Midnight Man (27 page)

He just stared at her. Hadn’t she heard what he’d just said? “No, of course not. We’re not going to Bud, we’re going to disappear. This is worse than I thought. We’ll have to go underground and reappear somewhere else, as someone else, far away. I have a couple of false documents and I know where to get more. I was thinking we could relocate to the Keys, if you like the beach. Or Canada, if you’re hung up on the cold. Can you step it up a little, honey? I want to get going as soon as possible. I thought we’d drive to Boise, catch a flight out of there.”

Suzanne was holding a shirt bunched in her hands, staring. “I don’t understand. Why on earth would I want to go to the Keys? Or Canada? Or Boise? I need to get down to Bud. Or—or the FBI. Or someone. Didn’t you hear what I said, John? I witnessed a murder. Or at least, my testimony puts the husband at Marissa’s house at the right time. If he was lying about being there, then he must be the killer.”

Now he was angry. Good. Anger kept the fear away. Anger made sure he didn’t think too closely about Paul Carson gunning for Suzanne. Getting his hands on her. Carson was utterly ruthless and would take her apart.

John strode over to Suzanne, ripped the shirt out of her hands and glared down at her. He went toe to toe with her, so she was forced to tilt her head back to look at him. He knew how intimidating he could be and he used that deliberately now, utterly without remorse.

She looked up at him and he made sure she was aware that he outweighed her by a hundred pounds and was almost a foot taller than she was.

“Now listen up, Suzanne, I’m going to say this once. We don’t have much time and every minute I spend explaining the situation to you is a minute lost. You are not going to testify against Paul Carson. The man is a murderer, and was one long before he offed his wife. If you testify against him, your life is over. He will gun you down before you make it to the courthouse to testify before the grand jury. If he doesn’t manage that, and maybe, just maybe he won’t because the FBI will put you in a safe house and guard you 24/7, you can bet Carson will pull out all the stops to get to you before you testify in court. Every hired gun in the country will have a photograph of you and a contract in his pocket. The FBI will sit on you until your trial and you just might live till then. Maybe. But afterwards you’ll go straight into Witness Protection where you’ll wind up a waitress in Bumfuck, Nebraska for the rest of what remains of your life. And Paul Carson’s in prison with lots of time to think of ways of getting to you. He’s got more money than a third world country and a small army of goons and he won’t quit. It’s a question of time. So those are your choices—being dumped by the Marshall’s Service on some windblown prairie to live out your life—your very short life—in some dead-end job, completely alone and always looking over your shoulder. Oh, and if you go into the Program forget about ever seeing your parents or me or your friends or Portland again for the rest of your life.”

His voice had risen. Now he took a deep breath and lowered it. “Or you can come with me. I know how to make us disappear. I can set us up in another part of the country, or even abroad, with completely new identities and I can do it better and faster than the Witness Protection people. We can live quietly and even well. If we keep our noses clean, make sure our new identities are deep enough, you could even have a low-key job as a decorator in five or ten years’ time. So those are your choices, Suzanne. Waitressing on the prairie and living alone or coming with me.”

He could feel his jaws clench, holding back the fear and the rage.

“Which will it be?”

* * * * *

The Midnight Man was back. That was Suzanne’s first thought. He’d come back the moment John had seen the name Paul Carson on the screen. John’s eyes were the color of blued steel. Just as cold and just as hard.

What he’d said…her mind whirled. He’d already made the leap forward into her choices while she was still struggling with the implications of what she’d seen and what it meant.

Run away. It sounded enticing, especially with John Huntington by her side. Go to some tropical island somewhere, calling themselves Patsy and Steven Smith and eat coconuts and down drinks with little umbrellas. It beat waitressing in Nebraska, all alone. She wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder, not with John by her side. He’d take care of her in all ways. Disappearing with John was the more attractive solution, no doubt about it.

There was only one thing wrong.

A man would get away with murder.

John was standing too close to her, well within what she considered her personal space, and he was glaring at her. It was as if he could will her into escaping with him. Stepping into a void and stepping out again somewhere else, someone else. God, was the thought tempting.

What John hadn’t said, hadn’t mentioned in any way, was the sacrifice he would be making. He hadn’t said that, in making his offer, he was willing to throw away a lifetime of hard work. Jettison his new company. Be unable to use his military background as reference. He’d do all that for her, without question and without asking anything in return.

Midnight Man might be a harsh warrior, but he’d proven that he had a soft spot for her, that he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. Tears burned her eyes.

She sat down on the side of the bed and tugged at his arm until he sat too. She could feel him vibrate with his desire to get moving, but the question was—in which direction?

“Which will it be?” he’d asked. And she answered him.

“John,” she said quietly. “Listen to me. Listen carefully.” She put her hand over his. It was pale and slender, almost half the size of his but she knew it was as if she’d put a stake through his hand. He was frozen in place by her hand on his. “Do you know, I admire your courage tremendously. It’s the kind of courage I simply don’t have.” He started to speak and she placed a finger across his lips. “Shh. Hear me out. As I was saying, I’m not brave at all. You’re not going to catch me with a gun in my hand, going after the bad guys. But I can do this, John. No, I have to do this. Paul Carson probably killed his wife. If he did, he has to go to jail. If I refuse to testify, I’m condoning murder. If I refuse to testify, our system crashes. I must do this. I must. It’s my duty as a citizen. I am honor-bound to do it.”

His hand tensed under hers and he bowed his head, broad shoulders slumping. Suzanne knew she’d used the one argument he couldn’t refute. He was a former military officer. Duty and honor were bred in his blood and bone.

John rose, slowly, as if he were an old man. Their eyes met. This moment changed everything. He was about to set in motion a process that would separate them forever.

The tears that had been threatening were now flowing down her cheeks, but she met his gaze head-on. She wasn’t backing down, and he knew it.

John reached for something in his duffel bag. A cell phone. He punched in some numbers.

“Bud. John here. Listen up. There’ve been developments.”

* * * * *

It happened fast. Within twenty minutes, they were heading back down the dirt road, which led to a secondary road feeding into the highway. John had made an appointment with Bud and the federal agents at a spot about fifty miles away.

Suzanne knew what was going to happen, because John had explained it carefully, eyes blank, face hard, no expression at all in his deep voice. Midnight Man.

She would be taken into custody by federal agents. It was a federal case—trafficking and smuggling—and they’d been on Paul Carson’s tail for the past fifteen years. Bud Morrison would accompany her. John had explained that Bud would be there as ‘liaison’ between Portland PD and what he called ‘the feebs’, but she’d heard him on the phone arguing, insisting on Bud’s presence. Bud would be there, at least in the beginning, because she knew Bud and would be reassured by a familiar face.

John was doing his best to protect her even when she would be taken beyond his reach.

The FBI would debrief her, which was a fancy term for questioning her. She would be taken to a safe house until the District Attorney could put together a case for a grand jury. After testifying, she would be kept in another safe house until the trial. The FBI’s job stopped then. The U.S. Marshal’s Service would take over, giving her a new identity and placing her in the most anonymous setting they could devise. And that was where she would spend the rest of her life. In hiding.

She’d never see her parents again. Technically, they weren’t supposed to know anything about what had happened to her. To them, she would have disappeared off the face of the earth. But John had promised her he’d let them know, discreetly.

Taking care of her, again.

She’d never see John again. Scant hours after realizing she loved the man, he’d be taken from her forever. There would be no other man for her. How could there be? Having known John, having loved him, she couldn’t even contemplate loving another man. No other man could ever measure up.

Her life was ending with each mile the SUV ate up, bleeding away just as surely as the lifeblood bled out of someone who’d been in a fatal accident.

She blinked back tears. She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to see everything, grasp every second of this life before it ended. The night was still, the stars brilliant in the icy sky. A beautiful night to be the last night of her old life. Suzanne shivered and huddled more deeply into the comfort of John's sheepskin jacket, which he’d insisted she put on. It smelled of him, a musky male scent she’d carry with her forever.

His profile was hard and clean, the only signs of tension the muscles jumping in his jaw. Suzanne eyed him hungrily, wanting to hoard images of him to add to her pitiful stockpile. A few days. They’d only had a few days. Despite her best efforts, a lone tear coursed down her cheek.

With a vicious curse, John wrenched the steering wheel and brought the SUV to a sudden halt by the side of the road. He stared ahead, breathing hard, and then lowered his head to the steering wheel.

“Fuck.” His voice was the merest whisper. He turned his head, eyes bleak. “I can’t do this, Suzanne. I can’t give you up to them.”

“You have to.” Her heart was cracking open. There was no question of holding back the tears now. “You have no choice.”

They moved at the same time. She launched herself into his arms at the same moment he opened them to haul her onto his lap.

They kissed, violently, hungrily, a meeting of lips and tongue and tears. Her tears. He wasn’t crying but she could feel his muscles tense as rocks beneath her hands.

He was holding the back of her head tightly, while eating at her mouth, as if he could fuse them at the lips. His tongue was deep in her mouth. She’d take the taste of him to her grave.

“Don’t go, goddammit. Stay with me.” His voice was thick and gravelly. The words came out between biting kisses. “I. Can’t. Stand. To. Let. You. Go.”

His hard hands moved up under her sweater. He didn’t bother loosening her bra. He just shoved it up together with the sweater and bent her over his arm. Cupping his hand around her breast, he held it for his mouth, opened wide over her nipple. He suckled her hard, biting and sucking, pulling at her with the strength of his mouth. Just like that, she surged into climax. She had no idea she was ready; the orgasm—a hard, tight one that left her unsatisfied—took her completely by surprise.

She could see his cheeks working on her breasts and had a flash of an alternate future. She could see herself on a sofa with John sitting beside her. She was holding their child, feeding at her breast. A child who would never be born.

With shaking hands, crying with desperation, Suzanne sat up and fumbled with the snap of his jeans. She needed him inside her more than she needed her next breath. She rarely took the lead with a man, and never with John. But now, right now, she’d have clawed her way through concrete to get to him.

Their hands tangled as they raced to unbutton, unzip, open. She toed her own shoes off, and pulled her pants and panties down and off. She left the sweater and jacket on. No need to get naked. All they needed was the bare minimum uncovered, for him to…

Ah!

There he was, enormous and hard as stone. She whimpered as she put her hands on him, feeling the steely strength. That penis had been the source of such delight for her, but now wasn’t about pleasure or sensuality. Now was about being connected with him in the most elemental way possible. Now was about feeling him inside her, moving, a part of her.

She opened her labia herself and positioned herself over him. Though she’d already had an orgasm, she still found it difficult to give him passage. But she persisted, even when it became slightly painful, because the thought of not having him inside her was unbearable. Finally she was straddling him, completely impaled. His rough pubic hairs scratched her sensitive inner thighs. Her vagina adjusted itself slowly to him. She imagined that if things had worked out differently and they could have lived together, they would have made love so often she would eventually be permanently stretched to accommodate the size of his penis.