by Victoria Sue
Maverick’s hands tightened into fists. He probably had Deacon in the car and moved him when Amanda left.
“Can you go through this plan of the building, sir?” Phan spread out a copy he had just been given of the layout.
Mr. Robertson peered at them and pointed out the cellar accessed from the trap door. “We stopped using it when I did the remodel three years ago, and the inside door to the cellar is always secure.”
“Is there a key to it on Amanda’s bunch?” Phan asked.
Amanda nodded. “I think so. I have a ton of keys on there I never really use, so it’s quite likely.”
Phan thanked him and passed the plans to the SWAT commander. Mav tried not to think about what might happen if they tried for a breach. He didn’t see anywhere on those plans the cellar could be easily accessed from, but he knew they would also be trying to see if they could get listening devices anywhere near.
“He was always so considerate,” Amanda whispered. “And he even texted me tonight to say he got home safely.”
Maverick’s ears pricked up at the same time as Phan said, “Can I see your phone?”
It was a different number. A throwaway they didn’t know about. “He told me his phone had broken and he had to wait three months until his contract finished to go with another provider.”
Robertson hugged his daughter. “I understand you guys have to do whatever, but I really don’t want her here while you do it,” Robertson said grimly, and Phan nodded, beckoning to Officer Deene.
“Can you please accompany the Robertsons home and stay with them until you hear from me.” They turned and left.
“Kim?”
Maverick turned to where Detective Wright was, and Phan walked over to him. “What have you got?”
“CCTV of the Charger stopping at Home Depot early this evening. I made a phone call, and according to the receipts, he bought a heavy-duty bolt and padlock—”
“The trapdoor,” Maverick said.
Wright shot him an uncomfortable look.
“What else did he buy?” Phan asked.
“Some cheap barbeque accelerant and a gas lighter. We then have him stopping at a Mobil station twenty minutes later and filling two jerry cans with gasoline.”
Maverick took an automatic step forward to the bar, and Phan grabbed his arm. “I can’t let you go in there.” Maverick watched as two armored vehicles pulled up and SWAT climbed out of each one.
“You’re going to kill him.”
Phan shook his head. “We are hoping he comes peacefully—”
“I don’t mean Charlie,” Maverick nearly shouted, and Wright, Smith, and Malwecki all fell silent. “Chaplin’s in there with fuck knows how much firepower and nothing to lose. He has Deacon. Chaplin’s a cop. He’s going to know every scenario, and the likelihood of any of them, including him getting away, is less than zero.”
The pained acceptance in Phan’s expression gave him no comfort. He didn’t want to be right. He watched Phan order officers to surround the large parking lot. The bar used to be some sort of hotel. It was popular for weddings and other parties on weekends, but half of it was closed down during the week. Soon the whole area was cordoned off, lights were erected, and the place was surrounded. They knew Charlie had to be in there because the black Charger was around the back.
Another man in a suit got out of a car and walked briskly over to Phan. “Have we made contact?”
Phan shook his head. “We could use a megaphone, but we think he might have a cell phone we can use.”
The man nodded and looked at Maverick, then inquiringly at Phan. Phan made quick introductions. “Phelps is one of our most experienced hostage negotiators.”
Phelps gestured for everyone to be quiet and pressed the button to connect. It was answered with silence. “Mr. Chaplin, this is David, and I’m a negotiator with the police. I want to check if you are both okay and if you need anything down there?”
Everyone heard the laugh. “Don’t bother. We’re not going to be here long enough to need food, and if you send in SWAT, I will just blow everything faster.” The line went dead.
“I’ll try again in a minute,” Phelps said confidently. “They often threaten the worst scenario right off the bat. Most people don’t actually want to die; they’re looking for a way out.”
“Let me talk to him.” Maverick held out his hand for Amanda’s phone. Phan hesitated. “You have nothing to lose either,” Maverick said. He met Phan’s gray eyes. “Please,” he whispered. “I might be the only one he will listen to.”
Maverick could count every one of his thundering heartbeats until with a nod he got a tiny glimmer of hope.
He was all in.
Whatever it took to protect Deacon, he would do. For the first time in the seven months since he’d woken up in that fucking hospital, Maverick had found something—someone—worth fighting for. Deacon had saved him. In a few short days, he’d gone from the same future as his father to the possibility of actually being a father. And he wouldn’t have ever been able to do it for himself, because he’d needed something else to care about. Someone else.
Even if Deacon didn’t want him. Because right at that moment, he couldn’t think about that. He’d had one thing to do in return for getting his life back, and it had been to protect Deacon. He had failed spectacularly, but if this was one more chance, he would give it everything he had.
He had the cell phone in his hand a moment later, and Detective Wright hushed everyone. It was easy to press redial, but he found Hunter’s name in her contacts just to give him a second to steady his breathing. He pressed the button, willing his hands not to shake and praying with everything in him it was answered.
It connected, but Charlie didn’t say a word. He wasn’t stupid, and he would assume it was the cops trying again.
“Charlie,” Maverick clipped into the phone, completely amazed that his voice sounded calm when everything inside him threatened to break apart.
“Well, well,” Chaplin answered after a few seconds’ silence. “What can I do for you?”
It was time to lay it on the line.
“You have something that belongs to me. What do I need to do to get him back?”
DEACON HAD gone from shivering violently to being in danger of falling asleep. He jerked in pain as Chaplin kicked him. “I know you’re cold, but don’t go falling asleep.” he smirked. “Things will heat up real soon.”
Deacon didn’t have any spit left in his throat to swallow down his fear. “Tell me about Shelley.”
Chaplin put his head back and laughed. “Keeping me talking’s not going to help you, but just for the record, she was a fucking psycho.”
“What?” Deacon couldn’t help the involuntary exclamation.
“It was Jason who didn’t deserve to die. She got exactly what she asked for, and if she didn’t die then, when I found out what had happened, I would have shot the bitch myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Deacon offered, but there was nothing he could say.
“You will be,” Chaplin confirmed, and Deacon shivered again. Not because the words were delivered with menacing intent, but because they were implacable. No way out. He watched as Chaplin stilled a fraction before Deacon heard something from upstairs as well. Chaplin swung around so fast, and everything in Deacon froze as he saw what Chaplin held in his hand.
A gun.
Deacon tried to tell himself it made sense. That seeing Chaplin holding it didn’t mean he was going to die right that second. He still had time. Time to be with Molly. Time to be with his new friends. Time for a new career.
Time for a new love.
Maverick. Time to be with him. Maverick had laughed and said they could date. Then he’d stared at him with those sexy brown eyes and said it was okay so long as they slept in the same bed. Even if Mav decided in the end that Deacon was too much trouble, he desperately wanted the chance to find out.
Deacon’s lips parted to take a breath, but the shrill sound of a cell
phone nearly stopped his heart. Chaplin didn’t jump. He looked almost resigned as he reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out the phone. A small smile played on his lips when he read the number, and a little hope seeped into Deacon’s mind.
Chaplin answered it without saying a word. Deacon knew it was the cops, and a little bit of him died when Chaplin made it clear he wasn’t interested. Chaplin turned away, listening again for sounds from upstairs. The phone rang again before he said anything. Chaplin answered, and his eyebrow raised sardonically. “Well, well. What can I do for you?”
Who was it?
Chaplin pressed the speaker button, and Maverick’s voice rang out loud and clear. “You have something that belongs to me. What do I need to do to get him back?”
“Mav?” Deacon whispered, but Chaplin raised his gun, and Deacon clamped his lips closed. Mav meant him. Deacon belonged to Mav, and everything in him wanted it to be true.
“Deacon?” Maverick asked sharply. He didn’t think Mav would have been able to hear him.
“I have my Glock 22 pointed right at his head and enough gas to light this place up so it can be seen from space. He took everything from me. Why in hell would I give him back?”
There was silence. Then Maverick spoke. “You took an oath.”
Chaplin scoffed. “To protect and serve?”
“Not that one,” Maverick insisted. “The one we all said over ten years ago. The one Cass, you, and I all recited ready to die for what we believed in.”
“I—”
“To obey all officers, Private.”
“You’re not my lieutenant any longer,” Chaplin said, but even as he said it, Deacon heard something in his voice. Longing? Did Chaplin still want the career he had been forced to give up, or was it about something else? Maybe he still wanted the family he had surrendered with the expectation of making another? Maybe the first time he had thought he belonged anywhere was with Cass and Maverick. And he had been forced to let that go.
It would never excuse the deaths he had wrought, but in a way, Deacon could almost understand it.
“You can’t give me anything now, Mav,” Chaplin said. “I don’t have anything I want anymore, and I’m not stupid. I know I’ve got a needle with my name on it waiting for me out there.”
Because Georgia still had the death penalty. Deacon’s heart sank. What had he said about being without hope?
“Then if you’ve nothing to lose, we can talk face-to-face. You explain it to me so I understand. You owe me for Balcad.”
Chaplin shook his head. “You taught me better than that, Mav. I know you’re going to come in here intending on doing a sight more than talking. You were always the strongest out of the three of us. Faster.”
“I am unarmed.”
Deacon’s heart sped up. “No, Mav—”
Chaplin’s gun was at his temple faster than he got out another word.
There was a silence, and Chaplin smiled. “You come to the door,” he said into the phone. “You have three minutes because that’s how long the fuses are. I will light them before I walk to the door, so if I’m not in time to run back and put them out, the place blows. And none of the APD out there will get near enough in time, so don’t bother trying to rush me.” He clicked the phone off before Maverick had time to answer.
“I CANNOT possibly let you go in there,” Phan said before Maverick had even had a chance to process it himself. Maverick quietly held out the phone.
“Do you have a better idea?”
Phan opened his mouth and closed it.
“Sir?” Detective Wright asked incredulously. “You can’t really be considering this.”
Phan just stared at Maverick, and Maverick held his gaze, calmly like he had all the time in the world, not like his life was about to implode.
“It will be your job,” Wright added.
“And if we do nothing, it will be Daniels’s life.” Phan turned to Wright, and the other detective shut up. “He’s right, though,” Phan continued, glancing back at him.
“As are you,” Mav replied.
Phan turned to the sergeant standing next to him. “Have we got anyone with us who can take the shot if you get a chance?”
“No,” Maverick burst out. “You heard what he said. He has fuses….”
Phan shook his head. “I think that’s a bluff. He didn’t buy any. If he needed the lighter fuel, it makes sense he would get the fuses at the same time. He’s not used fuses in any other fire, and they are incredibly difficult to time unless you happen to be an explosive expert.” Phan arched a brow. “I take it he wasn’t?”
Maverick frowned. “He was an avionics specialist.”
“And nothing in his APD career either,” Phan confirmed.
“But that’s a huge risk.”
“So is letting a civilian go into a situation like this, but at the moment, I have no way of luring him out. We can let the SWAT team go in, but I understand from Robertson the trapdoor has a good thirty feet of passage before the cellar we think he’s in. We wouldn’t have the element of surprise, and Chaplin, with nothing to lose, could take out more people along with himself and Daniels. At the moment, all I have is the chance of him coming to the main door to let you in. Now get a vest on,” Phan instructed, and turned to another man standing by quietly, who Maverick noticed was in full tactical gear. The SWAT leader, he would guess.
Maverick was determined the cop who handed him the vest wouldn’t see his hands shaking even if this time it wasn’t because he desperately wanted a drink. He strapped it on, only half listening to the instructions the negotiator was rapidly firing at him. Then everything seemed to drop quiet again as Phan met his gaze.
“This has one objective. We want a shot. Rawlings is an ex-Special Forces marksman. All I need is for you to create the chance.”
“Can you do that? Aren’t you supposed to talk him down?” Maverick asked doubtfully, even though if he had a gun, he would pull the trigger to protect Deacon himself.
“I can’t.” Phan nodded at the guy in tactical gear talking to another two men dressed in the same way. “But they can. He has made it clear he intends to kill himself and his hostage. They have the green light.”
Deacon. Every memory ran through his head like a film show. The day he had done the massage. A slow kiss. When Molly had peed on him and Deacon had nearly gone purple in embarrassment, and when Jamie had deliberately tried to tease him and he hadn’t been fazed at all.
“Are you ready?”
Maverick nodded.
“We’re trying to get listening devices, but the cellar is making things difficult. Try and get him to talk as much and as long as you can to give us time. Anything you can think of to delay him, do it.”
“I understand,” Mav confirmed grimly.
“Then just do what we need. Don’t be a hero.”
A hero? Maverick was anything but.
Chapter Twenty
MAVERICK STARTED walking across the yard toward the main door with his arms up. It was awkward because he wasn’t as easily balanced with his arms raised. When he got about ten feet from the doorway, it opened just a crack, and he stopped. “Charlie?”
“No, it’s me.” Deacon was framed in the lights from all the headlights behind Mav.
“Deacon!” Maverick yelled as his heart thudded, knowing the sniper he had seen would have a kill shot trained on whoever opened the door.
“I’ve been instructed to tell you unless you come inside, I will be shot in the head. He is standing behind the door.”
Mav took a step and heard the croaked “Stop,” and knew the word had been forced out of Deacon. Mav froze. In his mind’s eye, he could see the sniper looking for an edge. Deadly force had been approved.
“He says you are to… take your leg off.”
Mav jerked in shock. “What?”
“Take your leg off. He doesn’t trust you.”
Mav’s jaw dropped. “But—”
“He says.” Deacon s
wallowed, and Mav knew the words were being wrung out of him. “He says you have to crawl.”
And in that second, Mav understood how arrogant he had been. How filled with so much conceit… it sickened him. Don’t be a hero. But he’d thought he would be. In his head, he had decided he could save the day. He’d completely made the wrong call, and the urge to vomit nearly overpowered him. Somewhere, wrapped up in such giant hubris, he had separated the friend he had flown with from the man who had brutally murdered three people and was planning on a fourth.
The fourth who meant everything to him. For a second, Mav was dizzy with the knowledge that his egotism might cause Deacon’s death. He should have left it to people who knew what they were doing. But without another word, he dropped to the dirt, rolled back his pants, pressed the button to release the suction, and pulled off his leg. He didn’t throw it, but he was so fucking tempted.
Mav didn’t give Chaplin the benefit of so much as a look to show his humiliation. He would crawl. He didn’t care. If taking this pound of flesh from Maverick soothed the beast in front of him, he would do whatever it took. The ten-feet gap seemed to yawn wider, but then he was there, and the firm grip on his wrist pulled him through, and the door closed behind them.
And not one single shot had been fired. Charlie had been so clever, and Maverick hadn’t. Mav heard a sound that made his heart stop. A whimper. His eyes focused in the semidarkness and connected with Deacon’s, but before he could say a word, a Glock 22 was roughly shoved at Deacon’s temple, and Mav finally looked at Chaplin. He wasn’t Charlie anymore. He didn’t deserve the reminder. The affection. “Why?”
“You know why,” Chaplin retorted. “You said you would always look out for us.”
“Don’t try to make out that this was ever about me.”
For a second, neither of them seemed to breathe, but then Chaplin smirked. “You’re right. My life isn’t yours anymore.”
“It never was.”
“And yet once upon a time, you would have died for me,” Chaplin mused. “Now you’re too busy to even make a phone call.”
