Free Night Shift by Nora Roberts Page A

warmed from sitting in its nest against his side, fitted snug in his hand. Sweeping his gaze right, then left, he found the street deserted, dark but for the pools of light from the streetlamps spaced at regular intervals. It was only a quiet suburban neighborhood, cozily asleep in the predawn hours. The night wind sounded through the naked trees in low moans.
    He didn’t doubt Cilla’s words—wouldn’t have doubted it even if he hadn’t caught a glimpse through her window of a lone figure on the opposite sidewalk.
    Whoever had been there was gone now, probably alerted the moment Cilla had spotted him.
    As if to punctuate Boyd’s thoughts, there was the sound of an engine turning over a block or two away. He swore but didn’t bother to give chase. With that much of a lead, it would be a waste of time. Instead, he walked a half block in each direction, then carefully circled the house.
    Cilla had her hand on the phone when he knocked.
    “It’s okay. It’s Boyd.”
    In three hurried strides, she was at the door. “Did you see him?” she demanded the moment Boyd stepped inside.
    “No.”
    “He was there. I swear it.”
    “I know.” He relocked the door himself. “Try to relax. He’s gone now.”
    “Relax?” In the past ten minutes she’d had more than enough time to work herself from upset to frantic. “He knows where I work, where I live. How in God’s name am I ever supposed to relax again? If you hadn’t scared him off, he might have—” She dragged her hands through her hair. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened. Didn’t dare.
    Boyd didn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he watched as she slowly, painfully brought herself under control. “Why don’t you take some time off, stay home for a few days? We’ll arrange for a black-and-white to cruise the neighborhood.”
    She allowed herself the luxury of sinking into a chair. “What difference does it make if I’m here or at the station?” She shook her head before he could speak. “And if I stayed home I’d go crazy thinking about it, worrying about it. At least at work I have other things on my mind.”
    He hadn’t expected her to agree. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now you’re tired. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll sleep on the couch.”
    She wanted to be strong enough to tell him it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t need to be protected. But the wave of gratitude made her weak. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
    ***
    It was almost dawn when he dragged himself home. He’d driven a long time—from one sleepy suburb to another, into an eerily quiet downtown. Covering his trail. The panic had stayed with him for the first hour, but he’d beaten it, made himself drive slowly, carefully. Being stopped by a roving patrol car could have ruined all of his plans.
    Under the heavy muffler and cap he was wearing, he was sweating. In the thin canvas tennis shoes, his feet were like ice. But he was too accustomed to discomfort to notice.
    He staggered into the bathroom, never turning on a light. With ease he avoided his early-warning devices. The thin wire stretched from the arm of the spindly chair to the arm of the faded couch. The tower of cans at the entrance to his bedroom. He had excellent night vision. It was something he’d always been proud of.
    He showered in the dark, letting the water run cold over his tensed body. As he began to relax, he allowed himself to draw in the fragrance of soap—his favorite scent. He used a rough, long-handled brush to violently scrub every inch of his skin.
    As he washed, the dark began to lessen with the first watery light of dawn.
    Over his heart was an intricate tattoo of two knives, blades crossed in an X. With his fingers he caressed them. He remembered when it had still been new, when he had shown it to John. John had been so impressed, so fascinated.
    The image came so clearly. John’s dark, excited eyes. His voice—the way he spoke so quickly that the words tumbled into