She smiled at him.
He smiled back and decided it was time to move them on to something else again or he’d be sitting behind his desk at work with a raging hard-on.
“You wanna cook for the kids tonight or go out and—?”
He didn’t finish because a sharp rap sounded on his window.
His head jerked that way and the warmth in his chest and gut vanished when he saw Bets standing there, her back to the window, her hand to the butt of her firearm in its unclipped holster, her eyes glued toward the front of the department.
Hix’s gaze immediately moved there and he went entirely still for half a beat before he was out of his chair, his voice low and abrasive as he ordered, “You do not move from that seat, Greta.”
“Hixon,” she whispered but she didn’t move and he knew this even though he didn’t pry his eyes from the window as he quickly walked across the room.
He shut the door behind him and just as quickly moved down the hall.
He slowed his gait when he hit the mouth of it and swiftly assessed the situation.
Donna was five feet from the left of her desk, clearly having been stopped by what was happening in the process of walking in from the back. Her hand was on her firearm also in its holster, eyes locked on reception.
Hal was up and to one side, behind the reception desk, legs braced apart, one in front of the other in a modified squat, firearm out, up and aimed at reception.
Larry was the same, behind his desk, and he was ordering, “Drop the duffle and put your hands where we can see them!”
And just inside the door stood a very large, very tall man with straggling, wild, light-brown hair, a weathered face, wearing a canvas jacket with a big duffle slanted across his back.
He was unmoving and his eyes were not at the guns pointed at him or the further threats from the deputies who were ready to unholster their weapons.
They were on him.
“Drop the duffle and put your hands where we can see them!” Larry shouted.
“Larry,” Hix called loudly, but calmly, moving in front of Bets slowly, making his way to the aisle, his arms down by his sides, his right elbow hitched up slightly but his hand was not on his gun.
“Boss—” Larry started.
“Lower your weapons,” Hix ordered.
Hal’s “Boss?” was terse.
“Do it, Hal,” Hix commanded as he made his way deliberately down the center aisle, not taking his attention from the man just inside the door who still had not moved.
He didn’t check to see if Larry and Hal had obeyed his order, he just kept walking with his attention locked on the man at the front until he was standing two feet from the swinging, half door.
He braced and heard Hal’s clipped, “Fuckin’ shit,” and Larry’s, “Goddammit,” that came when the man moved.
But the guy just walked directly to the reception desk, lifted his hand and lowered it to the desk. He engaged his other hand when a balled piece of paper fell out of the first.
He smoothed it out, spreading it open, then he took a step back, leaving it there.
It was one of the artist’s sketched pictures of him they’d sent out as a notice to homeless shelters.
“Is that you?” Hix asked him.
The man didn’t speak.
“Are you here to turn yourself in?” Hix asked.
The man said nothing.
“Did you kill Nat Calloway?” Hix pressed.
The man stood still and stared into Hix’s eyes.
An unpleasant thrill chased down his spine when Hix saw the man’s eyes were empty. Void. Hollow.
“He had a wife and two children,” Hix told him quietly.
Nothing came from the man. Not a movement. Not a sound. Not a change in expression.
Except one thing.
A tear fell from his left eye.
Shit.
“We need to take your duffle. We need to take your jacket. We need to pat you down. We need to cuff you. And then we’ll need to arrest you,” Hix told him, voice calm and still quiet.
The man moved, the room tensed, the duffle dropped.
Hix let out a breath and then another one when the jacket dropped.
The guy lifted his long arms and put his hands behind his head, his gaze never leaving Hix’s.
“Careful and gentle, men,” he ordered as Hal and Larry moved around him.
Hix followed them, going through the swinging, half door to stand with his hand now on his firearm as Larry got behind the guy and Hal took his brother’s back with his hand also on his holstered gun.
“Read him his rights, Deputy. Go slow,” he instructed then called, “Donna.”
“Here, boss,” she said from close.
“Get the defense attorney here and call the court psychologist,” he ordered, not losing eye contact with Nathan Calloway’s killer.
“Do we have a court psychologist?” Donna asked.
“Find one,” Hix bit out.
“Right,” he heard her mutter as Larry finished with reading the man his Miranda rights.
“Do you understand your rights?” Larry asked.
Hix butted in. “You can just nod.”
The man took two beats then jerked up his chin.
Hix nodded. “Take him back.” He moved out of their way as they carefully pushed the guy forward. “Process him.”
Hal held open the door, Larry guided him through, Hal fell in behind Larry as they took him to the back.
Hix followed them until he got to Bets.
“You monitor that, every second, every move, holster clipped, Bets,” he commanded in a low tone. “That guy is big and that guy is unpredictable and Hal and Larry need you as backup. He gets loose and gets the jump on you, I don’t want him to have a clear shot to your gun. You need to use it, you can unclip it.”
“Yeah, boss,” she murmured, moving directly toward where Hal and Larry rounded the corner to get to where they did their fingerprints and mugshots in the back corner of the department.
“I get these calls done,” Donna started, standing with the phone to her ear but her eyes to Hix, “I on that too?”
“Absolutely. But you and Bets give him space. I do not want that man to feel crowded or threatened beyond what I’m guessing he knew was gonna happen.”
Donna nodded, looked toward the back and Hix moved straight to his office.
Greta was getting up slowly as he opened the door and her face was white as a sheet. “Is that the guy who—?”
“I need you out of here. I need you to keep this quiet. But I need you somewhere safe and right now, that is not here.”
She immediately started gathering her jacket and purse even as her face got even paler. “Is it not safe for—?”
“Baby, no questions. I gotta escort you out then I gotta do a lot of other shit.”
She nodded and didn’t delay. She got her jacket on, her purse over her shoulder, and she scooted out with Hix dogging her heels.
He got her out the front door and around the side of the building where he stopped her, bent in, pressed his mouth hard against hers and pulled back, muttering, “I’ll call you later.”
“I love you, Hix.”
He froze.
They hadn’t said it. He’d been waiting for the right moment. He felt it from her and guessed she was waiting for the same.