Page 53 of The Midnight Knock

That awful silence persisted, broken only by thescritch-scratchof the fountain pen across the register’s paper. Just as he had in the diner in Turner, Ethan felt himself slackening in the gabardine man’s aura, almost mesmerized, as if something about the man was simply so strange, Ethan’s mind couldn’t function in his presence.

What was the name the man had given himself at the diner?

What was his name?

Hunter didn’t seem so afflicted. He gave Ethan’s arm a hard jerk, and Ethan stumbled backward, toward the door.

Without looking back, the gabardine man said, “Leaving so soon, Mister Cross?”

The words rooted Ethan to the spot. He barely found it in himself to say, “Whoareyou?”

“The wiser question would be to ask, ‘Who ishe?’?” The gabardine man turned to point the sharp golden nib of the fountain pen at Hunter. “Your tarnished warrior. The bruiser with the beautiful eyes. This strange man you’ve lashed your fortunes to. I warned you about him, didn’t I, back in the diner? Told you he had a railroad spike where his heart ought to be.”

Ethan felt panic coursing through Hunter’s palm. Who would have thought such a thing was possible?

The gabardine man smiled. “Has your man told you his old nickname? They used to call him ‘The Hunter of Huntsville,’ back in the penitentiary. He had a savage reputation around those parts. It’s where he met poor Mister Ryan Phan here. The two men shared a cell together.”

Hunter gave Ethan another pull.

“You knew him?” Ethan jerked his arm free. He looked from the corpse on the floor to Hunter and back again. “You were inHuntsville?”

“The maximum-security unit, even,” the gabardine man went on. “Everyone wondered, of course, how Hunter wasn’t on death row, considering the way your man used to make a living.”

Ethan only said again, “Huntsville?”

Hunter stared back.

“He killed families, Mister Cross,” the gabardine man said. “Whole households. Mothers, fathers, children, even the pets. It wasa specialty for Hunter, and a very lucrative one at that. If you were a criminal who wanted to wipe out the competition in the most efficient way possible, you called this fellow right here. I even believe Franklin O’Shea had a cause to hire him, once or twice. Did Hunter really never tell you?”

Ethan wasn’t entirely stupid. He’d always suspected that a man as skilled at violence as Hunter—a man with a past he never discussed—had probably endured a few brushes with the law. You don’t deep-fry a person’s hand without a little practice at brutality.

But Ethan could have never imagined Hunter capable of what the gabardine man was describing.

Or maybe hecouldimagine it, and that was the worst part of all.

Mark my words. This man is going to get you into the sort of trouble you cain’t never get out of.

The gabardine man just kept talking with the same courteous twang. “Of course, you have secrets of your own, don’t you, Mister Cross? Your name isn’t even Ethan. You used to be named Carter, but after your brother’s suicide you took on his life to escape your own. The clothes on your back are your brother’s. The truck you drove here. Your wallet and the ID inside—all his.”

Ethan turned to stare at the gabardine man. “How do you—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. Hunter wrapped an arm around Ethan’s chest. The other slammed something heavy into the back of Ethan’s head.

The room swirled. The lamp went dark. Ethan was suddenly moving, though not of his own volition. From very far away, Kyla shouted, “Wait!”

And then he was out.

KYLA

Things moved too fast.

Hunter withdrew the heavy magnum from the back of his jeans and brought the butt of the gun down on Ethan’s skull. Ethan slumped backward, against Hunter’s chest, and Hunter hooked his arms under Ethan’s shoulders and dragged him out of the office, kicking open the door, letting it slam behind him.

“Wait!” Kyla shouted, but Hunter was already gone.

“Oh, let him go, Miss Hewitt. You’ll see them again soon enough. Unless, of course…” He shot her a cunning look. “Y’all haven’t found where Penelope is hiding, have you?”

She could only stare at the man: his gray suit, his mangled finger. His empty black eyes.