Dark of Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Glasses?” Dave asked.

  “Yup.”

  “He was weak,” Dave said. “I knew he would run.”

  “He did,” Sophia said. “Which left Russell Stafford, Gavin Michael-son, and Kevin Taylor. Taylor, by the way, killed the three John Wilsons. Jules confirmed that yesterday morning.”

  Dave nodded. “We got him, I hope.”

  “He's dead,” Sophia said. “You really don't remember, do you? Apparently, he came down to check on you and … I don't know how you did it, but you used the two-by-four and your leg to hit him in the head. Several times. And then you took Taylor's gun and shot Stafford. You killed him, too.

  “And when Sam and Tess came into the house, to rescue you,” Sophia told him, “you were sitting in the basement, holding that gun. But apparently, before you heard them coming down the stairs, you were using Taylor's knife to cut through the plastic straps that bound your feet. You had a broken knee, an infected wound in your side, no fingernails on your right hand, and pneumonia, and you were on the verge of walking out of there.”

  Dave nodded, unable to keep his own eyes from tearing up. “Crawling out of there,” he said. “I think I was probably going to crawl.”

  “Walk or crawl, you were on your way home to me,” Sophia said.

  “Maybe I can take classes,” he said, “to learn to be more boring.”

  “You were never boring,” she said, “And, Dave, if you were normal, you'd be dead. I want you alive, and I want you exactly as you are. I want all of you: Lunch Dave and hot, sexy James Bond –super-spy Dave.”

  He laughed. Ow. “I think you might've pinned the bullshit meter with that one.”

  “Do you know that you saved Tracy's life?” Sophia said. “In the ambulance? Lopez, too. Gavin Michaelson grabbed her. Apparently, he wasn't in the house with you. The team was watching—they would have seen him if he'd escaped. Best we can figure is he came onto the crime scene with the police and paramedics and volunteer deputies. We found his car. It got parked in by a bunch of cruisers—which was lucky for Tracy. Jules is pretty certain he came back to target her specifically. But because he d idn't have access to his car, to take her out of there, he hijacked the ambulance. Which was where you were. You used your IV tube as an improvised garrote and—”

  “He got away,” Dave remembered that. “Did we get him?”

  “Not yet,” Sophia said. “Out of the seven who were working with Russell Stafford, he's the only one still at large. Until we get him, we've got guards, 24/7, on all of us, but especially on Tracy. And Jo Heissman, too. I can't say too much about that, except that Tracy's ankle is much better. She's already off her crutches and … Oh, you'll like this. The Agency has taken responsibility for the security breach. They're revamping their entire computer system to make it hacker-proof. They're hiring Troubleshoot-ers—Tess—to lead a cyber –red-cell, to attack whatever they put into place, to make sure it's secure. And Doug Brendon's resigned as Agency head. He may face conspiracy charges.”

  “I should sleep for a week more often,” Dave said.

  “Please don't,” Sophia told him.

  “Is Ken Karmody … ?”

  “Up and walking around,” Sophia told him. “Tom's fine, too.” She paused. “My father died, though.”

  “Oh, Soph.”

  “No,” she said. “It's okay. I'm really glad you made me go and see him. And Aunt Maureen even understood why I couldn't come to the funeral.” She laughed. “You know how I was afraid he was going to hit me up for cash? He left me some money. I'm going to put in a trust for… Marianne.”

  “What if he's a boy?”

  “We got a lot of time,” Sophia said. “We'll come up with something.”

  And there they sat, just holding hands, as the sunlight from the window backlit Sophia and made her seem to shimmer and shine.

  She smiled at him. “Yes.”

  “Did I ask a—” Question, he was going to say, when he remembered. In the hotel elevator. He'd asked her to marry him.

  Sophia kissed him. “I love you,” she told him.

  And Dave smiled. He knew.

  TEN DAYS LATER

  Jimmy Nash prayed.

  He was not a religious man, but Tess had what he considered to be more traditional spiritual beliefs, so he prayed to her god.

  He figured it couldn't hurt.

  “You okay?” Decker was beside him, hunkered down in a first-floor room, mere steps from the front entrance to Tracy's apartment building. Jimmy and Tess's apartment building, too—although this was his first time back here since he'd died.

  “Tell me again that there's no way Michaelson could get close enough to take a head shot,” Jimmy said as they watched the street through a monitor and a series of minicams.

  “There's no way,” Decker said patiently. “He's not a sniper, Jim. He's never had that skill. He's going to want to grab her and take her, so he's going to get close.”

  Which meant Gavin Michaelson was going to come out of wherever he was hiding. And then they were going to end this thing for good.

  Tess's voice came over Jimmy's headset. “I'm ready.”

  Decker looked at him and Jimmy nodded. The entire team was in place. Alyssa, who was a sniper—of legendary ability—was up on the roof of the building across the street. He knew she was ready—and able—to take Michaelson out, should the need arise.

  Decker said it for him. “We're ready, too.”

  Jimmy made himself breathe, as Tess's voice came over his headset. “I'm already down the stairs and approaching the door.”

  He could hear her heels on the tile and the whoosh of the door as she pulled it open.

  And then there she was, on their video monitor, except it wasn't Tess, it was Tracy—except, no, it was Tess. But Decker clearly thought it was Tracy. Jimmy heard him draw in a breath of surprise.

  But there was no time to say anything, because there was Gavin Michaelson, right on cue.

  “Go, go, go!” Sam's voice came over their headsets, his Texas drawl gone, and Jimmy followed Decker out the window and into the street, their weapons drawn.

  A shot was fired and a car window shattered, and Jimmy and Decker both ran for Tess—to put themselves between her and Michaelson, who was there on the sidewalk, a .45 in his hand.

  There was another shot, almost immediately after the first, and Jimmy saw Michaelson fall, saw Jules Cassidy leading the charge, throwing himself on top of the man, knocking the weapon from him.

  But it was over—it was over. Alyssa had taken aim and drilled the motherfucker, right in the head.

  Gavin Michaelson was dead.

  And Tess was safe in Jimmy's arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, making sure she was still in once piece.

  She was, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. “I'm fine.”

  “What the … ?” Decker said, then took a step back when she pulled off the wig she'd been wearing. “Jesus, I was ready to give Tracy hell for coming out here—you walked just like her.”

  “What do you think I've been doing for the past two weeks?” Tess told him. “You needed me to be Tracy, I'm going to be Tracy.”

  Jimmy put himself between her and Deck. “Don't give him any ideas.”

  She looked at him. “Was that a joke?” She looked at Decker in mock wonder. “Jimmy just made a joke.”

  Jimmy's heart was still pounding—it was going to be quite some time before his pulse rate dropped to normal. He pulled Tess aside, which was okay with Deck, who was already taking the stairs for the building's front door, beelining it for the real Tracy.

  “That was hard for me,” Jimmy confessed. “Really hard to watch, but… You were terrific.”

  Tess's eyes were soft as she gazed up at him. “Thank you,” she said. She kissed him again. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Jimmy kissed her back. He knew.

  Tracy got the word mere moments after hearing the gunshots—Gavin Michaelson was no longer a threat.

  “Was
anyone else injured?” she asked.

  It took way longer than it should have for her to get an answer—and during that entire time she cursed the fact that there weren't enough headsets for her to have one, too.

  On the positive side, there weren't enough headsets because the team they had in place to apprehend Gavin Michaelson was nearly two dozen strong—both Troubleshooters and FBI agents. That was good.

  Of course, Decker had made sure he'd be front and center of the action.

  But then there he was, pushing his way past the crowd of agents and into her living room, looking for her.

  Tracy couldn't help herself. She hurried toward him. “Deck!”

  He turned. And grinned. And held out his arms.

  She launched herself into them, and he swung her around. “We did it.”

  “It was really him?” she asked.

  “Already got a fingerprint match,” he said. “You'll get a chance to do an ID, but it's definitely him.”

  And then, God, Decker was kissing her. Right there. In front of everyone.

  The past two weeks had been crazy. They'd determined, early on, that Gavin Michaelson had not only bugged Jo Heissman's computer, but that he'd also tapped her phone and planted a surveillance device in her home.

  So Tracy and Deck had staged a public split, right in front of the doctor, hoping that she would discuss it with the guards who were assigned to watch her, 24/7, after Michaelson's escape. Decker had been afraid that Michaelson wouldn't feel secure enough to try to attack Tracy if he thought she and Deck had a romantic connection.

  But Jo hadn't talked about their faked fight with anyone, so Lindsey had made a point to take a shift at Jo's house, and while there, she'd discussed it extensively. She'd also made sure to announce that Tracy was resisting the need for round-the-clock guards, and was, against all advice, preparing to move back to New York.

  Fighting with Deck hadn't been that hard to do, although it had made Tracy feel oddly unsettled—until later that night, when he'd climbed in her bedroom window.

  Yeah.

  For over two weeks, Decker's presence in her life had been covert. During the day, she'd pretended she wanted nothing to do with him— even during the rare few times he'd dropped by to “check in on her.” That had been oddly fun.

  Still, she'd found herself waiting impatiently for the night, never knowing exactly when he'd show up—he was usually late—or even how he'd get into her apartment. Sometimes she'd just walk into her bedroom to find him reading as he sat, legs outstretched, on her bed. He'd look up at her and smile and …

  Needless to say, it had been a strange two weeks, her days filled with anxiety and tension over the threat from Michaelson, her nights filled with laughter and intimacy and the best sex—despite their having to be quiet and discreet—of her entire life.

  And then, today, they'd set up the final part of their con, leading Michaelson to believe that they thought he was on the verge of attacking Jo Heissman. Three of Tracy's guards had gone to provide backup at Jo's house—which had left Tracy underprotected and vulnerable. She made a phone call on a non-secure line, pretending to be exasperated at her “captivity” and expressing her certainty that Michaelson was no longer a threat to her. She proclaimed she was going out, guards be damned.

  Tracy had helped Tess with her makeup and wig, and lent her her favorite jeans and jacket, her second favorite pair of shoes, and …

  It had worked.

  And now Decker was kissing her in front of everyone.

  Someone—Sam Starrett—started to applaud.

  Tracy felt Decker laugh, and she pulled back to look up at him.

  “We can finally go out,” he told her. “You want to go out to dinner tonight?”

  She nodded, but then shook her head. No. “I'd rather stay in,” she told him. “It would be nice to be here, just the two of us.” And wasn't that an understatement. “I could cook you dinner, and, um …” You could lick it off of me. She didn't say the words aloud, but then again, she didn't need to. Over the course of the past few weeks, Lawrence Decker had learned to read her mind.

  He smiled, heat simmering in his eyes. And when he spoke it was not to answer her, but rather to address the FBI agents and other operatives who were lingering in her apartment. “Let's clear out of here, let's go. Move it out.”

  Tracy laughed. “I'm thinking you want your dinner early.”

  “Damn straight,” he said, laughing too.

  “Any chance we could go out tomorrow?” she asked. “During the day?”

  He nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I can make that happen,” he said. “I don't blame you, needing to get some fresh air.”

  “Actually,” Tracy said, “I want to go shopping.”

  Decker didn't flinch, he didn't wince, he didn't even blink. “I'm up for anything,” he said bravely, and she knew at that moment that it was true— those words he'd whispered to her in the darkness, over the past weeks of nights. This man loved her.

  “Not for clothes or shoes,” she said. “I was thinking we could maybe go to the shelter and … pick out a dog?”

  Decker nodded, and there was more than heat in his eyes then. “I would love to get a dog with you,” he whispered, and he kissed her again.

  “I'm the last one out,” Sam announced, “and I'm locking the door behind me.” It closed with a clunk, and yes, they were finally alone.

  “Just for the record,” Tracy said. “As an FYI? The you-climbing-into-my-bedroom-window thing really worked for me.”

  Decker laughed. “Honey, just say the word and—”

  “Game on?” Tracy asked.

  “Game,” Decker said as he kissed her again, as he pulled her into the kitchen and began to lower all the blinds, “totally on.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, SUZANNE BROCKMANN has written more than forty books, and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America's #1 Favorite Book of the Year (three years running), two RITA Awards, and many Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards. Suzanne Brockmann lives west of Boston with her husband, author Ed Gaffney.

  Copyright © 2009 by Suzanne Brockmann

  All rights reserved.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brockmann, Suzanne.

  Dark of night : a novel / Suzanne Brockmann.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-51264-2

  1. Government investigators—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3552.R61455D37 2009

  813′.54—dc22 2008045393

  www.ballantinebooks.com

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