You Must Remember This

by Marilyn Pappano

  The chief looked from him to Hal, then back. “If he’s ticked with Hal, why does he have someone else as hostage?”

  “Being the big man that he is, Hal grabbed a woman walking by and used her so he could escape.” Martin’s voice dropped a tone or two and became thick with emotion. “It’s Juliet.”

  The chief gave him a look of sympathy before turning to Hal. “Is anyone else in the building?”

  “My assistant has gone to lunch.”

  The chief grunted acknowledgment, then began shouting orders. Officers started to evacuate the surrounding buildings. Others pushed the crowds back even farther, and still others began clearing the traffic stopped on the block preparatory to setting up barricades.

  Martin stood where he was, staring at the building and listening to Hal explain the layout to the chief. The building was two stories and maybe fifty feet wide. Hal’s offices occupied the first floor, and the second floor was empty, used only to store some cartons. Years ago a dance school had filled that space. There were a few cubicles in the corners—an office and dressing rooms—but the rest of the floor was open, one large expanse of hardwood floor with mirrors on the two long sides. The stairs came up at the back—half a flight, a large landing, then the remaining half flight.

  Brown had taken Juliet to the second floor. Martin was convinced of it. There were two windows at the front of the building where he could keep an eye on what was going on out here, two windows covered with blinds that denied a rooftop sniper even a glimpse into the room. There was only one way in—the stairs—and the way Hal described them, it would be virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up them unnoticed. Even if he managed, cardboard cartons didn’t provide much cover, and there were the mirrors, reflecting every move he made.

  There was no phone on the second floor, but Brown, being the consummate businessman, had his cell. Once they’d located the number, the chief called him. “Maxwell, son, I don’t know what’s going on here, but this is no way to deal with it. Let my computer programmer go, put the gun away, and we’ll talk.”

  What was going on? Martin wondered as he stared at the second-floor windows. What had happened to make Maxwell Brown panic? Why had he gone looking for Hal Stuart with a gun, apparently intending to kill him? Maybe the Big Blue shipment had been diverted by untrustworthy employees. Maybe it had been discovered by the authorities. Maybe Hal had finally connected Brown to Olivia’s murder and had threatened to go to the police. Maybe he’d tried to blackmail Brown. Maybe—

  The touch of a hand on his arm startled him. He jerked around to see Stone standing beside him.

  “She’ll be okay,” the detective said quietly.

  Martin wanted to believe it, more than he’d ever wanted anything. While one part of his mind had been fixated on the situation, the other part had been frantically praying, offering God whatever deals were necessary to keep Juliet safe. He would leave her and Grand Springs, would give her up completely and live the rest of his life missing her if that was what it took. Or he would stay, would stay here forever, would marry her and spend the rest of his life loving and keeping her safe. He would do anything, would trade places with her, would trade his life for hers.

  “She’ll be okay,” Stone repeated. “Maxwell Brown—”

  “Is a killer.”

  Stone stared at him. “How did you—”

  Now it was Martin’s turn to stare. How did you know? the cop had been about to ask. Not, Why do you say that? Not, Are you crazy? Not, Brown is a respectable businessman, but, How did you know? Which meant that Stone knew, too. Which meant— “You found Dean Springer, didn’t you?”

  Stone’s gaze narrowed. “Nobody outside the department is supposed to know that we picked him up this morning in Denver. Did Juliet tell you?”

  Martin shook his head. No doubt she would have once she’d reached the restaurant, but thanks to Brown—and Hal—she’d never made it.

  “Then how do you know?”

  “We’ve been trying to prove a few theories of our own.”

  “Such as?”

  Martin dragged his hand through his hair and watched the chief for a moment. Sanderson didn’t seem to be making any progress with Brown. “We think Brown is using his trucking company and his car dealership and his airplanes to smuggle drugs. The mayor found out, and he had her killed.”

  “And you came to this conclusion based on…?”

  “Instinct.”

  “You’re right. Springer admitted everything.” Stone’s look was part chagrined, part disbelieving. “Instinct. A man without a past and a woman who eats, breathes and sleeps computers, and your instincts are better than the combined resources of the Grand Springs PD.”

  Staring at the building again, Martin shrugged. “I think…maybe I had some experience with drug smuggling.”

  Stone didn’t immediately discount his words the way Juliet had. Of course, Stone was a cop, which was just another way of saying a cynic. He was paid to look twice at people, to not take them at face value, to look at actions and suspect motives. Juliet was an innocent, a woman who knew machines better than people, a woman in love. She wanted to believe the best of him.

  “If Brown lets Juliet go, will the chief let him walk?” he asked abruptly.

  “He ordered the murder of our mayor,” Stone reminded him, then reluctantly answered his question. “I don’t think so.”

  Martin didn’t like the answer, but it didn’t surprise him. That wasn’t the important question, anyway. What mattered—all that mattered—was whether Brown was desperate enough to kill Juliet. If he knew he had nothing to gain by holding her, he might let her go. But if he knew he had nothing to gain by freeing her, he might kill her. It would be his last defiant act, his last chance to flout the law.

  Because, without Juliet, Martin would have nothing to gain by showing restraint, nothing to lose by venting his rage. He would have no choice at all.

  He would kill Brown.

  * * *

  The air on the second floor was stifling and dancing with dust. Juliet sat in the middle of the floor, fifteen feet from the front of the building, in a straight-backed wooden chair, one of a dozen that had lined one wall. Her hands were tied behind her back with a length of faded pink ribbon, left behind by some long-ago ballerina, and her ankles were secured to one wooden chair leg with Maxwell Brown’s silk tie.

  She was hot. Hungry. Thirsty. And she had to go to the bathroom.

  She tried to smile mockingly, to make fun of her urgent needs. She hadn’t been here more than an hour, and it looked as if she would be here a lot longer, but suddenly everything she felt was intensified. The mild hunger she’d felt before leaving her office was now ravenous. Her throat was as dry as if she’d been days without water, and the bathroom… Well, the others might be exaggerated by the situation, but she really did have to go to the bathroom, more with each passing minute. As long as she concentrated on that, she didn’t have to think so much about the situation she was in.

  Brown stood at the front of the room between the two windows. Twice he’d talked to someone on his cell—the police, she assumed—and both times he’d hung up in anger. Another half-dozen times he’d listened to it ring repeatedly before finally shutting off the power and laying it on a nearby chair. Since then he’d stared at the wall.

  She would be absolutely terrified if Martin wasn’t outside. As it was, she was pretty damn scared. After their first excursion to the trucking company warehouse, she’d thought she wanted more excitement, thrills and danger in her life, but she’d been wrong. All she wanted now was to lock herself inside her pretty little house with Martin and Hunter and never come out again. She never wanted to be excited again. God help her, if she lived through this, she would never go looking for danger again.

  “Excuse me.” When Brown gave no sign of hearing her, she cleared her throat and spoke louder. “Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Forget it? It’s a
natural function of the body. It occurs whether you want it to or not. I can’t forget it.”

  “There’s not a bathroom handy.”

  “Oh, please. This was a dance studio. Little kids came here for dance classes that lasted an hour at a time.”

  Finally he gave her a derisive look over one shoulder. “And your point is?”

  “Kids go to the bathroom at the drop of a hat. They have to go all the time when they’re supposed to be doing something else. One of those little rooms has to be a bathroom.”

  Acting as if she were more trouble than she was worth—and if that’s true, then, please, God, make him let me go!—he checked first one corner, then the other. The third door he opened led into a bathroom.

  He untied her hands, then stood guard while she undid the tie around her ankles. Nudging her with the gun, he followed her to the small room, backing off only when she closed the door.

  The room was tiny and dusty. There was no window and only the flimsiest of locks on the door—probably so teachers could rescue small children who locked themselves in. If she’d ever been forced to take dance lessons, that was an option she would have considered.

  After taking care of business, she washed her hands, then caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was white, her cheeks bright crimson, and her eyes had doubled in size. She looked scared half out of her mind. She was scared. Maxwell Brown was a cold-blooded killer. He’d had no qualms about ordering the murder of a woman he’d known most of his life, a woman he’d chaired committees with, danced with at charity balls and publicly declared a friend. Apparently, he’d been ready to deal the same fate to Hal until she’d had the misfortune to walk past. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, too, if he thought it necessary.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She was too young to die. She had too much unfinished business. Who would take care of Hunter? Who would finish the work she’d started? Who would deal with her house? And who would love Martin?

  The doorknob jiggled, and she rapidly wiped her hands across her eyes. She was turning toward the door when suddenly it swung open under the tremendous force of a kick, brushing just millimeters past her and bouncing off the wall.

  “No more locking the door,” Brown said. The twisted metal that had once been the lock ensured that.

  With the gun pointed square in her back, she returned to the chair, where he tied her once again. “Why are you doing this?” she asked as he walked away.

  “Over the last twenty years I’ve made a lot of money. I’ve lived quite a life.” He smiled a chilling smile. “I’ve grown accustomed to luxury.”

  And, of course, prisons could hardly be described as luxurious. “This is pointless. They’re not going to let you walk out of here.”

  “Don’t tell me that, sweetheart. If a hostage can’t guarantee safe passage, then what is she good for besides killing?”

  She clamped her mouth shut for a time, then murmured, “I don’t deserve this.”

  “No, you don’t. I don’t even know who the hell you are. Sanderson said something about computers?”

  “I’m setting up the new systems at the library and the police department. My name is Juliet.”

  He snorted. “Too bad there’s no Romeo around to save you.”

  But there was. He was outside, and he was looking for a way to rescue her. She knew he was.

  The minutes crawled past. Her gaze kept straying to the big clock on the wall, but it had stopped working ages ago. According to it, it was eleven-eighteen forever. Her shoulders were starting to burn from the awkward position, and her fingers had lost some sensation. She was miserable, but misery she could deal with.

  Terror, she couldn’t.

  After a time—a few minutes? a few hours?—Brown turned on the phone. It rang almost immediately. For the first time he gave the chief a list of demands: all officers pulled back at least a block, transportation to the airport, one of his own pilots and one of his own planes, fueled and ready to go. If there were no attempts at capture or rescue, if they got away safely, at the first opportunity, he would instruct the pilot to land and would release Juliet. If not, he would kill her.

  She wondered if Chief Sanderson believed him. She wondered if she did. On the one hand, if he had a pretty clean getaway, why add another murder to the charges against him? That seemed foolish. On the other hand, she could see his face, his expression, his eyes. Why leave a witness who could testify against him? That was foolish, too.

  Apparently, the chief tried to negotiate. Brown grew angry and snapped, “You’ve heard what I want. Now get it!” and disconnected the call.

  Once his annoyance had slipped away, Juliet cleared her throat and timidly asked, “Now what?”

  “Now we wait.”

  * * *

  Night had fallen. Only a few die-hard gawkers remained on the sidewalk behind the barricades. Chief Sanderson had turned control of the situation over to Stone and gone home. Hal had gone home, too, hours ago, with a couple of officers assigned to keep an eye on him. With Brown holed up inside the office building, he didn’t need the protection, Hal had insisted. They weren’t there to protect him, the chief had explained. He’d left it to Hal to figure out that they were there to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

  Twelve hours ago, if it’d been up to him, Martin would have thrown Hal in jail. Hell, he’d have hurt him, maybe even killed him. Of course, he wasn’t bound by the constraints of the law, like the chief was. All Sanderson had was the word of an admitted killer that Hal Stuart had been part of Brown’s drug operation. They needed corroborative evidence before they arrested and charged one of the most influential people in town, but they could keep an eye on him until such evidence was found.

  “Any suggestions?”

  Martin didn’t look at Stone but kept his gaze focused on the blueprints of the building. Spread over the hood of a police car, they confirmed everything Hal had said. Brown couldn’t have picked a better place to take a hostage if he’d planned it. There were only two entrances—the front door and an alley door. There was only one staircase. Unlike TV movies, there were no convenient heating shafts running overhead. “Any assault would have to be straightforward—through the windows or up the stairs. Rappeling down from the roof and in through a window would give us the element of surprise, but we’d be going in blind.” He glanced at Stone, but the detective didn’t react to his use of we. It was a done deal—in his mind, at least—that he would be part of any rescue attempt. There was no way in hell he was going to trust Juliet’s life to anyone else. “We wouldn’t know where Brown and Juliet are until we were actually in the room. That second or two to get oriented is enough time for him to kill her.”

  “But coming up the stairs, we’d be visible from here on up.” Stone pointed to a spot about halfway up the second flight. “We would have to take him out immediately or we’d be sitting ducks.” He glanced up at the dark windows. “The chief really wants to take him alive.”

  “That’s not the chief’s choice. If Brown’s willing to be taken alive, he will be. If not…”

  After a moment of silence, Stone asked, “Do you know how to rappel?”

  “Yeah.” He hadn’t done it since before last June, but he knew. He figured it was something you never forgot. Like riding a bike. Like sex. Making love with Juliet, though… That’d been a whole different experience.

  “You know how to use a gun?”

  “I used to score around two hundred and ninety-five on range qualifications.” He didn’t waste time wondering how he knew that.

  Stone gave him a long, level look, then shook his head. “You’re an interesting man, Martin. You talk like a cop, but, according to the FBI, you’re not. You seem to think you’re a crook, but, according to the FBI, you’re not that, either. I’d like to know what’s locked away inside that head of yours.”

  So would he, he thought grimly.

  “We can’t do anything without the chief’s go-ahead, but in case he gives it, tomorrow mornin
g, go out to the range with me. I want to see just how good you are. We might be able to use you.”

  Martin nodded, then stared up at the second-floor windows. He was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life, but the fear was walled off. He could think, talk, plan. He just couldn’t feel. He was cold, mechanical, fully in control. When all this was over, when Juliet was safe in his arms, that would be the time for feeling, for reacting, for falling apart. That would be the time to tell her he loved her, that no matter what secrets his past held, he would love her forever.

  And if it ended badly? If he never held Juliet again, if she could never hear the promises he wanted to make? He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw a little tighter, clung to his control a little harder and detached himself a little further. No ifs. Just whens. It would end, and she would be safe. She had to be.

  She was his life.

  The cell phone in Stone’s pocket rang, and every man on the block swung toward him. He talked for only a moment, then hung up. “He wants food, and he doesn’t want a cop bringing it in.” His gaze connected with Martin’s. “What do you think? Want to get a look at what we’re up against?”

  “You bet.”

  Stone sent a cop down the street to the diner, then opened the trunk of his unit and pulled out a bulletproof vest. “Put this on under your shirt.”

  Martin stripped off his T-shirt and pulled the bulky vest over his head. He’d done this before, he thought grimly. It felt too familiar to simply be a case of déjà vu. A criminal wearing a bulletproof vest. That was an interesting thought. But why not? By the very nature of their work, crooks were in a more dangerous field than cops. Cops generally only had to worry about the criminals. Criminals had to worry about cops, other criminals and victims who chose to fight back.

  He pulled his shirt on again and smoothed it down. Already a snug fit, it stretched over the vest. Every bump, strap and seam were clearly visible.

  “Here, try this.” Stone pulled off his leather jacket and handed it over. The fit wasn’t perfect—about a size too big—but that was okay. Under the circumstances, too big was perfect.