The Warrior. Dinah McCall

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ when John was getting ready to leave, a skinny man in a suit followed several uniformed officers into the bank, paused long enough to question the guard, then headed straight for John, who recognized the type, as well as the badge clipped to the man’s belt.

      Great. A detective. Naturally nosy, disinclined to believe anything he was told. This ought to be good.

      John saw him pause to look at the dead man; then he looked straight at John, who stared back without flinching.

      Horace Miles stepped into the silent breach by introducing himself as the cop approached.

      “I’m Horace Miles, president of the bank. I saw everything.”

      “Detective Robert Lee,” the newcomer said, then put his hands on his hips and gave John the once-over, eyeing the bloody shirt as well as the blood on John’s jeans. “So, hero, what’s your name?”

      Sarcasm was the last thing John expected. It made him angry. He stood abruptly, well aware that he was now towering over the skinny man’s head.

      “Considering the fact that right now, my chest hurts like hell, I don’t appreciate your sarcasm,” he drawled. “My name is John Nightwalker, and I’m not a hero. I was just in the wrong place at the right time.”

      Lee wanted to be pissed, but the man was right. “Sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong. Let’s back up and do this all over again. So, Mr. Nightwalker, could you tell me what happened?”

      John pointed to the walls where a half-dozen cameras were mounted. “I could…but it appears that Mr. Miles here will be able to provide several different angles on the incident for your viewing pleasure. Suffice it to say, the man tried to rob the bank, took a woman hostage and was pointing his gun at one of her kids. I distracted him. He shot me instead of the kid. I put a knife in his chest.”

      Believing John had already been tended by paramedics, Lee’s next thought was the weapon in question. “May I see that knife?”

      John winced as he leaned over, pulled up the leg of his jeans, then pulled the knife back out of its scabbard.

      The detective’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped as he eyed the wicked blade. It was almost ten inches in length, with its widest point no less than three inches across. The handle appeared to be some kind of bone—maybe ivory. He frowned.

      “Hell, mister, that thing’s big enough to fight bears with.”

      “Yes.”

      Startled by the easy answer, Lee gave John a cool look. “Don’t tell me you fight bears, too?”

      “Okay,” John said, well aware he was pissing the man off. But he didn’t care. The detective’s attitude was anything but cordial, and John would have liked a couple of painkillers for his trouble.

      Lee’s mouth dropped. “You fought a bear?”

      John grinned slightly. “You don’t fight bears, detective. You either outrun them or kill them. I’ve done both.”

      Lee snapped his mouth shut and glared.

      “Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”

      “Yes, actually, I do.” John pulled out his wallet and produced the license.

      Lee eyed it without comment, then handed it back.

      The bank president was surprised by the detective’s attitude.

      “I’m sorry for interrupting, Detective Lee, but you don’t seem to understand. This man averted what could have been a long, drawn-out hostage situation. He saved a woman’s life and, most likely, the lives of everyone in here. There’s no way of knowing who that bastard would have shot next. Mr. Nightwalker did nothing but defend himself. The robber shot first. Ask anyone here.”

      “Oh, I will,” Lee said.

      “Am I free to go?” John asked.

      “I’m going to need you to come down to headquarters and—”

      “Why?” John asked. “Your case is closed.”

      “Because you put a knife in a man’s chest, that’s why,” Lee argued, then realized people were staring and pulled back his emotions.

      “He shot me first,” John said. “Don’t I get to defend myself?”

      “Yes, but—”

      “I have a permit for the knife.”

      “I’m the one doing the questioning,” Lee snapped.

      “Then ask me some questions,” John said.

      Lee glared, then remembered that this man had supposedly been shot. “If you’re shot, why aren’t you on your way to the hospital?”

      John sighed, resisted the urge to roll his eyes and yanked his shirt off over his head.

      “That’s where it went in.” He turned around. “And that’s where it came out. I heal fast.”

      The raw edges of burned flesh were obvious, but the wound was almost closed. Lee didn’t believe a damned word of what he was being told but couldn’t figure out the man’s angle.

      “No one heals that fast,” he said. “Those are old wounds. You might have been shot, but not today. You and that dead man were in cahoots, and for some reason you backed out and killed him to keep from being brought down with him.”

      “Bullshit,” John said, and pointed to the cameras again. “Watch the fucking movie, Detective. I’ve banked here for years. Mr. Miles has my address and phone number if you’re interested. Now…if you’re not going to arrest me, I’m leaving. I need to rest.”

      John held out his hand, waiting for the cop to give back his knife.

      The silence stretched between them, but John wouldn’t budge. Finally Lee handed back the knife and watched John return it to the scabbard, then pick up his bloody shirt and walk out of the bank without looking back.

      Lee was angry and distrustful but had no reason to hold him. Instead, he pointed to all the cameras.

      “I want that security footage. Now.”

      Horace Miles waved a teller over. “Go to the back and get all the security tapes from today and bring them here, please.”

      

      Savannah was far behind him as John neared the turnoff leading toward his home. Glad the two-hour trip was nearly over, he began to slow down. Moments later, he turned off the main highway and began the long winding drive up the bluff to his house. Owning the land where his village once stood had taken several hundred years to make happen, but once it had, he found an odd sort of peace in living here again.

      He’d dodged civil wars, fought through world wars, and had long since gotten over the shock of watching the unsullied beauty of the country go to hell in a handbasket while trying to find the reincarnation of his enemy. It pained СКАЧАТЬ