Free Long After Midnight by Iris Johansen Page B

given what he wanted.
    And he wanted Kate Denby. She had been a surprise to him when she had marched out to confront him with that gun held ready under the raincoat. She had been unafraid, like a warrior going into battle. There were few warriors left in the world. It had pleased him to find one facing him tonight. Even if she was a woman and probably not worthy of the title. But in this day and age one must accept warriors where one found them.
    He frowned as his gaze fastened on her figure in the picture. She reminded him of someone but he couldn’t quite . . . Oh well, it would come to him.
    It did come to him. Emily Santos. Twelve years ago . . . A small, unimportant job. It was before he had become recognized as the warrior he was. Her husband had paid him to kill the woman for the insurance money. She had been small and blond and had fought him like a tiger. He reached up and touched a small white scar on his neck. Yes, he could see Emily in Kate Denby.
    Really see her? he wondered suddenly. Had Emily’s spirit come back to take revenge? The thought intrigued him. If such a thing was possible, then Kate was indeed worthy of his attention. What a battle could rage between them.
    He reached out and touched the photograph. “Emily?” It sounded right. But he must be sure. He would think about it.
    He smiled at Kate/Emily in the photograph. She had a lovely throat. He almost hoped things would not go well tomorrow night so he could tell Ogden that the suicide scenario had been impossible to maintain.
    He had not had his hands on the throat of a warrior in a long time.

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    FOUR
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    O kay, talk to me,” Kate said as soon as Noah Smith opened the door of the motel room. “I’ll give you thirty minutes. I have to get back to my son.”
    “Nothing like pressure.” Noah stepped back from the door. “What if I can’t talk that fast?”
    “I don’t think you’ll have any problem.” She entered the motel room and glanced around her. Shabby, clean, impersonal, like a million other third-rate motel rooms. “You did pretty well at the cemetery.”
    “I was motivated. I didn’t know when I’d get another chance at you.” He pulled back the curtain at the picture window and looked out into the parking lot. “I don’t suppose you noticed if you were followed?”
    My God, he was acting as if he were expecting a commando raid, Kate thought. “I noticed. I was careful. Nobody followed me.”
    He let the curtain swing closed. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think you believed me.”
    “I didn’t believe you. I still don’t believe you.”
    “Then why are you here?” His gaze narrowed on her face. “Something happened?”
    “The timer was Czechoslovakian.”
    “And?”
    “There was a man outside my house tonight. He had police credentials but he wasn’t police. He knew about Michael. He knew about Michael’s partner, Alan. Alan thought he was staking the house out for a robbery.”
    “But you don’t?”
    “He could have been.”
    “But you’re suspicious enough to have come here.”
    “Those credentials were very good. I saw my husband’s badge and ID for years, and I’d be hard to fool.”
    “I’m glad to see you’re being logical.”
    “I don’t feel logical. I feel very emotional.” She met his gaze. “You said my son was in danger. If I decide you’re lying, I’m going to walk out of here and tell the world Noah Smith is alive and definitely up to no good.”
    “Good and bad are always relative.” He held up his hand. “Okay, I won’t wax philosophical. Neither of us is in the mood for it.”
    He looked tired, she noticed suddenly. Not only tired but bone weary. “Were you hurt in the fire?”
    “Minor concussion.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands. “First-degree burns. I’ll take these bandages off tomorrow.”
    “How did you get out? That office building was in flames. I saw the film of the explosion on CNN.”
    “So did I.” His lips tightened. “Two days later,