Capitol Danger

by J. D. Tyler

  Kelsey returned to her patient and set to work. “Roy, I’m going to bandage this, but I’m no doctor. We’ll have you in an ER as soon as we can. But there are armed men in the hotel, and I’m not willing to bet anyone’s life that they don’t have the exits covered.”

  “Roger that,” he said, his voice rough.

  “But we need out of here,” someone protested. “We need to get away while we can.”

  “Right now, you can’t,” Kelsey’s new Fed buddy informed them.

  A chorus of protests rose at that. Reed spoke in a hard, cold tone. “Stop.”

  To Kelsey’s amazement, they did. When she glanced at him, her breath caught. Standing there with the gun in his hand and a serious, intent expression on his face, he looked like a movie hero.

  She forced air into her lungs. He had actual skills, not just ones he was faking for a camera. The guy was good-looking and competent.

  And so off-limits for her. The law enforcement agencies of Arachnid’s sponsoring nations generally gave operatives like her only grudging cooperation. Once he found out what she was, she’d be about as attractive to Special Agent Greg Reed as a rotten peach.

  “It’s likely,” he told her coworkers, “that they have guards on all the exits, and they’ve demonstrated that they’ll shoot if challenged. So as unpleasant as that is, you should stay here.”

  Roy said, “I heard ‘em say the break room street door is wired with C4. Got some guards on it, too.”

  Reed looked at Kelsey. “So that’s out for now.”

  She nodded.

  “I want my knives,” someone in the back said. A mutter of general agreement ran through the group.

  “One person comes out to get them,” Kelsey called. “Really. If you start wandering, you could get killed.”

  “And if you’re out,” the hot G-man noted, “they’ll realize someone let you out and start hunting for us.”

  Marcel stepped forward. “How come Jane gets to go with you?”

  “She has skills,” Reed replied.

  Nice of him to evade, but that wasn’t going to do it.

  “I moonlight as wait staff,” she announced. “I’m actually an ex-cop and a PI. I know what I’m doing if we run into the bad guys.”

  “You, you and you,” Reed said, pointing at Marcel, Zinnia and Hector, the pastry chef, “come out and get all the knives you can carry. Heavy pots, too, if you want.”

  Kelsey gave him a mental gold star for tact. The biggest knives and pots in the kitchen would do no good against automatic weapons, but they would at least have comfort value.

  While the FBI agent tended the jammer and watched over the knife retrieval, Kelsey finished bandaging Roy’s arm. “Okay, bud. That’s the best I can do with what we have, but we’ll get you out of here.”

  He gave her a jerky nod. “Thanks.”

  Kelsey patted his good arm and stood. “Y’all might want to barricade the door from the inside.”

  “If they come back down here,” Reed seconded, “it won’t be a good thing. So hunker down in here and don’t come out until there are police at the door and you can confirm that by calling nine one one. We’ll tie the cord back around the door so it looks secure. I know that sounds bad, but you’re safer that way.”

  “I think we should try to get out,” a guy in the back said.

  Before Kelsey could respond, Reed said, “That’s suicidal. Barricading yourselves in here is the safest choice.”

  Marcel said, “They’re right. We’ll hide in here.”

  * * * * *

  Nerves humming, Greg eyed his companion as they hurried out of the kitchen. She’d treated her coworkers with kindness and concern. Anybody could fake that, but his gut said she was on the level.

  She’d handled that wound well, despite the squeamish look on her face, and the gear in her pack would be useful. So far, she’d proved to be an asset.

  As for him, he was doing fine so far, but the real test would be meeting someone with a gun.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Greg followed Jane into the laundry supply closet and pulled the door shut. The narrow space, about six feet deep and four wide, was mostly filled with economy-sized bottles of detergent and other things with pictures of clothes on the front.

  He and Jane squeezed in facing each other, their sides to the door and his gun hand on that side. No way was he letting a civilian take the brunt of any clash.

  Jane set her Glock on a shelf. Brows slightly furrowed in concentration, she hunted in her pack.

  Awareness of her standing so close, of the way the dim light glinted off her hair and the white shirt framed her throat, sizzled through him. His finger itched to smooth that little dent between her brows.

  Huh. Maybe Fee was right about his needing to get out more.

  Fee. Please be okay, brat. Be smart.

  A moment later, Jane smiled. “Got it.”

  She held up a small, gray device about the size of a deck of cards. “It’s not really an mp3 player,” she informed him. “That’s just its cover identity.”

  Kinda like she wasn’t really a waitress. Nor was he entirely sure she was an ex-cop. Trusting her felt right, but he couldn’t be sure, not really.

  She fiddled with a dial on the side and held it up between her face and his. With one slim finger, she pressed a button on the device’s side.

  The easy rock music provided a background for the clatter of cutlery and the din of conversation coming from the small speaker. Jane winced. “We really don’t need to hear all the speeches and chatter. I’ll fast-forward to the end and then reverse, see if I can find when the gunfire started.”

  Frowning, she fiddled with the device. Gunfire mixed with screams came out of it.

  He’d expected that at some point, but his gut went cold. His mind flashed to Fee. Please let her be okay.

  After a little more fiddling, Jane found music again, then a burst of gunfire.

  Women screamed. The music stopped. More gunfire, and then a man’s voice shouted, “Sit down if you want to live. Over here.”

  Closer to the mic, a man said, “What are the waiters pulling out from under the tables? Are those vests? Lydia—”

  Another burst of gunfire and the shout of “Shut the fuck up!” interrupted him.

  Greg’s eyes met Jane’s grim ones.

  “We are the Red Mantle. We won’t hurt you if you cooperate. Sit down, shut up, and pass your cell phones forward.”

  “Why would they want the phones?” Jane muttered. “They jammed the signal.”

  Greg shrugged, his shoulder throbbing ominously from the strain put on it tonight. “Insurance, maybe, in case the jamming failed. And cell phones can record sound and video without being able to make calls.”

  “I’ll put it on play and fast forward.”

  There were no more sounds. “The jamming must’ve cut the link,” Jane said. She clicked the machine off.

  “At least now we know who these people claim to be,” he said.

  “Have you ever heard of them?”

  He shook his head. He dealt with violent crime, not cults. “You?”

  “Uh-uh.” She hesitated, then laid a hand on his arm. Its warmth rippled through him, making him acutely conscious that they stood mere inches apart.

  “I know this doesn’t really help, but try not to worry about your friend.”

  He nodded his thanks. “Working on that.” He bit back the words She’s my cousin.

  Jane didn’t need to know what Fee was to him, and moreover, likely didn’t care. Best to focus on business.

  Fee was smart and determined. Surely she would keep her head down and her mouth shut.

  But she was young, pretty, and blonde. Photogenic, if these assholes needed a hostage who would play well to any cameras.

  Greg set his jaw. Keep your head down, Fee.

  * * * * *

  Kelsey led Agent Reed to the central staircase, which would bring them closest to the electrical and phone panels. He slipp
ed inside it first and found it clear. They made it down the stairs with no problem.

  No problem, that is, other than the way her eyes kept straying over his body. The man moved with total assurance. And a presence worthy of the biggest, baddest alpha male in any wolf pack.

  Well, no harm in looking. Even if she was unlikely ever to have the chance to touch.

  At the door into the sub-basement, Kelsey pulled the snake scope out of her bag. Long and thin, the stiffened steel cable had a tiny camera at one end feeding into a monitor at the other.

  She knelt and slid the lens end under the door. Across an aisle from the stairwell lay a big bay for storage of assorted holiday decorations. To her right, past the mechanical room and a defunct freezer, lay stalls for furniture storage and the areas for bulk food delivery and hotel van parking.

  No people in sight.

  To her left lay the phone room and the security station and, past the holiday storage, loading bays. She swiveled the scope, and her gut churned. Outside the door of the security office, by the loading dock, lay a jumbled mass of bodies in hotel security blazers.

  Kelsey swallowed against anger and nausea, breathing through the queasiness.

  Oh, these bastards were going to pay.

  A rectangle of light spilled out of the security office. Lucky for her, the door was on the loading bay side, around the corner from the phone room. Voices and the sound of a television, apparently with inaugural evening coverage running, emerged.

  Standing again, Kelsey raised an eyebrow and softly asked, “Why would they be watching inaugural stuff?”

  Reed frowned. “Their being here has to be connected somehow. But the president isn’t scheduled to stop here, or the Secret Service would’ve had this building locked down for hours.”

  “That doesn’t mean she won’t,” she said, her voice flat but steady despite the new chill deep in her gut. “Does it?”

  “No guarantees, no. But the Secret Service won’t allow their charges out of the limo if they pick up the least hinky thing.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s hope. Meanwhile, I’ll sneak up and see how many there are.”

  “Right. Be careful. Nothing on the radio so far about the guy we left in the closet, but that could change anytime. If it does, those guys may well respond.”

  Good point. Kelsey nodded. “Anything useful on the radio?”

  “Not so far. Based on what we’ve seen, the kills they claimed seem exaggerated, but we won’t know for sure until we can check the ballrooms. Lately it’s nothing but status updates that pretty much say everything’s under control.”

  Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “You think maybe they’re hunkered down and waiting for something?”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

  “There’s a closet between the phone room and the security office,” she told him. “If we keep our voices down, the space will help suppress the sound.”

  Accepting her backpack, he said, “What kind of lock is on the phone room door? Will we have to pick it?”

  “It’s a number pad. They’re throughout the service areas. I know all the combinations.”

  “I figured,” he said, his voice dry.

  Her heart thudded into her throat. Was he deciding she knew way too much to be what she claimed?

  At last, he said, “Go ahead. I’ll stand guard here.”

  Kelsey slipped out of the stairwell. Creeping across the open floor, she swallowed to ease her dry mouth.

  Reed didn’t entirely trust her. Despite the heat in his eyes, the alert way he watched her proved he had misgivings. All the lives potentially on the line in the ballrooms had already signaled high stakes. If there was any chance the new president could walk into this, the stakes were stratospheric.

  Whenever Arachnid operatives worked in the District of Columbia, the agency informed the FBI they were in place and provided a verification code. When the G-man made his call, she would give him her current code so someone at the Bureau could confirm that she was on the right team. She would also exercise her discretion and tell him her real name. Names had value in earning trust.

  A twinge of pain nipped at her heart, and she frowned. Get over yourself. You’re never gonna see him again anyway.

  Still, it would’ve been nice if he’d just trusted her.

  A foot from the door, which luckily opened on the far side, she knelt and slid the thin cable between the steel door and the jamb below the bottom hinge, just far enough to reach the edge.

  She could drill through the wall with her other scope, but that seemed risky with such a small, brightly lit space.

  The camera showed the expected bank of monitor screens. On the right-hand wall, a steel panel showed the level of each elevator, with one still at the ballroom level and all the others down here. And not going anywhere, obviously.

  The scope gave an oddly distorted view from floor level. Easing it carefully from side to side, Kelsey counted five men in tactical gear with AKs and sidearms.

  The cameras gave her a kaleidoscopic view of the ballrooms, with armed men visible on each screen. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see Greg Reed’s Fee in Renaissance. The main ballroom, though, showed guys in tactical gear down and people in civvies holding the guns. And barricading the doors.

  Well, well. Isn’t that interesting? Score one for the home team.

  Lingering to see more or try to count the armed men on the screens was risky. It also wouldn’t yield an accurate count if some were off-camera.

  Kelsey eased the scope free of the door and carefully, quietly, pushed herself up.

  A swoosh-roar sounded from the far corner. What—? The men’s room toilet. Damn.

  Keeping her tread light, she hurried back to the stairwell. Had to get there fast, not let them see.

  The door swung open. Reed reached out and yanked her the last couple of feet. As the door swung shut, Kelsey slammed into his chest, her face and his so close that his breath, sweet with champagne, wafted over her face and the scent of his citrusy aftershave had her tingling.

  Consciousness of him flooded her. His chest felt solid, and the arm around her was steely.

  Up close, the green specks in his hazel eyes showed more clearly. He looked as stunned as she felt.

  The shock faded, leaving only the awareness. She had to either step back from the hot Fed or kiss him, and she felt stupidly torn between the two.

  He wrenched his gaze to the side. Releasing her, he muttered, “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered as he stepped back. For just a moment, though, she missed him. Idiot. Focus.

  “Let’s see if they noticed,” he suggested, his words so soft that they were barely audible.

  He pressed his ear to the door. Kelsey knelt and slid the scope into the crack under the door.

  A short, burly guy in tactical clothing strolled around the corner from the rest room and into the security station.

  No one came out. The sound level didn’t change. But Reed stiffened.

  “What?” she whispered, and he tapped the radio lightly.

  Oh, hell.

  She straightened. “I think we’re good as far as the guys in the security office. Knock wood. But what’s on the radio?”

  “A fair amount of gunfire still but also a new problem. A call’s going out over the radio that isn’t being answered. Could be somebody’s trying to reach the guy this radio belonged to.”

  * * * * *

  Greg pulled the earbud from his ear and held it close to Jane’s so she could hear the gruff, male voice saying, “Brother Jason, come back. Over.”

  “Come back is a CBer term. Or was when my dad was driving a semi,” Greg told her.

  Better to think about that than the soft hair brushing his cheek or the light, floral scent of her.

  “If you say so. I don’t suppose you want to try responding.”

  “Sorry, but I’m a lousy mimic, and I didn’t hear the guy say that much anyway.”

  “Then I guess
we better hurry. Sooner or later, they’ll stop calling and start looking.”

  “If they have enough people.” Pondering that, Greg rubbed his jaw. “From the little we’ve seen so far, they’re not an overwhelming force.”

  His companion nodded. The faint look of disgust on her face was actually kind of endearing. You had to like a woman who found thugs disgusting. As long as she didn’t underestimate them in the process.

  “To do this right,” she muttered, “you need enough guys to shut down every stairwell and every floor and corral every single guest. And take over the lobby, make it look like business as usual.”

  “They have enough to make trouble,” he reminded her.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m not assuming having too few guys signals stupidity. The sooner we can get your tactical team here, the better.”

  “Amen. Besides, if they look hard enough for that guy, they’ll find the body eventually. Then they’ll be looking for us.”

  “Yeah. Tick tock.” She grimaced. “Let’s go.”

  Reed eased the door open a slit and peered out. No armed guys were visible, so he gave Jane a nod and slipped through.

  Heading for the phone room reminded him what had happened earlier, when she’d hurried toward the stairs. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d pulled her inside in case a goon came around the corner, but he hadn’t meant to pull her into his arms.

  Or to notice how her toned body, with its soft curves in all the right places, felt pressed to his.

  She probably wasn’t aware of the way her butt stuck up when she leaned over to slide her scope under a door. He’d rather not be aware of it either. His hand itched to touch.

  Crap.

  But Fee would be so pleased.

  Fear for her washed through him. He let it, breathing against it, and boxed it away again. Until he could do something for her, worry would only distract him from things he could do.

  While he stood guard, Jane punched the number pad. Its faint clicks seemed agonizingly loud, but no shadow moved across the light from the security station door.

  PI, my ass. She knew way too much for what she claimed to be. At the moment, though, she was his only ally.