Chapter Thirteen
I shook my head, and in that instant of movement, that tiny blink of an eye, the guy disappeared.
I stepped outside, but there was no sign of him anywhere.
Logically I knew the man couldn’t just disappear. He’d probably ducked down an alley, maybe even collapsed in one.
The distant wail of a siren kept me from finding out. The police were coming, and it probably wasn’t a good idea for John to be alone, with blood all over his hands, when they arrived.
I don’t know why I felt so protective of him. Considering what had just happened, he certainly didn’t need my help. Even blind, the man could take care of himself.
So what had happened the other night?
“Did he die?” Rodolfo asked as soon as I came back inside.
“Not anywhere that I could see.”
He scowled and appeared as if he wanted to race off in pursuit. I stepped in front of him. “The police are coming.”
His face j erked toward the front of the building. “You called them? What the hell for?”
“There was a guy with a knife trying to kill you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Which is more than what you did for him.”
“You said he wasn’t dead.”
“Not yet.”
Which was just weird if you asked me. What kind of guy didn’t fall down when you stabbed him in the chest?
The kind I never wanted to meet again.
“You really expected me not to call them?” I asked. “To let you race after a crazy man?”
“Who said he was crazy?”
“A sane man wouldn’t run off with a knife embedded in his chest.”
No, a sane man—or any man for that matter-would die.
I shook off the odd thought. Of course the intruder had been a man. What else could he be?
The true crazy person was the one in front of me who’d fought a knife-wielding assailant as if he did so every day.
I wondered sometimes if Rodolfo’s blindness was so recent he forgot about it and just reacted. Why else would he begin to chase a madman when he had no hope of keeping up? For that matter, why had he fought the guy in the first place?
It couldn’t have been for me.
“I’m not helpless,” Rodolfo said softly. “I don’t want you to think that I am.”
His face was somber; his eyes as unreadable behind those damn sunglasses as ever. I moved toward him, intent on removing the barriers, seeing once and for all what lay beneath.
The door burst open. “Police! Let me see your hands.”
Both Rodolfo and I lifted them; unfortunately John’s were covered in blood. The cops took one look and tackled him.
Half an hour later, we’d ironed things out. I’d managed to convince the officers to uncuff my boss. They’d taken him into another room. Standard procedure for questioning.
Since there wasn’t a scratch on me or on him, nor a bloody knife anywhere in the building, I think they believed our story. Problem was, the crazy guy had disappeared.
Oh, there was a blood trail, which helped, but no guy. Not anywhere in a reasonable vicinity.
“Had to have been hopped up on something to run off like that with a knife in his chest,” one of the officers said. “He’ll probably turn up in an ER.”
“Or the morgue,” answered another.
I’d had this conversation before, or one very similar to it. Sullivan had shot a guy and he’d run off like a j ackrabbit, never to be seen or heard from again—as far as I knew.
“Can one of you call Detective Sullivan?” I asked.
“No need.” Sullivan stepped into the bar. “I’m right here.”
For the first time since I’d known him he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie but j eans with a light green button-down shirt. He appeared both comfortable and comforting. Strong, solid, sane. I wasn’t attracted to him in the way he seemed to be attracted to me, but I was very glad to see him.
“I heard the call on my scanner,” he continued.
Some cops were never off duty. It didn’t surprise me at all that Sullivan was one of them.
“Got here as quick as I could,” he said. “What’s going on?”
I told him everything. Well, everything except the part where I swiped the altar icons. I’d left that out of my statement earlier as well. If I wanted to discover what they meant, I couldn’t do so while they were locked up in the evidence locker at the NOPD.
The police had searched me, found the icons, and not even given them a second glance. For all they knew, the tiny wooden animals were my good-luck charms. I’d put them back in my pocket with no one the wiser.
They also hadn’t mentioned the altar upstairs. Around here, the things were probably considered decoration.
Sullivan took my hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.” I squeezed his fingers.
A shuffle made me glance up; Rodolfo stood in the doorway. Though I knew he couldn’t see us, nevertheless I snatched my hand away from Sullivan’s guiltily.
“Detective,” Rodolfo greeted.
My eyebrows shot up. How did he do that? Probably wasn’t as big of a mystery as I thought. He’d no doubt heard Sullivan and me speaking even in the other room.
“Did anyone tell you I’ve been asking for you?” Sullivan glanced at me.
I shrugged. “He just got back.”
“From where?”
Rodolfo tilted his head, staring slightly to the right of Sullivan’s shoulder. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet.”
Rodolfo smiled and the expression, without benefit of the eyes, was not a friendly one. “Then I don’t believe I have to tell you where I’ve been.”
Even I thought that sounded guilty.