Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(34)

His eyes were dark and cold. His voice even. “I got the call from Suzanne at seventeen minutes past midnight. She said she’d seen an intruder in the house, that he was armed. I was a few blocks away. I parked out of view of the building and proceeded to the front door. The alarm system and phone lines had been disabled. I entered the building—“

“Were you armed at the time?” Bud asked sharply.

John’s eyes glittered like ice. He just looked at Bud.

“Okay, okay.” Bud said. “With what?”

“Sig Sauer.”

“Why didn’t you use it?”

“In the end, I opted not to.” John shrugged a broad shoulder. “I thought he might be wearing body armor. Which he was. My weapon would have blown his face away. If his prints weren’t on file, we’d never know who he was. I used my K-Bar.”

Suzanne could just imagine the scene. The dark, silent room, John moving like a ghost, his big knife whipping through the air, the intruder clutching his throat, crumpling to the ground, wheezing uselessly for air while his blood pulsed and sprayed…

Bud sighed. He was sitting in male mode—legs spread wide, hands on knees, pen and pad dangling from one big hand. He sighed again, slapped his thighs and stood up.

“Okay. Let’s take this down to the station house.” He gestured to the technicians. Two unfolded a gurney and lifted the dead man on to it. He spoke to them. “You guys got everything?” They nodded.

John put his hand to Suzanne’s elbow and helped her out of the couch. He held her thick quilted jacket. Suzanne fitted her arms into it and he lifted her hair at the back for her. His hands—heavy, warm, reassuring—lay on her shoulders while she zipped the jacket up. For just a second, Suzanne allowed herself to lean back against him a little, savoring the strength and steadiness of him.

John squeezed her shoulders gently, and then lifted his hands. “Get your things,” he said quietly.

She made a wide circle around the bloodstains on the floor and wheeled her little suitcase out. Bud lifted an eyebrow and John shook his head sharply. Don’t ask, his look said.

Oddly, John didn’t help her with the suitcase. It was on four wheels, so it was easy for her to push. Still, he seemed like the kind of man who wouldn’t let a woman deal with luggage.

Then he placed his left arm around her waist, picked up his big black gun and she understood. He wanted one hand on her and one hand on his weapon.

What an odd little procession they made as they trooped outside, Suzanne thought. Bud first, Suzanne and John together, then the techs with the body, two carrying the gurney, two flanking it. Suzanne stood just outside the door, blinking. Two more police cars had joined the others haphazardly parked along her street. Their lights were flashing and she could hear the squawk and hiss of the radio. Police officers milled around, their low voices muffled in the thick night air. They were already cordoning off the house with yellow police tape.

The light snowfall had left white patches on the ground. It wasn’t snowing now but the air felt heavy and damp. It would snow later, maybe at daybreak in a few hours. Suzanne lifted her head and breathed in deep, trying to dispel the smell of violent death. The oxygen helped clear her brain. She felt unreal, at the center of a scene she’d seen a thousand times on TV but never imagined would be part of her life.

She watched two technicians maneuver the gurney down the steps. The body, zipped up in a black plastic bag, shifted. One of the police officers reached out to brace it before it could slip off.

She’d never seen the dead man before. How strange that a perfect stranger should want her dead. He’d come to kill her. Instead, he was the one leaving her house in a body bag and she was standing right next to the man who’d killed him.

Suzanne looked up at John. His arm was tight around her waist, though he wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking at anything, really. His gaze raked the street, up and down, not focusing on anything in particular, but Suzanne could tell he was intensely aware of his surroundings, of everything and everyone on her street. Then he turned to look at her and she felt caught in the beam of a searchlight. A muscle in his jaw jumped and he pulled her even more tightly toward him, turned slightly inwards, his gun hand free.

She stared up at him, her breath turning white in the cold, mingling with his.

Bud came up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, hon,” He said. “Get in the lead car and—“

“She’s coming with me.” John’s tone was non-negotiable as he spoke to Bud over her head. “I’ll drive her downtown. She’s not getting out of my sight. Not for a second.”

Bud stared at him and John glared back. Bud’s shoulders lifted. “Okay. It doesn’t make that much difference who drives her. We need to talk to you, too, anyway, as you can imagine. You know the address of headquarters?”

John nodded.

“Wait,” Suzanne said. “My house.” The intruder had broken her alarm system. Her building was vulnerable. “We can’t just leave it like this.”

John understood and squeezed her waist. “The police will post a guard. Nothing will happen to your house.” He speared Bud with a hard look. “Will it?”

Bud’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “Yeah, okay, sure. I can spare an agent, and of course we’re putting up police tape. No one will touch your house. You’ll find all your knickknacks when you get back, or Claire will have my head. It’ll still be Fong—” he hesitated.