by Norah Wilson
~*~
It was harder than she thought it would be. Hard to kiss John goodbye and watch him load Bandy into the Taurus and drive away. Hard to be alone in her own house, even with the alarm armed. In the silence, the ticking of her kitchen clock was oppressive. She stole a casual glance out the window. There it was, the cable TV van she knew housed four officers. Four highly-trained members of the emergency response team.
Taking a deep breath, she went directly to her study, turned the computer on and settled to work. Or rather, settled to pretending to work. Not that she didn’t have plenty to do—the DeBoeuf files Vince had given her still sat on her desk like a reproval, but no way could she concentrate with her nerves twanging like this.
Forty-five minutes later, it happened. A scratching at her side door, so faint she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been straining for it. Then the alarm, shrill and piercing.
She ran to the living room to see a man pelting down her drive way, a blur of black clothing and speed as he turned onto the sidewalk. Then the doors of the van flew open. Flak-jacketed and armed, the ERT team hit the pavement running.
“Stop! Police!”
Suzannah heard the shouted command even from inside her house, even with the intermittent squawking of the alarm, so there could be no doubt the suspect heard it too. All he did was glance back once, then sprint faster. Another command to stop, accompanied by a warning that shots would be fired. Still, the suspect raced on, zigging and zagging, making a desperate bid for the cover of the deciduous woods at the end of the street. Then a cruiser, its lights strobing, pulled onto the street blocking his escape route. Officers sprang from both sides of the car, taking separate beads on the suspect from behind the cruiser’s doors.
The suspect surrendered then, throwing his arms up in the air. She saw him mouth something, but he was too far away now for her to hear. She saw the suspect put his hands on his head, fall to his knees, stretch out on the pavement, following commands she couldn’t hear. Then the ERT team fell on him.
She’d watched scenes like this play out a hundred times on television, but the reality was different. Despite herself, she gasped at the violence of it.
No, not violence. That wasn’t the right word. The whole operation was controlled, professional, textbook. But the speed and efficiency with which it was handled, the force and authority behind every action, brought the reality of it home.
Suddenly, she realized the alarm was still bleating. She hurried to the panel and killed it, then went back to her post at the window.
This is what John does, she thought as she watched the handcuffed man being carefully stowed in the back of the cruiser. Oh, not the tactical SWAT team thing. But he was trained to take a suspect down like that. She’d known it, of course, but there was knowing and then there was knowing.
Then John was back, his car screeching to a stop on the street. Parking haphazardly, he jumped out, slammed the door and rushed toward the house. She met him halfway. There on the lawn, in full view of the neighbors, a half dozen cops and any number of other onlookers, she flew into his arms.
“It’s over,” he said, clasping her tight. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She clung to him. “Thank God you’re here.”
“You’ll have to go downtown, now.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
She allowed herself to be helped into the passenger seat of John’s car, where she waited a moment while he had a word with Ray Morgan. Then John joined her in the vehicle.
As soon as his door closed, she said, “Do you think we pulled it off?”
He grinned. “Hell, I was sold, and it was my plan. R.J. did a helluva job, don’t you think?”
Constable R.J. Barnett, on loan from the Saint John PD for the purposes of today’s performance, lest a local officer be recognized. Suzannah had never met the man, but she had to agree he played a great felon. “I knew it wasn’t for real, but I thought my heart would pound right out of my chest.”
He leaned over, gripped her head and kissed her once, hard. Was that for real or was that for their audience?
“Now we gotta finish the sell-job for the media, in case our man missed the live show.” He fastened his seat belt and shot her a glance. “Ready for Act II?”
Just the thought of Act II made her stomach flip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”