooden slats with her shoulders, wishing she could push herself through to the other side.

The closet door opened and a man filled the doorway. Broad shoulders barely cleared the frame. A killer’s face—lean cheeks, cold gunmetal eyes, hard mouth. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, a large black gun in his hand.

With a glad cry Suzanne rushed into his arms.





CHAPTER SEVEN


John’s arms closed around her fiercely.

Suzanne was trembling, trying hard not to cry. Shaking, breathing raggedly. Soft and warm and—thank you, God—alive.

John covered the back of her head with his right hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her tight, trying to give her the animal comfort of his body. Pressing her close to still those awful tremors.

She was frightened to death. So was he. He couldn’t remember being this scared, ever. Not in the fiercest firefight.

He hadn’t been frightened for himself. The takedown had been smooth, a textbook SEAL operation. The bad guy hadn’t even known John was there until he was uselessly tugging at the knife cutting through his throat. But until this moment, until he had his arms tight around Suzanne’s slender body, John hadn’t been sure he’d got here in time. Hadn’t been sure he wouldn’t find Suzanne lying in a pool of her own blood…

He’d been driving home, content with the day’s work advising a bank in Eugene on security, with a five-year consultancy contract in his pocket. If business continued like this, he’d have to expand again. For the third time in six months. Maybe call in a few other guys from his team who were up for retirement.

He’d had to retire early because of the damned knee injury, but he probably hadn’t had more than another seven, eight years of active duty left in him anyway. In his line of work, you either died on the job or retired early. It’s wasn’t a job you aged in.

The Teams took everything a man had—and then sucked up some more.

If he expanded again, he knew exactly who to call. Senior Chief Kowalski was up for retirement and would make a perfect employee, maybe some day a partner. Super-smart, skilled, honest—and looking like something out of a horror movie. John smiled at the thought of introducing Suzanne to Kowalski, though she hadn’t turned a hair on her lovely head at meeting Jacko.

Despite her fragile appearance, Ms. Suzanne Barron seemed pretty sturdy. And smart and beautiful and with it. Oh yeah, she’d do just fine. All in all, John had been well pleased with himself while driving home.

Home.

When was the last time he’d ever felt a place was home? As opposed to a bed to bunk in? Yet 437 Rose Street had instantly become home. And that was before the delectable Ms. Barron decorated his working and living quarters.

He couldn’t wait for that, odd in a man who never cared what anything in his surroundings looked like. His major color scheme all his life had been olive drab. But now he found himself really looking forward to living in what he’d seen in those drawings. Those rich muted colors, those sleek elegant lines—hell yes, he could get used really fast to working out of an office like that. It would be a pleasure. He couldn’t wait for her to start.