The Negotiator

by Dee Henderson

  She watched, her face impassive, as he waved the bomb trigger in front of the bank manager’s face and peeled back one finger, then another, threatening to let go. One of these times it was not going to be an act. Henry would blow that dynamite.

  Every couple months there was a case like this, one that actually scared her. She prepared for them, but she was never really ready. Going up against someone who was dying, who wanted to end his life by making a statement, left her little room to maneuver. She knew that. She didn’t have to like it, but she did have to accept it.

  She had bought them five hours and four hostages. If they were going to get the remaining hostages out alive, they would have to do it by force. The decision didn’t come easy, for it was failure on her part, but protecting her pride wasn’t part of her job. Henry Lott had finished talking, and it was time she made the recommendation. The bank manager whimpered, and the sound made her want to flinch.

  The growing tension in the room had seeped into her muscles and bones; no matter how she tried to mentally divert for a moment and visualize herself somewhere else to get back a sense of distance and calm, the pressure inside didn’t abate. Was this the day her family got the phone call they dreaded? Kate closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and accepted what was going to happen was going to happen.

  I’m sorry, guys. I did my best.

  She rested her weight back against her hand and tapped her finger twice.

  A red dot blinked on the top of her left tennis shoe. She had been talking with Graham most of the day. Morse code was low tech, but it let them pass information back and forth. She tapped out a terse message for Jim.

  The present assault plan called for a breach that would come from two directions—they’d blow the steel security door by the teller windows; two seconds later they’d shatter the front glass doors. Flash grenades would come in to freeze the situation. She would have two seconds to clear the glass doors, reach Henry Lott, and close her hands around the bomb trigger.

  High risk. She could get shot. She could fail, which was worse.

  Her peripheral vision scanned the place where the FBI agent hid. What was he thinking? The notes had ceased during the last twenty minutes. The risk of his being discovered increased with the passing of time; another good reason they should act sooner versus later. She wished she had a way to coordinate with him, warn him. He had turned out to be surprisingly good company during the last few hours. She wanted a chance to say thanks for the notes. His humor was sharp and dry; it came across even in his two- or three-word shorthand. He had stayed relaxed in this tense situation, a fact she appreciated.

  It didn’t take long for her boss to reach a decision. The teams were moving into position.

  She needed Henry Lott to be within five feet. She planned to hit him and take him down, pinning the trigger between them. He had seventy pounds on her; she was going to have a fight on her hands in the few moments before her team could reach them. The frustration of not being able to talk him into giving up would solve some of that disparity. The FBI agent should be able to close the distance to help. She would do whatever it took to win.

  She got the signal from Graham. The teams were in position, ready for her mark.

  She knew exactly where she would like Henry to be when she made her move. She tapped out another request: Ring the phone.

  Henry started across the room toward the ringing phone on the receptionist desk. Kate toned out his words, looking only at the distance. Eight feet, seven feet, six feet…in range. Her fingers began to fold one by one, controlling the first blast. Three. Two. One. Fist.

  The steel door blew apart.

  Kate surged forward, ignoring the gun, going down with the man, her forearm across his windpipe. Her hand closed around his on the trigger release.

  They hit the marble floor hard, pelted by exploding glass.

  Henry tried to toss her off him. Her shin took a kick from a steeltipped boot. She felt her wrist going around and fought back with desperate energy. With both hands around his to keep the bomb trigger down, her face was exposed. She saw his left hand coming around and braced for the broken nose. It wouldn’t be the first punch she had taken. His blow connected, but it wasn’t with her. The FBI agent grunted in pain, threw a short jab back.

  She forgave the agent the elbow to her ribs. It was a fight between two equals with her sandwiched between them. She did her best to keep her head down. Wires slid up around her fingers; dynamite wedged against her abdomen.

  Henry Lott stopped moving.

  She hung suspended in time for a moment, wondering if it was over, waiting for Henry to move. Then she was hearing again, feeling again. The rushing sound of the assault teams, of hostages being pulled clear, made it into her consciousness; muscles quivered from the sudden stress release; forming bruises demanded attention.

  “Do you have it?” The FBI agent demanded, his weight still sandwiching her.

  “Got it.” She was literally curled around the bomb trigger, clutching it like a treasure. Her hands were slick with sweat, and her fingers were cramping, but she had it.

  “Don’t move.”

  What did he think she was going to do? Get up and dance? Something sharp was digging into her chest, and she could feel wires pinching her fingers. “Fine. I won’t move. But you could,” she replied, letting her tone of voice carry a fine bite to it for the first time since she had entered the bank.

  He shifted to the side, and she got her first full breath since the fight had begun. She closed her eyes to enjoy it. She was quivering with the fatigue. A wave of nausea swept over her as her body literally shook off the stress. The entire situation had been too close for comfort.

  Teammates crowded around, surrounding them, her boss in the front of the group. “Franklin, get that syringe from the doc; make sure this guy stays out. Let’s get bomb disposal in here.”

  “Hostages?” Kate asked, forcing her head to clear and her voice to firm.

  “All fine.” Jim was looking at the device. “Can you hold that trigger for a few minutes while Manning takes this apart?”

  “I’m not planning to let go.”

  Somebody laughed.

  “Okay,” Jim said. “Let’s clear this place of nonessential personnel. Good job, Kate. I’ll see you again in a few minutes. Dave, your team is waiting for you outside.”

  The FBI agent shook his head. “I’ll be out with Kate.”

  Her boss considered him for a moment, then nodded. He got to his feet. The room began to clear.

  Kate was not so willing to concede the point. “I appreciate the thought. Now would you get out of here?”

  He sat on the floor beside Henry, breathing hard, looking at her. She frankly enjoyed looking back; he was a good-looking man. His sandy hair was ruffled and the split lip had to hurt. He had the sleek look of an athlete, and she had learned firsthand that his bulk was well-conditioned muscle. This was not an FBI agent who spent his days behind a desk.

  “What’s the matter? Tired of my company?” The twinkle in his eyes said he was humoring her. She had no hope of getting him to leave. The fact he told her no with a smile didn’t lessen her irritation with his answer; it increased it. He was cocky and wrong again. He didn’t belong in here. She sighed silently. That was the problem with guys; they always had to be heroes.

  The only danger for him at the moment was if she let go of the bomb trigger; the realization made her silently chuckle. She wondered if he had given more than a passing thought to the fact she was the one still protecting him as he sat there keeping her company.

  Accents were a hobby, and his was a delight. He was British. Her sister Jennifer was going to be so jealous. If he insisted on staying, then she was going to enjoy it. “Keep talking.”

  “About what?”

  “Anything. I like your accent.”

  His grin was quick. “Don’t knock yours, Southern. I could listen to you all day.”

  “You have.”

 
“I enjoyed it, too, despite the circumstances.” He reached over and feathered a hand through her hair. “You’ve got glass slivers in your hair.”

  His touch made her freeze. In any other situation, she would have slapped his hand away, but she couldn’t move, and she was suddenly glad she had to remain motionless. She had already shown this man too much of herself in the past hours of conversation, letting him know how prickly she was about being touched by any man other than her brothers would have been humiliating. As his fingers brushed through her hair, she took a deep breath and unexpectedly felt herself relax; it was a comforting touch. “I’m sure I sparkle.”

  He chuckled. “Actually, you do.” He leaned over to brush glass fragments from her shoulder and tensed. “I should have hit the guy harder. You’re bleeding.”

  “It was quite a shower of glass. A few cuts were inevitable.” Kate could feel them across her shoulders, her arms. They were beginning to sting.

  “You’ve got more than a few.” He moved to let Manning take his place and came around to her side. “Don’t lean back.” He brushed aside the glass fragments on her shirt with care.

  “The cuts are not that big a deal.” He ignored her comment. “You never did tell me your name.”

  “Dave Richman.”

  “Cute notes.”

  He leaned over to see her face. “Nice small talk.”

  She narrowed her gaze but found nothing in his expression to contradict his words. The last Fed she had worked with had panned what she did as being trivial chitchat. Dave had just moved a step out of the hole he had dug for himself with that MOVE HIM TO ME ridiculous note. “It’s my specialty.”

  “It saved lives, including mine. I owe you.”

  She scowled at the idea. “Don’t get too grateful. It was my job. I didn’t do it specifically for you.”

  He laughed, and it was a nice sound. Kate let herself smile. With all Dave’s notes asking questions, she might have been chatting more than usual; it was hard to tell after the fact. Her abused muscles cramped. She closed her eyes against the pain, walling it off.

  “Another minute and the paramedics will be in here.”

  “Manning, is Stephen out there?”

  “Pacing.”

  Anticipating the lecture, she winced. “Don’t hurry.” She saw Dave’s look of curiosity. “My brother is one of those paramedics you mentioned.”

  “Ahh. Be glad you’ve got family to get on your case.”

  He had no idea. “Three brothers, three sisters. I’m going to get killed.” She had given them cause to worry, which was what annoyed her the most.

  “It should be an interesting evening.”

  “You have a knack for understatements.” Remaining motionless was hard work. “You know what I would really like right now?” She knew she was starting to ramble, but the fatigue felt like a heavy blanket, and words had always been her first defense.

  “What?”

  “A good steak, a cold drink, and a nap, not necessarily in that order.”

  “Sorry, but what I think you’re going to get is an ambulance ride, a couple needles, and some stitches.”

  Great. Just how she wanted to spend her evening. “What an unappealing thought.”

  Manning set aside the wire clippers. “You can let go, Kate; it’s defused.”

  The sense of relief was intense but not quite complete. “You’re sure?” She wasn’t passing judgment, but she was the one holding the trigger.

  “It won’t go boom,” Manning promised.

  She eased open her grip on the trigger, heard the faint click of open contacts.

  Now she felt the relief. She gladly moved away from Henry Lott. Manning started moving the dynamite to an explosive ordinance box. As soon as it was clear, cops were waiting to handcuff Henry and carry him outside.

  Kate sat on the marble floor, content to wait for Manning to finish. It felt better than just good to have this situation over with. She didn’t even cringe as she thought about all the paperwork the tactical response would demand. For the moment she was just going to savor the fact it had ended with the gunman and all the hostages still alive.

  She draped her arms across her knees and looked around at all the damage. “What a mess.”

  Dave nodded. “Looks like a bomb went off. Doors blown in, a couple ceiling tiles down, glass everywhere.”

  She looked over at him. “You have a wicked sense of humor.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Humor was too rare a commodity in this business not to pause and enjoy having found it in an unexpected place. She could really get to like this guy, despite his charge-right-in attitude and his annoying habit of not listening to her when she was right. They were grinning at each other when they were interrupted. “This is not a good way to start the weekend, Kate.”

  “Stephen, it’s a great way to start the weekend. Go away.”

  Beside her, Dave choked back a laugh. “Behave.”

  She reluctantly turned her attention to her brother. “I’m only banged up, I promise.”

  Stephen set down the case he carried and surveyed her. “At least you didn’t get yourself shot. What did you do, go swimming in the broken glass?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “What else hurts besides the cuts?” He used sterile gauze to wipe away the blood so he could look at the cut on her right arm.

  “My tailbone. I’ve been sitting on this marble floor all day.”

  “Seriously.”

  “My left shoulder. I hit the marble floor hard. And my headache is a killer.”

  Because she had no choice, she sat still as he and his partner dealt with the cuts; she winced when gentle hands hit bruises. Stephen frowned as he touched the back of her head. “Nice goose egg.”

  “He got in a lucky blow.”

  “How’s the vision?”

  “Fine.”

  “Hmm.”

  She looked at the gurney that was wheeled in with suspicion. “Stephen, I’m walking out of here.”

  “If you want to pass out in front of your team, you can. Your blood pressure is low even for you.”

  “Fading adrenaline. Give me a break.”

  He accepted something from his partner. “Close your eyes; you don’t like needles.”

  “Stick me with that and you’ll be fixing your own steak tonight.”

  “Would you rather me do it or a nurse you don’t know?”

  “You play dirty.” She turned her head and squeezed her eyes closed.

  “It’s done.” He taped down the IV line. “You want a grape or cherry lollipop?”

  She considered hitting him. She plucked a cherry one from his pocket. “You know the only reason I let you get away with the needle is so I can get one of these.”

  “Jennifer bribes her patients with them.”

  “Her patients are two years old. I don’t like the inference.”

  “You’re the one who made it.”

  She retrieved the grape one and handed it to Dave. “Eat this and be quiet.” She had heard his stifled chuckle.

  “Stephen,” Dave interceded as he unwrapped the sucker, “you’d better quit while you’re ahead.”

  Her brother looked over at him. “Probably. Would you?”

  Dave considered the question for a moment. “No. She’s too cute when she’s annoyed.”

  “I knew I would like you.”

  Kate scowled. “Gentlemen, now that you’ve bonded, can we go?”

  “Sure. But you’re taking the gurney.” Stephen moved it beside her and grinned. “Just sit on it, Kate. I won’t make you go out with the straps and the blanket.”

  She knew it was going to be a rough afternoon when getting up to move to the stretcher made her light-headed. Dave didn’t release his grip on her arm until she was seated and her legs were up.

  She saw his concern despite their lighthearted banter, and it bothered her. She didn’t
want his final impression of her to be one of weakness. It wasn’t pride; it was the reality of her job. Managing impressions was critical to keeping her reputation intact—a reputation that insured her voice carried weight when she was called into a crisis situation. If the consensus about her around the FBI offices six months from now was got hurt rather than solved it, the next time she worked a case with them she would be playing from a weak hand.

  Stephen squeezed her hand. She returned the pressure. She knew what he had been doing, the cad. He’d raised her blood sugar level, got an IV line in place, stopped the bleeding, and kept her mind off what he and his partner were doing. He had always been excellent at his job. Stephen was born to the role of rescuer.

  There were days she would give anything to trade in her role of negotiator for something more along Stephen’s role of white knight. She had to live and work with gray, in the middle of the violence, right at the edge of the grim reaper’s hand of death. Getting banged up occasionally in the process just went with her territory.

  “Dave, there’s room if you want to ride along,” Stephen offered.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “There’s no need,” Kate protested, not liking the idea.

  Dave’s frown silenced her. Having been silenced by a look from some of the best, she changed her profile of him, privately amused. He could simply cool his eyes to convey he didn’t like your answer as easily as he could warm them to share humor. It was a trait a good leader perfected.

  “Kate, the media is all over this. Be prepared.” Stephen warned.

  The media would likely make her life miserable for days to come. The two newspapers, not to mention the local newscasts, vied with each other for the most dramatic presentation of a crisis like this. Ignoring the press was becoming her second occupation. “Let’s see how many pictures they can take of your back,” she suggested to Stephen. That solution to the problem was one of her favorites.

  “My pleasure. The squad will love the publicity.”

  “This is not a steak.” Kate used the plastic fork to check the suspicious entree. It was bad enough she had lost the debate and been admitted to the hospital for the night; meatloaf for dinner was adding insult to injury.