Free The Ninth Step - John Milton #8 (John Milton Thrillers) by Mark Dawson Page B

the Regiment, and one that had never let him down before.
    He walked ahead and quickly checked that the rooms downstairs were empty. There was a sitting room, kitchen and bathroom. They were all untidy, with mismatched furniture, abandoned clothing, and discarded newspapers and food packaging, and they were all empty.
    Hicks returned to the hall and ascended the stairs. The boards beneath his feet were old and they creaked; he stepped on the outsides of the steps, closer to the stringers, and minimised the noise.
    He reached the landing. The snoring was much louder here, and it was easy to locate. There were three doors off the landing: two bedrooms and a second bathroom. He checked the other rooms first, confirmed that they were empty—and thus that the house was empty apart from the sleeper—and approached the final room. He pushed it open with his fingertips. The hinges were in good condition and the door swung back noiselessly.
    Hicks stepped inside.
    The window was uncovered and it admitted a little indirect light from the streetlamp outside. There was enough for Hicks to be able to look around without the flashlight, so he switched it off and put it back in his pocket. The room was as untidy as all of the others. There was a bed and the shape of a recumbent figure beneath a duvet that was pulled all the way up. There was a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. There was a set of drawers with an old-fashioned clock radio sat atop it, the red figures glowing.
    He approached the bed.
    Eddie Fabian was sleeping on his side, his face turned toward Hicks. His head rested on his arm, and his right foot protruded out from underneath the cover. Hicks drew the Browning, rested his finger against the trigger guard, and then slowly lowered himself onto the bed so that he was sitting next to Eddie’s body. The man exhaled and shifted position a little. Hicks let him settle again and then pressed the barrel of the pistol against the side of his head.
    “Edward,” he whispered.
    The man jerked in his sleep, and his breathing came a little faster.
    “Edward, wake up.”
    Fabian’s eyes flicked open. There was a moment of dumb incomprehension, then confusion, and then fright. His body stiffened and his arm jerked up, catching against the duvet. Hicks placed his left forearm across Edward’s shoulders and pushed down, pinning him to the bed. He kept the muzzle of the gun pressed square against his temple.
    “Lie quietly. Don’t try to shout. I’m here to deliver a message. If you listen to me and do what I tell you to do, you’ll be all right. Understand?”
    Fabian’s eyes went a little wider. He didn’t speak.
    “Edward, you need to tell me that you understand.”
    Fabian managed to nod his head.
    “Very good.”
    When Fabian spoke, his voice was thin and raspy. “Who are you?”
    “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m here to give you a message.”
    Fabian tried to raise himself from the bed, but Hicks pushed down harder. Fabian gave up and fell back down against the mattress. He lay still, his body rigid with tension.
    “You threatened a man the other day, Edward. You told him that you remembered him from years ago. When you were a boy. Do you know the man I mean?”
    Fabian didn’t respond. He stared up at Hicks, his eyes bulging with fear and his larynx bobbing as he swallowed down on a dry throat.
    “Do you remember him, Edward?”
    “Yes,” he said, his voice a parched gasp.
    “You are not to speak to that man again. Under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you are not to repeat any of the things you said to him to anyone else. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “If you do, I’ll be back. I know where you live. I know the cab you drive. I know everything there is to know about you. And if I have to come back, it won’t be to talk. Is that clear?”
    “Yes.”
    “Be sure that it is. I’m going to go now. If you call the police or try to come after me, it’ll go badly for