by Sharon Sala
Aaron Garrett cursed at the interruption, while Scanlan made a move Stone didn’t expect. He stalked to the phone and slammed the receiver back down on the cradle, then glared, daring Garrett to argue. Within seconds, it started to ring.
“This heist was your idea, so you find a way to get us out of this mess,” Scanlan said.
Garrett shifted the assault rifle into a lock-and-aim position, but Scanlan didn’t flinch.
And the constant ringing of the phone punctuated the silence in which they stood.
* * *
Jessica came out of the church and started down the street toward the police barricades, Brenda right behind her. She could see Stryker standing in a huddle of men, talking and gesturing angrily, while uniformed officers crouched behind their cruisers, their guns aimed at the bank.
Then the town clock began to chime. It was eight-fifteen.
Someone pointed, and Stryker turned. He walked away from the group, meeting Jessica halfway.
“Jessie, go home.” Then he looked at Brenda for support.
Brenda shrugged. “I tried, but I’m not leaving her here alone.”
Jessica ignored them both. “Is there any news?”
“No. But if you go home, I swear I will call you the moment anything changes.”
Although her knees were shaking, Jessica stood her ground.
“You can’t make me leave,” she said. “I need to be here. I need to know when it happens.”
He cursed and turned his back on the women, unable to deal with the prediction Jessie had made about Stone. When he faced her again, he’d regained his composure.
“Then, come with me. And you’ve got to promise you’ll stay where I put you.”
She clutched his arm, her eyes wide and beseeching as she looked up at his face.
“You’ll never know how much this means to me.”
“Yes, I think I do,” he muttered, and then managed a wry grin before escorting her and Brenda behind the SWAT unit.
“Gentlemen, this is Stone Richardson’s…fiancée, and her sister. Treat them right, or you’ll have to answer to me.”
The men smiled, and then politely looked away, each of them well aware that the man in question was one of the hostages.
Jack turned, giving Jessica a last warning look. “I’ll check on you from time to time and keep you updated, otherwise—”
“I know,” Jessica said. “Stay put.”
He shook his head. “I hope Stone knows how lucky he is.”
Jessica’s expression shifted. “Yes, actually, he does.”
Moments later, Jessica was sitting on the curb beside her sister. Shoulders touching, heads leaning toward each other without speaking. Waiting for it to be over.
* * *
Aaron Garrett reached for the phone. When he did, everyone breathed a quiet sigh of relief, including his three cohorts, who wanted out in the very worst way.
“Yeah?” he growled. “Start talkin’.”
Garrett’s face flushed angrily as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. “I ain’t got the problem. I got me thirteen of your finest citizens. Now, I want four parachutes delivered to the bank within the hour. Don’t try no funny business with ‘em, cause I’m gonna repack ’em myself. I want a ride to take me and my men to the airport. I want a plane standing by with just the pilot on board. I take one hostage to assure our safety, and after we jump, the pilot and hostage will go free.”
After listening for brief seconds, Garrett screamed into the phone. “I’m callin’ the shots. It’s my way or no way. And I’m real inclined right now to just start shootin’ people, starting with the son of a bitch who caused this whole mess.”
David Clark jerked. In a move that no one expected, he was suddenly scrambling to his knees and then crawling, trying to get to his feet to make a run for the door.
Stone’s heart dropped. Trigger was already screaming and taking aim. If one of them died, then the robbers would have no qualms about killing the rest. Before he could talk himself out of the notion, Stone leaped to his feet, shouting for Clark to stop.
Stone never heard the gun go off, but he felt the bullet’s impact as it knocked him off his feet. He fell facedown on the floor, right on top of the hysterical teller who’d made a futile break for freedom.
Oh, God. Oh, God. It happened, just like Jessie said.
Stone rolled over on his back and tried to sit up, but the room kept tilting and spinning. His shoulder was burning, like he’d fallen into a fire. He reached up to touch it and his hand came away wet. He looked down at his blood. It was everywhere and still running—spilling out of his body and onto the floor.
A horrified silence followed the act, yet no one made a move to help, and in that moment, Stone was faced with the truth of Jessica’s final dream.
Blood…everywhere…people looking…no one moved to help.
He groaned and put his head between his knees, afraid to pass out. To live, he needed to stay in control.
Garrett stared in disbelief while the phone lay on the counter beside him, forgotten in the shock of the moment. He stalked to where Trigger was standing and slapped him in the face. The blow popped loudly. “What the hell have you done?” Garrett shouted, and drew back again.
“They was makin’ a break for the door,” Trigger whined, holding his cheek.
“No. One of them was makin’ a break, the other was tryin’ to stop it. Now look what you done.”
Trigger’s little eyes bugged at the blood running between Stone’s fingers.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You shot a cop.”
Scanlan cursed beneath his breath and turned to hit the wall with his fist. Cody Garrett giggled, and when no one joined him, he looked down at the floor. Aaron Garrett turned red, then pale, then he started to curse. Trigger slunk quickly away.
“Who said that?” Garrett snarled, raking the line of hostages with the point of his gun.
The old man’s wife held up her hand. “I did.”
Garrett shoved his gun in front of her nose. “What did you say?”
Her face was lined, but her eyes were alive with a fire that belied her age. “I’ll say it again. You shot a cop. Now they aren’t going to give you a toothpick, let alone what you asked.”
“You old bitch,” Garrett snarled. “I oughta—”
“Go ahead,” she said, acceptance for her fate in her voice. “Go ahead and shoot me, too.”
“What if I shoot your old man, instead,” Garrett snarled.
Tears filled her eyes, but her gaze never wavered. “It won’t matter. He’s already dead.”
Stone groaned and then rolled, trying to get up. He got as far as his hands and knees.
“I’m not dead,” he muttered. “Get back on the phone. Talk fast or they’ll come in after the lot of you.”
It was a bluff, but in the heat of the moment, it worked.
Garrett picked up the phone.
The negotiator was repeating the same phrase, over and over. “Talk to me! Someone pick up the phone and talk to me!”
* * *
The burst of gunfire had been evident out on the street. To a man, every cop in the area went into a crouch, while the SWAT unit suddenly burst into action, running toward their captain to await further orders.
Jessica gasped, and then whispered a prayer as she got to her feet. But true to the word she’d given Jack, she didn’t move a step farther. “Oh, God—dear God.” It was all she could say.
Brenda’s panic was evident as she slid her arm around Jessie’s shoulder.
“That doesn’t mean it was Stone,” she said.
Jessica was mute, her face colorless, her mouth little more than a thin, grim line. She stared without wavering toward the door of the bank, as if by thought alone, she might see through the stone walls. She heard what they said, but she knew better. It was Stone who’d been shot. She knew, because she’d already seen it happen. In the past. In her sleep. In her dreams.
“Talk to me! Somebody talk to me!” Hank, the hostage negotiator, was shouting. He wiped a shaky hand over his eyes, then covered the receiver with his hand.
“I heard someone say a cop has been shot.”
Stryker grunted as if he’d been the one to get hit, and he pivoted sharply, looking at the place where he’d left Jessie and stared in disbelief. She’d been right all along! He thought of his partner, and all the years they’d spent together on the force, and he exploded in anger.
“Get a medic in there,” he whispered harshly. “Find a way to get a damned medic in there now!”
Hank started to shout, repeating the same phrase over and over.
“Someone pick up the phone and talk to me. Hello! Hello! Talk to me. Somebody talk to me!”
Suddenly the same man was back on the phone.
“What happened?” Hank asked, trying to maintain calm in his voice when he felt like cursing.
“It was an accident,” Garrett growled, and then tried to carry it off with bravado. “And if I don’t get what I want, someone else might be next.”
“You broke faith, my friend,” Hank said, his head spinning as he tried to work through his thoughts to what he believed might work. “You need to show some compassion so we can continue in good faith. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Garrett was starting to sweat as Hank’s voice burned in his ear.
“I want you to let the hostages go, starting with the one you just shot,” Hank said.
“I’ll just bet you do,” Garrett snarled, and then there was a commotion behind him and he spun in time to see the cop falling facedown on the floor. His heart plummeted and he kept telling himself that the damned cop wasn’t dead, he’d only passed out.
“Let him go, and then we’ll talk,” Hank said.
“No one goes out. But you can send in a doctor. No cop. Just a doctor. He can fix up the guy that got shot.”
Hank spun, frantically waving for the chief of police. Frank Sanderson was there within seconds. His remark was terse, his patience thin.
“What?” he barked.
“He’ll let me send in a doctor.”
Sanderson frowned. “And add another hostage to the situation. Hell, no! Make him send whoever’s hurt out.”
“They said it was a cop who got shot. Isn’t Richardson one of yours?”
Sanderson blanched, and before he could think what to say, Erik Chang was at his elbow.
“Let me go in, chief. Before I was a cop, I worked as an EMT. I’ve got a black belt in karate, and Stone is my friend. Besides, I owe him.”
Sanderson shook his head. “No way. I’m not going to give them two cops to shoot at instead of one.”
“They’ve already got twelve other people for targets. One more won’t make that much difference,” Chang said. “Besides, I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Hurry, damn it,” Stryker said. “He doesn’t have much time. He’s bleeding bad.”
They all stared at Stryker in disbelief. “How do you know that?” they asked.
Stryker pointed at Jessica. “I guess you could say a little bird told me.”
“Someone get me an EMT uniform,” Sanderson yelled, then pointed at Chang. “You get rid of your gun and ID. We’re operating on a ‘need to know’ basis here, and they don’t need to know squat.”
Hank took his hand off the receiver. “We’re getting a medic,” he said quickly. “Tell your men not to shoot. He’s coming in.”
* * *
Jessie laughed and Stone reached out, wanting to capture the sound and the joy on her face.
“What’s so funny?” he growled as he pulled her close against his chest.
“Nothing,” Jessie said, and snuggled willingly within his arms.
“Then, why the laughter?”
Her arms tightened around his waist as she looked up into his eyes. “Because I’m so happy.”
* * *
Stone awoke with a jerk, and the pain that came with cognizance nearly blinded him. Just as he was opening his eyes, he remembered where he was and what had happened. The dream in his mind was just that…a dream. He groaned and looked up—right into the familiar face of Detective Erik Chang.
“Lie easy, sir,” Chang said, hoping that his generic behavior and professional manner would alert Stone to the deceit he was trying to practice. “I’m an EMT. You’ve been shot, and I’m tending your wound. The bullet exited your body, so there is no extraction necessary, but I’m applying a pressure bandage to alleviate the bleeding. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
Stone lifted his hand toward the place on his shoulder where the fire continued to burn. Chang pushed his hand away.
“Don’t move. Don’t talk. Let me do all the work, okay?”
Chang’s face was going in and out of focus, but Stone heard what was said and somehow understood. In lieu of nodding, he blinked. Once. Then took a deep breath and continued to watch as Chang went on with his work.
It was a small blink, but Chang breathed an inner sigh of relief. He was here and Stone was alive. For now, it was enough.
* * *
Stryker knelt in front of Jessica and touched the side of her cheek.
She looked up, stark misery on her face.
“We think Stone has been shot.”
Jessica moaned. Even though she’d known it, hearing the words said aloud seemed too ugly to bear.
“Easy now,” Stryker cautioned, looking to Brenda for help. “We’ve got a man inside. He’s a trained EMT. He’s doing all he can for Stone.”
“And if it’s not enough?”
He wasn’t prepared to answer that. He stood suddenly and started to walk away.
“Stryker.”
He turned.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ruth Dean had been right. Her husband was dead. Chang had been ordered to check the old man, but it was too late.
She’d been staring at her husband’s face all along, but when Chang spoke, she stiffened, and then she looked up, straight at the men who were holding them hostage. To Chang’s relief, they were talking among themselves, unaware of the animosity in her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She looked back at her husband. “Yes, so am I.”
Behind Chang, Stone began to rouse once more, and Chang turned, his hand on Stone’s shoulder, urging him to quiet. He leaned lower, making sure his words were for Stone’s ears alone.
“Can you hear me?” Chang whispered.
Stone’s eyelids fluttered, and then he looked up. “Yes.”
“Don’t open your eyes,” Chang whispered. “Let them think you’re still out.”
But Stone gripped Chang’s arm, for the moment refusing to give up to the overwhelming weakness.
“Do you have a gun?” Stone asked.
Chang shook his head, and then glanced back at their captors. “I was searched when I came in. I couldn’t take the chance,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to see where the men were.
Cody was nowhere in sight, Trigger was lighting up a smoke with shaking hands, and Garrett and Scanlan were still arguing.
Urgency was in Stone’s voice as he continued. “Don’t mess with them, Chang. They’re bad. The one in charge is Aaron Garrett, the young one is his brother. Don’t know the others, but they call themselves Trigger and Scanlan.”
Chang recognized the Garrett name all too well. For the first time since volunteering to come in, he wondered if he’d made the wrong move. And then Stone tightened his grip, and the thought disappeared.
“Do you have anything in that bag that would knock them out?” Stone asked.
Startled by the idea, Chang thought, and then nodded. “But there’s no way to get it in all of them. I might be able to inject one, but that would leave three mobile, and it just wouldn’t work.”
Stone could feel himself weakening again, but he’d had more than twenty-four ho
urs to figure this out.
“Coffee,” he mumbled, grabbing onto Chang’s hand in a futile effort to keep from passing back out. “They drink coffee by the gallons.” Then he closed his eyes and sighed.
Chang frowned. The idea had merit, but Stone was close to passing out. And then the old man’s widow startled him as she grabbed his arm.
“Give it to me,” Ruth whispered. “They keep making me do it…make the coffee, I mean. Give it to me. I’ll make sure it gets in.”
Stone’s eyes opened once again, and his head turned just enough to lock into the old woman’s gaze. The cold look on her face was all he needed to see. He grabbed Chang by the wrist to get his attention.
“Yes,” Stone whispered. “Let her do it.”
Although it went against Chang’s training to involve the public in what should be police procedure, he dug through the paramedic’s bag until he found what he wanted. With one eye on their captors, and the other on the bottle in his hand, he drew a syringe completely full of pure morphine.
“Ain’t you about through over there?”
Stone closed his eyes while Chang froze—the syringe still in his hand, his hand still in the bag. Masking his expression, he looked up. The man they called Scanlan was less than ten feet away.
“Just about,” he said calmly, and let the syringe fall back in the bag.
Scanlan took a step closer. “What are you doing in that bag?”
Chang pulled out an empty syringe. “I was going to give him a shot of painkiller, but he’s allergic, see?” He pointed to the Medic Alert chain hanging from Stone’s neck.
Scanlan leaned over, frowned, and then poked Stone with the toe of his shoe. “Just don’t let him die, you hear? I ain’t willin’ to go down for no murder.”
As Scanlan moved away, Chang grabbed the loaded needle from the depths of the bag, capped it and quickly slid it across the floor. It came to a stop beside Ruth’s ankle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old woman reach down and pick it up, then slip it down the front of her blouse. When she leaned back, there was a look of satisfaction on her face.
