“Well, shut it off.”
With Rachael on his heels, he walked to the side panel just inside. “I can turn off the system, but the door chime is automatic. It’s a safety thing.”
Slowly, he punched in the code—Brynne’s birth time. As his finger tapped the last digit, his focus moved to the red button on the keypad. Panic button. If he hit it, the alarm would blast and the cops would show up.
Maggie would show up.
By then, Brynne might be dead.
Rachael removed the gun from his back and he glanced over his shoulder. The weapon was now pointed at Brynne.
“I’ll shoot her.”
Reid dropped his hand.
“That’s better.” Rachael tugged the back of his T-shirt with her free hand. “Let’s go.”
He made a strategic move to the lobby guest chairs. If he could make a case to stay in the lobby, the glass front of the building might help him. Brynne had done a bang-up job of decorating the area. All he’d wanted was a couple chairs and a reception desk. She said they needed to warm the place up and spent a boatload on leather chairs, a sofa, coffee table, and—thank you, Jesus—a sixteen-inch crystal sculpture he could use in all sorts of ways. Like moving it so the sun reflected and got someone’s attention.
“No,” Rachael said. “Someone will see us. Seriously, Reid. How stupid do you think I am?”
A highly debatable question considering she was holding two people, one a former Green Beret, at gunpoint.
Even in his current state, he could still take her out. But Mac had two little kids with this woman. If things went bad, she’d wind up in a cell—or worse. With a dad who was career Army, where did that leave them? Being shuffled between family members when daddy got deployed?
Call Reid a sentimental fool, but he couldn’t let that happen. The children were innocent in all this and deserved better.
All he could hope for was Rachael seeking help, because this sure as hell wasn’t a healthy way to get her husband’s attention.
He grabbed the coat rack, then clasped Brynne’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Figure it out. That’s what he’d do. “There’s a conference room down the hall.”
“Fine. Go.”
Once there, Reid nodded for Brynne to take the seat at the end of the table while he moved to her other side to watch the door.
She pointed at the bag of fluid. “It’s almost empty.”
“Yeah. I’ll take it out when it’s done.”
Not a second before because every ounce helped relieve the pounding in his head.
“Blah, blah,” Rachael said. “Give me your phones.”
“Our phones?”
“Another rocket scientist? Yes, Brynne. I don’t trust you two. Wait. You know what?” She pointed at Reid. “You call Mac. If I call, he won’t answer. You? He’ll answer. He always does when his boys call.”
Slippery slope here. If she intended on a murder-suicide, she might be saying goodbye to Mac.
“What do you want him to know? I mean, Rachael, what are we doing here? If you want his attention, there are better ways.”
She gawked at him, her face stretched in disbelief. “Really? Maybe climb off that damned high-horse of yours. I’ve tried everything! I’m in the gym constantly. I watch every fucking crumb I put in my mouth.” She jabbed her finger at her head. “I dye my hair this awful color. All because he likes it. But when he’s stateside, he doesn’t want to be home. He won’t divorce me and he doesn’t love me anymore, so what am I supposed to do?”
“I’m so sorry,” Brynne said.
This crazy bitch had taken them both hostage and Brynne was sympathizing? Damn, she made him proud. How many people could do that in this situation? Sure as hell not him. All he knew was he wanted Brynne out of here.
Rachael peeled her gaze from Reid and faced Brynne, staring at her with puckered lips and narrowed eyes. Looking for the trick, no doubt. She wouldn’t find it. Brynne didn’t have subterfuge in her. A nice girl to her core.
And Reid didn’t want psycho Rachael manipulating her.
“Rachael,” he said, drawing her attention. “What do we need to do for you put down that weapon?”
“I want Mac here.”
Not a chance. Reid knew enough about hostage negotiation to know loved ones should never be summoned to the scene. If she did have a murder-suicide in her plan, Mac might be part of it. Either as a victim or witness. Reid wasn’t having either.
Not on his goddamned wedding day.
Think.
Stalling, he peered at the nearly empty bag. A few more minutes on that. He should just rip the damned thing out, but he needed each drop to get his mind a little sharper. As soon as it was empty, he’d talk Rachael into letting him remove the IV so both arms were unencumbered. Just in case.
He faced Rachael again. “If we’re calling Mac, we need to tell him what we’re doing here. Right now, no one is hurt. Before this goes sideways, tell me what you want from him.”
“I want his time. Our children need a father.”
“Okay. How much? When he’s on leave, you want him home every night? He’s not gonna go for that. You wouldn’t either. Everyone needs a life outside their responsibilities. Believe me. When I came back here, all I wanted to do was run.” He pointed at Brynne. “She’ll tell you. I wanted my team and adrenaline rushes.”
Rachael tilted her head, looking for the con.
“He’s not lying,” Brynne said. “The only mountains he wanted were the ones the Army sent him to. For the first few months, I kept waiting for him to leave.”
What? He’d never known that. For a second, Brynne’s admission drew him from the gun pointed at them. “You never told me that.”
She shrugged. “I loved you. I was afraid to pressure you.”
“How sweet,” Rachael drawled.
No wonder Mac avoided her. “Hey,” Reid said, “she’s trying to help you.”
Rachael lifted the gun, aimed it straight at Brynne, and Reid’s mind exploded.
He leaped from his chair. Rachael pivoted, aiming at him.
“Both of you!” Brynne shrieked. “Stop it. Please.” She peered at Rachael, hands up in surrender. “Please don’t shoot him.”
Rachael’s gaze ping-ponged, then landed on Reid, the gun once again coming up. “Sit your ass down.”
“Reid, please.”
This from Brynne. He refused to look at her, though. Not with that Ruger pointed at him. “Lower that weapon.”
“Sit and I will.”
He dropped to the chair again.
Brynne set her hands on the table, her fingers gripping the edge. “Rachael, you may not believe me, but I think I know how you feel. It’s horrible. That waiting to be disappointed.”
What?
Hang on. This had to be a mind-fuck. Right? Brynne’s attempt to distract the psycho.
Or maybe not.
Women. Hell if he’d ever understand.
Whatever. They needed to focus here.
“So,” he said, “that’s the major thing you want from Mac, right? It’s reasonable.”
“When he’s on leave, I want him home for dinner. We need to eat as a family. And, once in a while, be around for bath time and stories. He’s never read his kids a story.”
Oh, jeez. Mac needed his ass kicked.
“Got it,” Reid said. “That’s it?”
“Ha,” she scoffed. “You make it sound easy. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Well, I haven’t.”
Time to settle this, once and for all.
* * *
Brynne’s hope nose-dived when Mac didn’t answer.
Not even for Reid.
A fact driven home by the stab to his phone’s screen. The voicemail had been short and sweet: Call me. Right now.
But what if Mac didn’t get the message? Way up here on the mountain, service sometimes went wonky. Or, given Reid’s condition, was Mac just as plastered? Lord, he could be sleeping it off somewhere. If so,
they could be here a while.
The gun now at her side, Rachael tapped it against her thigh. Tap-tap, tap-tap. At least it wasn’t pointed at them. With any luck, the thing would go off and she’d shoot herself, quite literally, in the foot.
Brynne closed her eyes. Horrible thought.
“Voicemail,” Rachael said. “Welcome to my world.”
“He’ll call.”
Pushing his phone away, Reid sat back, folding his hands against his belly. Well, wasn’t he Mister Calm? She supposed one of them needed to be. After all, if you were going to be taken prisoner on your wedding day, who better to have with you than a retired Green Beret?
That perked her up. Gave her a blast of hope. With his background, getting them out of this would be a no-brainer. Knowing Reid, he’d want to do it in a way that would keep them all safe. No playing cowboy.
Brynne glanced at Rachael. “What now?”
“We wait. Nobody leaves until he calls back.”
Insane. As much as Brynne wanted to sympathize with this woman, no rational person held so-called friends at gunpoint.
And, well, crazy person or not, Brynne had a wedding to get to. Namely hers.
She turned to Reid. “Give him a few minutes, then call back. Where could he be?”
“I don’t know. He said he was going to the hotel.” He looked at Rachael. “You two must have crossed-paths. For all we know, he could be in your room. Let me call Gage and have him check. Or one of the other guys.”
The suggestion was met with an eye roll. “Nice try. I’m not letting you call anyone but Mac. We’ll do what she said. Wait ten minutes.”
Brynne checked the clock on the wall. Nine forty-five. By now, Miss Joan and Mom had to be wondering where they were. A couple, even when loud-mouthed Reid was part of it, could only argue for so long.
“It’s getting late,” Brynne said.
Rachael made a boo-boo face. “Awww, are my little gun and I keeping you from your wedding day?”
Oh, this bitch. Brynne tried—some days harder than others—to give people the benefit of kind thoughts. Today?
Nice Brynne had shit to do.
Brynne hit her with a faux-smile. “Actually, you are. And, far be it from me to point out the obvious, what with you holding the gun, but I have bridesmaids arriving at ten for brunch. When I’m not there—” Brynne held her hands palm up, “—what then?”
Reid scrubbed his hands over his face. The tube and empty bag swayed.
Time to get rid of that and give her badass Green Beret full use of his arms.
She faced Rachael again. “There are first-aid kits in the locker room. Can we please take his IV out?”
Rachael glanced at the IV bag, then back at Reid. “I hate those things. One of the kids had the stomach flu last month and needed one. She cried the whole time. It’s a horrible thing to see your child uncomfortable.”
She lifted her hand, pressed her middle finger and thumb into her eye sockets. Distracted. Brynne whipped her head to Reid, who hadn’t budged.
What the hell was he doing? They had a chance and he’d blown it.
Damn him.
Rachael, clearly realizing her vulnerability, dropped her hand and gave her head a hard shake.
“You could have jumped me,” she said to Reid.
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He sat straighter, folding his hands on the table. “Because your husband saved my life. Regardless of how pissed you are at him, he’s a good guy.”
“You don’t know him.”
“What I know is I was pinned under a hunk of cement in a crumbling building. He could have left me there and ran to safety. But he carried my big ass out while the building imploded behind us. Yeah, maybe he’s fucked up his marriage, but I owe him.”
“You think I’m nuts.”
“I think you’re under stress. Big difference.”
“Thank you for that.”
Reid shrugged.
Rachael shifted to Brynne, then jerked her head to the door. “Get the first-aid kit. I’m giving you thirty seconds. Try anything funny and I shoot him.”
So much for her not being nuts.
That wasn’t nearly enough time. “It’ll take—”
“Thirty seconds, Brynne. Go. Twenty-nine.”
Brynne bolted to the door. When the Steeles converted the building, she’d been right there watching. Had even helped pick out fixtures and accessories. Carpeting and window treatments. The first-aid kits? Mounted on the locker room wall just inside the door.
She sprinted down the hall, her flip-flops slap-slap-slapping against the floor. She hooked a left, took the turn way too fast—shoot—and her foot went sideways. She stumbled, crashing into the wall and losing her left shoe in the process. A jolt of cold shot through her bare foot, snapping her brain to hyper-focus.
Men’s locker room. Screw the shoe.
“Fifteen seconds!”
“Dammit.”
She shoved open the door, holding it with one foot while she leaned in—right there—gripped the handle of the kit, and tore it out of the wall-mounted clips.
“Twelve!”
“Coming!”
Kicking off the other shoe, she darted around the corner, chest heaving. Get there. Faster. Run.
“Eight!”
No time.
She’d wasted twenty-one seconds. Dammit.
Who knew if this woman would actually shoot Reid, but at the very least, she was unhinged enough to take two hostages. Anything was possible.
Concentrate. Don’t give in to it. Isn’t that what Reid always said about stress? She inhaled, focused on drawing air through her nose and out her mouth. With each breath, her raging thoughts settled. One thing at a time.
After hooking the turn back into the main hallway, she found Rachael straddling the doorframe, watching for her return while keeping an eye on Reid.
Running hard, Brynne closed in and slowed enough to stop without crashing into her. She held up the first-aid kit. “Got it.”
Rachael jerked her chin. “About time. Give it to him.”
Oh, this bitch.
Inside, Brynne placed the kit on the table and flipped the lid up. “What do you need?”
“Gauze. And a bandage.”
While Reid went to work, she dug through the contents and found the items for him.
“Got ‘em.”
She tossed the bandage on the table, tore the gauze open, dropped the wrapper, and swung to Reid.
Who ripped the needle clear from his arm. One shot. Just pffft.
Rachael let out a loud gasp. Brynne peered back and found her staring at the far wall. Who could blame her? God knew, her own knees had gone a little soft.
Blood.
Pulling her gaze from a wincing Rachael, Brynne reached for the bandage as Reid tossed the IV needle on top of the discarded package. He pressed the gauze over the wound.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine,” he said, his voice a low grumble. “Just stick that on there and we’re good.”
Brynne shifted around, giving Rachael her back. Never one to lose an opportunity, she leaned closer to Reid, taking great care with the bandage. Getting close enough to his face to feel his warm breath on her cheek.
“She doesn’t like blood,” she whispered.
Reid’s eyebrows hitched up in that way that indicated his mind had gone to hyper-speed.
Yes, my love, our captor may not have it in her to actually shoot.
“Hey,” Rachael snapped. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I just said I don’t like blood.”
“Poor baby.”
Reid closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t like when people treated Brynne badly. As patient as he’d been, clearly the situation—mixed with what was probably one heck of a hangover—had to be challenging him.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Let’s just get through it.”
“Break it u
p over there. How long does it take to slap a bandage on?”
Brynne stepped back. “All set.” She turned to the table and carefully gathered the used medical supplies.
“Toss ‘em in the trash,” Reid said. “We’ll get rid of them later.”
She glanced back at Rachael. Would there even be a later?
* * *
Ten minutes.
No response.
Fucking Mac had to be passed out somewhere while his wife decided today was the day to go off her rocker.
Reid looked at Brynne sitting at the end of the table, her gaze on Rachael. He needed to get her out of here. Away from that damned gun. But, oooh-weee, his girl looked mad enough to take out Rachael on her own.
“It’s been ten minutes,” Rachael said. “Call him again. And no tricks.”
“I have. Three times. If he’d gotten my messages, he’d have called back.”
The lack of a response from Mac hadn’t stopped the phone from ringing. It seemed half of Steele Ridge was looking for him, including Gage who probably wanted to remove Reid’s IV. The rest? Probably hunting Brynne down since her phone had been powered off.
If they didn’t return soon, someone would track his and come looking. And then what? Could this woman be unhinged enough to start picking people off as they came in the door?
Who knew?
But, if Brynne was right and Rachael got queasy over blood, did she have it in her to even start shooting?
“Now you know how I feel,” Rachael said.
What the hell was she saying now? “Pardon?”
“He never calls me back.”
If she’d bugged him every ten minutes, Reid couldn’t blame the guy. “Look, Rachael, us sitting here isn’t helping.”
“Well, we’re not going anywhere, so suck it up.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure. As long as it doesn’t include Brynne leaving.”
Shit.
He ran his hands through his hair then pressed his palms against his eye sockets. The pounding behind them had waned to a minor thud. Thank God for IV fluids.
If Mac didn’t call back in the next few minutes, Reid’s plan of not hurting Rachael would fly out the window. He wasn’t about to sit here, with his fiancé—on their wedding day—chancing that gun going off. If something happened to Brynne he’d…
Vowing Love Page 5
