by Sharon Sala
“How ya feelin’, kid?”
Every ugly memory came rushing back, and she felt like crying. This was where I came in, she thought, only now it was the wrong cop leaning over her.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.” He touched the side of her forehead lightly, and grimaced. “I didn’t catch you in time. You gave yourself quite a lump.”
Jessica reached for her head in a panic and then sighed. At least they hadn’t shaved any more hair. Stone still teased her about the—Her breath caught on a sob. Stone. Would he ever tease her again?
“Help me up,” she said.
“I don’t know if you should—”
“I won’t faint again.”
There was something about the tone of her voice that told Jack she was serious. He helped her get up.
“Tell me what happened,” she begged. “I have a right to know.”
Jack pointed toward a middle-aged man who was in the act of getting out of a car. “Nothing’s happened. You didn’t miss a thing, and a hostage negotiator just got here. Maybe he can make some headway into this mess.”
She looked so lost, so small, so afraid, that Jack reacted before he thought. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, letting her lean against him for strength.
“It’ll be all right,” he said softly. And then more to himself than to her, he added, “It has to be.”
* * *
Except for the steady stream of Trigger’s curses and an occasional sob from one of the hostages, the bank was almost silent. The bank of phones had been quiet for at least a quarter of an hour, and that told Stone, more than anything else, that the police were taking control of everything within their power.
Garrett had been back and forth to the vault at least a half-dozen times, and each time he’d gone, they’d heard him shouting to a brother who was beyond his reach. Each time he would come back, his actions were a little more frantic, his control slowly slipping.
Stone watched, knowing it wouldn’t take much to set the man off. Just a slip of the tongue, or a panicked hostage, and someone would die.
And while Stone was watching, a phone on a nearby desk started to ring. Everyone, including the cornered trio, jumped. The phones had been quiet for so long.
It rang. Seven times, then eight, and then Stone lost count of the number. Intuition told him a negotiator was probably on the other end of the line, waiting for someone to pick up the phone. They were trained to calm snakes like Garrett. Maybe with a little TLC, he would let some of the hostages go.
“Why don’t you answer it?” Stone said. “It might be for you.”
Garrett spun, a snarl on his face that would have stunned a lesser man. “So, hero, you’re turnin’ psychic now, are you?”
He drew back his gun to deliver another blow when the man they called Scanlan grabbed him by the arm.
“What if he’s right?” Scanlan said. “We need to find us a way to get out of here.”
Primed for violence, Garrett hit him instead, and Scanlan staggered from the unexpected blow.
“You bastard!” Scanlan shrieked, and reached for the assault rifle hanging over his shoulder.
For once, Trigger did something that actually made sense. He fired one round up in the air, and everyone, including Garrett and Scanlan, dropped to the floor.
“Well now,” he said. “Now that I have your attention, don’t you think it might be a good idea if we didn’t shoot at ourselves?”
Garrett crawled to his knees, but the worst of his anger was over. Scanlan got up with his gun aimed straight at Stone’s head.
“I saw you lookin’, pretty boy,” he said softly, and poked the gun at Stone’s shoulder. “You want some of this? Huh? Do you? Do you?”
Stone didn’t move. Didn’t answer. And to his undying relief, Garrett finally picked up the phone.
“What?”
When Garrett remained silent, listening intently, Stone figured his guess had been right.
“No one’s hurt,” Garrett said suddenly, and then he looked toward the row of hostages. “I’ll rephrase that,” he drawled. “No one is dead…yet.”
Silence again, and Stone watched Garrett’s face, trying to read by his reactions what the negotiator might be saying.
“No, I ain’t got no demands,” Garrett said angrily. “Unless you got someone out there who can open the time lock on a vault, I ain’t goin’ nowhere, and neither are the good citizens of Grand Springs here who have decided to keep me company.”
Silence again, only this time it was brief.
“No, I ain’t willin’ to let no one go. My brother is locked in that vault, and until he comes out, no one’s goin’ anywhere.”
Then the look on his face shifted to the row of hostages on the floor. His eyes narrowed angrily as his gaze fell on the young teller who’d messed up their plans.
“And you all better be hopin’ my little brother is alive when that vault comes open, cause if he ain’t, I’m gonna start shootin’ ’em down where they lay…startin’ with the smart aleck who calls hisself David Clark.”
He slammed the phone down, and then turned around and took it off the hook.
“Negotiations are over,” he said shortly. “Bed down, people. We got ourselves a wait.”
* * *
“What did they say? What did they want?” Jessica asked as Jack came back to her side after talking with the negotiator at some length.
He frowned, and then shook his head. “It’s not good.”
Jessica grabbed his arm. “What do you mean? And what was that shot? Is anyone hurt?”
Jack refrained from telling her exactly what the negotiator had said. The way he figured it, Jessie was on a “need to know” basis, and right now, she didn’t need to know it all.
“They said everyone was okay. The shot was supposedly some sort of warning. And as for what they want, I guess we’ll have to wait till morning to find out.”
Jessica paled and glanced down at her watch. It wasn’t quite three o’clock. Morning was forever away.
“Morning? Why are they waiting till morning?”
“Because, somehow, one of them got locked in the vault and they say they aren’t leaving without him.”
Jessica paled. “Oh, Jack! Anything could happen between now and then.”
He led her back to the shade. “Yeah, kid, and don’t we all know it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Breakfast was served in the lobby of the Bank of Grand Springs, compliments of four vending machines in the employees’ break room. The vending machines, and the thirteen citizens of Grand Springs, would never be the same.
Last night had been the longest night of Stone’s life, and he could only imagine how some of the older people had fared. The floor had been rock hard and cold, and the three bank robbers had fought among themselves right up until daybreak.
After that, Garrett, who still proclaimed himself the leader, had seemed to calm. Now Stone saw him watching the clock, as if willing time to fly faster to the eight o’clock hour. To the moment that the time lock and the vault would give up his brother.
The fact that the robbers had also had to deal with thirteen people and their bodily functions had added friction they could have easily done without. It seemed that at one time or another, someone needed a bathroom, or water to take medicine. Once, hysteria had played a strong-enough role with one of the women hostages that she’d clapped a hand to her mouth, and bolted for the bathroom without asking for permission.
Scanlan had swerved at the sound and taken aim with his rifle just as Stone lifted his hand in a shout.
“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. She’s just sick.”
The interruption stalled Scanlan’s intent long enough for the woman to make it to the bathroom without being shot, and when the obvious sounds of retching filled the lobby of the bank, Garrett started to curse.
He kicked at the young teller responsible for the locked vault. “This is all yo
ur fault, you SOB. If you hadn’t tried to play hero, we wouldn’t be here, waiting for that damned vault to open. If anything’s happened to Cody, you’re gonna be the first to die.”
Stone glanced at the clock, then toward the front of the bank. He could see nothing but vacant streets from where he was sitting, but he didn’t have to see them to know that the entire force of the Grand Springs Police Department was somewhere nearby.
By now, he’d watched the hostages long enough to know which ones would endure, and which ones might break. And oddly enough, David Clark, the young teller who’d showed the first spunk by trying to lock both robbers in the vault, was the one he worried about most. Clark had tossed and turned all night, moaning and mumbling in his sleep, and now, since daylight had come creeping in through the windows, Clark’s gaze was more often on that front door, only yards away.
“Hey! You!” Garrett yelled, and pointed his rifle. “Get up and go make us some more coffee,” he ordered. “And don’t pull no funny stuff or I’ll splatter your old man where he lies.”
The woman’s gaze flew to the man beside her, then she looked back up at Garrett, got to her feet and started toward the back of the bank to the employees’ break room. The man they called Trigger was right behind.
Stone breathed a quiet sigh of relief. One more injury-free incident behind them. He glanced at the clock. It was fifteen minutes until eight. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the back of the counter, and for the first time in a long, long while, he started to pray.
He prayed for himself, and for a chance at a life with Jessie. For the twelve other people being held hostage—and for a stranger who’d spent the last twenty-two hours of his life locked up in a vault.
All he could think, was God, don’t let him be dead.
* * *
When Jessica woke, she found herself stretched out at one end of a back pew in St. Veronica’s Church, and as she struggled to sit up, she vaguely remembered coming in here sometime after midnight. Her head hurt horribly, and she tested the side of her scalp with her fingertips. The knot on her head was still there. Brenda was stretched out at the other end of the pew, her hand pillowed beneath her cheek, still asleep. Jessica sat up, looking at her surroundings in disbelief, then covered her face in despair.
Dear Lord, it’s real.
Just for a moment, before she’d opened her eyes, she’d almost convinced herself it had been a bad dream. Last night, Jack Stryker had told her to go home and try to get some rest. She’d given him a look Stone would have recognized as total defiance, and walked down the street to St. Veronica’s Church, instead. Brenda had found her there after dark, and together, they’d stayed in the church on their knees, praying for a miracle that had yet to occur.
Jessica glanced at her watch. It was only a little after seven. Almost an hour before the vault would open. And then what? she wondered. Would they let everyone go? Reason told her no. The hostages were their only bargaining power. A sick feeling of defeat swept through her, and she looked up to the altar for strength.
A priest was coming toward them down the aisle, and the compassion on his face was almost more than she could bear. When he touched her shoulder, she took his hand.
“Is there any news?” she asked.
“No, my child. Nothing has changed. Mrs. Daubish has just brought food and fresh coffee to my quarters. Won’t you and your sister come eat with me? I would be honored.”
Jessica glanced over her shoulder at the door. “I should go see if anything has—”
“Please,” the priest urged. “Eat first. You must keep up your strength for what has yet to come.”
Jessica’s lips trembled. “And what will that be, Father? What’s going to happen to Stone, and to all the other hostages inside?”
His touch was gentle as he urged her up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that. No one knows the future but God.”
And as he spoke, something occurred to Jessica that she hadn’t realized before. She wasn’t sure, but it felt as if that thing—that knowing that had been plaguing her life for the past two months—was no longer with her.
She thought back over the past twenty-four hours. Not once had she had an inkling of foreboding, only fear. She’d had no flash, no image darkening her mind to warn her of upcoming danger. In a way, she felt empty—even cleansed. The priest was still waiting for her answer. She looked back at Brenda, who was already rousing.
“Thank you. I’ll wake my sister and we’ll be there shortly.”
He smiled, and then pointed toward a door to the right of the altar. “My quarters are through there, and then to your left. Come when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”
Jessica turned. Brenda was sitting up in the pew with a puzzled expression on her face. Jessica couldn’t help but smile. Brenda’s hair was flat on one side, and there was a red imprint on the side of her face where she’d laid on the hard wooden pew.
“For a moment I forgot where I was,” Brenda mumbled, and then frowned as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Mercy, do I look as awful as I think I do?”
Jessica reached out and touched her sister’s hand. “You look beautiful to me, and you will never know how much I appreciate you being here.”
Brenda leaned over and kissed Jessica’s cheek. Her heart went out to her sister, and to the people who’d been taken hostage. “Has anything changed?” she asked.
Jessica stood. “I don’t think so, but I’m anxious to go see. The priest was here moments ago. He asked us to have breakfast with him.”
“Good,” Brenda said. “I’m starved.” And then she looked into Jessica’s eyes and knew that food was the furthest thing from her sister’s mind. She reached out and touched Jessica’s cheek, and then pointed toward her head. “Are you all right?”
Jessica felt for the scar on the edge of her hairline, and then her fingers moved to the knot on her head. One injury had started it all, maybe this injury had ended her ability to see.
She nodded, a look of wonder on her face. “You know, sis, I think that I am. But I wish I was as certain of Stone.”
Brenda smoothed at her hair and clothes, and then fiddled with Jessie, combing her fingers through her younger sister’s hair and straightening the collar of her shirt. Not because Jessie’s hair was a mess, but because she wanted to give her hope, and love was all she had to give.
* * *
Cody Garrett stumbled out of the vault, half laughing, half crying as his brother braced his fall.
“Oh, damn, Aaron, I knew as sure as my name was Cody Joe Garrett that you wouldn’t leave me. All the time I was in there, I knew you wouldn’t leave.”
Voices carried in the near-empty lobby, and even though Stone was on the other side of the room, he heard the man’s cries and his blood ran cold.
Aaron? Aaron Garrett?
He knew the name. The man was on the FBI’s ten-most-wanted list, although his appearance was drastically changed from the picture on the wanted poster. He had a rap sheet as long as Stone was tall, and none of it was pretty. He’d been in and out of prisons most of his life, and for everything ranging from burglary, through gunrunning, to assault with a deadly weapon. The only thing Garrett hadn’t been convicted of was murder, and Stone figured it wasn’t because he hadn’t done it, but rather, because he’d never been caught in the act.
Cody Garrett made a break for the bathroom, and when he came out, his brother was holding some food and two cans of pop. He bolted it down like a starving dog, hardly chewing, biting it off instead, in gulping jerks.
Finally, Cody wiped his hand across the back of his mouth and turned toward the front of the bank where the hostages were being held. He frowned, and the scar across his nose knitted like a purse string.
“Now, where’s that little bastard who shoved me into that vault? I got a bone to pick with him.”
David Clark started to whine beneath his breath like a cornered animal, and Stone shook his head in a warning manner, reaching o
ut and gripping the young teller’s shoulder, urging him to stay calm.
“They’re going to kill me,” Clark whispered, and then looked away, his gaze focusing on the expanse of floor between him and the bank’s front door.
“I don’t think so,” Stone hissed. “Try to relax. Don’t let them know you’re afraid.”
Nearby, the man they called Trigger heard their whispers and darted toward them in a quick, antsy hop.
“Shut the hell up!” he screamed, and jabbed the gun in their faces.
Stone silenced instantly. Ever since daybreak, he’d been watching the little man’s feverish antics. From the way Trigger was behaving, Stone figured he was in desperate need of a fix. There was an old rule that cops always followed. A man with a gun was a dangerous man. A junkie with a gun was deadly.
Suddenly, Clark started to sob, his shoulders hunched where he sat, his face hidden against his knees.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. I’ll never see my wife and baby again.”
They were coming closer. Stone’s hands curled into fists and he held his breath, willing himself to a calm he didn’t feel.
“There you are, you little bastard!”
Cody Garrett’s shout was all the warning Clark was going to get. Instinctively, he rolled into a ball, begging for mercy from a man who had none.
Clark’s shrieks of pain were drowned out by the unexpected squeal and squawk of an amplified megaphone, and then words began echoing within the canyon of buildings outside and drifting into the bank.
“This is the Grand Springs police. We want to talk. Please hang up your phone.”
David Clark was losing control. Prostrate before his captors, he clawed the floor on which he lay, begging and sobbing, pleading for his life.
Stone touched Clark’s ankle. It was all he dared do. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate Aaron Garrett any further. But the expressions on the hostages’ faces ranged from hope to fear. Now that the brother was out of the vault, the obvious question was on everyone’s mind. Would their captors be willing to negotiate, and if they did, then how? Since the incident had begun, they’d each lived with the knowledge that they might not survive.
