Nobody But You B&N

by Barbara Freethy

  She wanted to help. The nurse inside of her needed to help, but what could she do? She'd been ordered to stay put. And even if she hadn't, she'd given up on medicine months ago. She'd told herself that never again would she be faced with a life and death situation—never again would someone's entire existence be in her hands, because she wasn't up to the task. She'd let down her profession, her father, and herself. And she just wanted to put it all behind her.

  But there was a man in front of her who was dying. And Spencer didn't know exactly what to do. He was trying, but he wasn't getting it done.

  She licked her lips, fighting the panic still running around in her head. She could do this. She could try to help, she told herself.

  And then the hooded gunman suddenly pulled out his gun and started shooting.

  She instinctively hit the ground, heart pounding, waiting for the explosion of pain. But all she heard was a shower of glass. She slowly lifted her gaze, realizing that the man had simply shot out the security cameras.

  She tried to breathe, but it seemed almost impossible to take in air. The people next to her were crying. One of the women was praying. She felt like doing both, but in the past neither crying nor praying had gotten her anywhere.

  Max was whispering to his brother, encouraging him to fight. Maybe she needed to fight, too. She cleared her throat, but her voice still came out scratchy and rough. "You need to make a compress," she said to Spencer.

  Spencer looked at her, and she could see the fear in his eyes, but also the determination, and it gave her courage. "Can I help him?" she said more loudly, drawing the Yankee-capped gunman's gaze to her. "I'm a nurse."

  He gave her a long look, then shrugged. "Fine."

  Hallie got up and moved quickly to Spencer's side. She pulled the scarf off of her neck and bundled it up. Spencer lifted his fingers, and she shoved the material under his hands. "More pressure," she said. "Use the heels of your hands." As Spencer did as instructed, she took off her coat and threw it over Max's upper torso, wanting to keep him as warm as possible.

  The phone on the desk rang again. The two men still didn't answer it.

  She looked at Spencer. "They don't know what to do," she whispered, realizing that the robbers' indecision and inexperience might make this situation even worse.

  "No," he agreed. "We have to find a way to make them work with the cops. My brother can't die, Hallie. He's getting married today."

  "Then we need to do something fast," she said, meeting his gaze.

  "It's bad, isn't it?"

  She couldn't count how many times someone had asked her that question, how many times she'd had to crush a dream. She'd told herself she was done with all that, but here she was again. And her only answer was the truth. "Yes, it's bad."

  * * *

  Emma stood by the small window in the dressing room at the church. She had her arms wrapped around her waist, but she was still cold—icy cold. Fear and worry knotted her stomach, bringing nausea along with the chill. Something was terribly wrong. It was now thirty minutes past when the ceremony was supposed to start, but there was no sign of Max. He wasn't answering his phone. In fact, it appeared that he had turned it off, because now it went straight to voice mail. If he had turned it off, then he'd seen her number on the screen, and he'd chosen not to talk to her. But that didn't make sense.

  Max wanted to marry her. He'd told her just last night that he'd never been this happy in his entire life. And he'd kissed her like he was never going to let her go. But he had let her go, because they'd decided to spend the night before their wedding apart. She'd gone home to her parents' house while he'd stayed in the apartment they shared. Now, she wished those hours back. Had something happened during the night? Had he been suddenly filled with doubts? Had he changed his mind about wanting to get married?

  No, she told herself firmly. She'd spoken to him a few hours ago, and he'd joked that she probably wouldn't recognize him in his tux, because he was more a jeans and jacket kind of guy. There hadn't been a hint of anything wrong in his voice.

  She drew in a shaky breath and let it out as she watched the parking lot. It was full. No vehicles were moving. Everything had come to a standstill. The guests were still packed in the church—waiting…

  And she was alone. She'd ordered everyone out of the dressing room, because she couldn't stand the pitying looks or the endless reassurances. She loved her family, but at this moment the only person she needed was Max.

  The door behind her opened. It wasn't Max who entered the room, but Nicole. At her silent question, Nicole shook her head. "He's still not here, Emma. But there are a lot of people looking for him."

  "He didn't stand me up, Nic."

  "I don't think he did."

  "Which means something happened to him."

  Nicole gave a helpless, frustrated shake of her head. "I don't know." She paused, hesitation in her eyes.

  "What?" Emma demanded, knowing there was something else on Nicole's mind.

  "There's another ceremony scheduled for seven-thirty tonight."

  "What does that mean?"

  "The priest said we can hold the church until seven. That's another forty minutes. I'm sure Max will arrive by then."

  She wanted Nicole's words to make her feel better, but they didn't. The reminder of time passing only made the fear worse. "I'm scared," she whispered. "Max is never late. I'm the one who runs behind schedule. He's always waiting for me."

  "Try to stay positive. I know that's not going to be easy."

  "It's impossible."

  "Max loves you, Emma. He's going to find a way to get to you, no matter what has happened."

  The door opened again, and Emma could see her family hovering in the hallway, but it was her father, Jack Callaway, and Max's mother, Susan Harrison, who made their way into the room. Susan was crying. At the look on her future mother-in-law's face, Emma felt another wave of terror, and she reached for Nicole's hand for support. "What's happened?" she asked.

  "Max's car was located in the lot behind the bank three blocks from here," Jack said.

  "He's at the bank?" she asked. "Isn't it closed by now?"

  "Yes." Jack stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "The bank was robbed just before closing, Emma, and it's turned into a hostage situation. Max and Spencer are inside."

  "Oh, my God!" She put a hand to her heart. "But he's all right, isn't he?"

  "I assume so. They haven’t let any of the hostages go yet. The negotiations are just beginning."

  "Let's go to the bank," she said immediately.

  "Emma—"

  She shook her head at her father, not letting him finish. "I am not going to stay here and wait. I want to be there when Max comes out. I need to be there. Please don't argue with me."

  "I'll take you there," he said.

  "Thank you."

  Her mom took off her coat and handed it to her. "At least wear this, Emma. It's cold outside."

  Emma pulled the coat on over her wedding dress and followed her father to the door, telling herself with every step that Max was going to be fine. He was a cop. He knew how to handle himself. At the same time, she worried that because he was a cop, he could be in more danger. At least Spencer was with him. They might have had their differences in the past, but she knew Spencer would do everything he could to protect his brother.

  * * *

  "They're on something," Hallie murmured, watching the gunmen pace around the bank, their movements nervous and agitated.

  "Which makes them more dangerous," Spencer said, his expression grim. "They're not thinking rationally."

  "Why aren’t they talking to the cops?" The phone had rung three times in the past five minutes. A hostage negotiator had gotten on a loudspeaker telling them that the bank was surrounded and to pick up the phone. But so far the gunmen had done nothing more than argue with each other.

  "They don't know what to ask for."

  "Does it matter what they ask for? The cops aren't going
to give it to them, are they?"

  "Maybe they will, if they want to keep the rest of us alive."

  She swallowed hard at the thought of more gunshots, more blood, more death. She was barely keeping it together, but she couldn't lose it now. Later—later, she'd break down, let go. Hopefully by then she'd be on her beautiful island in the middle of the ocean, letting the sun soak away her troubles, and the rum flow through her veins bringing peace and forgetfulness.

  But her island image was hard to cling to when she looked down at the man on the floor. Max's face was ashen, and while the blood flow had slowed down, it was still seeping through the scarf and Spencer's fingers.

  "Press down a little harder," she said.

  Spencer frowned. "I'm hurting him."

  "No, you're saving him, trust me."

  "You've worked on gunshot wounds?"

  "More than I can count. I was an Army nurse."

  "Was?"

  "I got tired of watching people die." The stark words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Spencer stared back at her. "My brother can't die, Hallie. Max is the good one. I'm the screw-up. It should be me on the floor, but Max had to be the hero. He had to try to save that woman."

  "I think he did save her, if that's any consolation."

  "I should have jumped up first. I saw her going for the alarm. I just didn't want to draw attention to her. But if I'd moved—"

  "You can't change what happened. I've been down the endless road of 'what ifs'. It doesn't get you anywhere."

  "You're probably right." He looked away from her to the gunmen. The men weren't paying them any attention, too wrapped up in their own discussion of what to do next. Turning back to her, he said, "What happened, Hallie?"

  She didn't know how to answer that question. "A million things."

  "Give me one."

  "Well, the worst thing was watching my boyfriend die and knowing that he wouldn't have been where he was if I hadn't wanted to talk to him. He would have been far away from the bomb blast if it weren't for me. And I've gone over that night so many times in my mind, thinking how one different decision would have changed it all. But like I said, playing that game doesn't make anything better."

  "I'm sorry."

  She shrugged, because nothing he could say would take the pain away. It was her constant companion.

  "Wrong place, wrong time, doesn't make you to blame, Hallie."

  "Maybe. But that wasn't the only thing I did wrong that night." She paused. "I'm not the good one, either."

  He met her gaze. "Hard to believe."

  That's because he didn't know her, didn't know the depth to which she'd sunk. Her own father could barely look at her now. All her life she'd tried to live up to his very high bar, but she'd fallen short. It was another reason why she wanted to escape. The last place she wanted to be at the holidays was with her family.

  She shook her father's disapproving image out of her mind and focused on Max. She wished she could do more for him, but he needed surgery. They just had to keep him alive until they could get him to the hospital.

  "The bleeding is slowing down," Spencer said.

  She didn't know if that were true or just Spencer's wishful thinking. But she did know if this didn't end soon, Max wasn't going to make it to his wedding or to his bride.

  Chapter Six

  Emma spent her days racing to fire scenes. She was no stranger to sirens, crime scene tape, or strobe lights, but the beams bouncing off the dark buildings in the commercial area surrounding the bank got her heart pounding even faster. She was not going to a job; she was going to Max, and that changed everything.

  The police had closed off the street, so her father double parked about a block away, and they jumped out of the car. As her feet hit the pavement, she was assailed by a wave of terror that almost knocked her down. But she forced herself to keep moving. She had to find out what was happening.

  As they neared the command post, she saw the SWAT van, and the enormous police presence outside the bank, and the knot in her throat grew bigger. She wasn't surprised at the show of force. Max was a cop. The department would work as hard as they could to bring him out safely.

  A tall, dark-haired man wearing body armor approached them as they ducked under the police tape. She recognized him immediately. It was Brady O'Neal, who played basketball with both Max and her brother, Burke. Brady was a hostage negotiator, and she didn't like the somber expression in his eyes. "Brady, what's happening? Is Max in there?"

  "We believe so," Brady said, his mouth drawn in a tight line. "His car is in the lot. We haven't been able to make contact with the gunmen yet."

  "How many are inside?" her father cut in.

  "We're not sure. The security cameras went out when we arrived, but the techs are working on getting the video up until that point. We should have it soon."

  "How do you know they have guns?" she asked.

  His lips tightened. "Several passerby reported shots fired."

  Her stomach turned over. "God," she breathed.

  "Don't go to the worst scenario," he said quickly. "We don't know anything yet."

  "Max wouldn't stand by and do nothing if someone was shooting."

  "He also wouldn't do something stupid," Brady said. "He's an experienced cop." He gave her a long, commiserating look. "I'm sorry, Emma."

  "We were supposed to be married by now, having our first dance, making our first toast," she said. "I had this feeling earlier that it was all too good to be true. I was right."

  "You weren't right," her father said. "You're going to marry Max, and you're going to be happy." He let his words sink in, then added. "I'm going to talk to Henry, see what he knows." Henry was another cop and one of her father's closest friends. While the cops and firefighters had a friendly rivalry in the city, when it came to taking care of each other, they were all brothers.

  A man stuck his head out of the SWAT van. "Brady, we've got a feed."

  "Stay here," Brady said, then ran toward the back of the van.

  She hesitated for one second, then followed him up the steps. The cops inside were too busy looking at the monitor to notice her presence.

  On the video, two men with guns could be seen walking back and forth in the middle of the bank. A teller was collecting cash. And in the corner of the shot, she could see Max and Spencer on their knees, hands in the air. She felt a wave of relief. They were okay.

  Then everything changed. Someone moved, a flash of red in the corner of the screen. Max jumped to his feet. A gun went off. He stumbled and fell to the ground, blood spattering across his dress shirt as Spencer rushed to his side.

  "Oh, my God," she whispered in horror.

  Brady turned around and hustled her out of the van.

  "That was Max. He's hurt," she said. "They shot him, Brady."

  "I know," he said, giving her a little shake. "You need to stay here, let us do our job, Emma."

  "I want to help."

  "Then don't get in the way."

  "You have to save him, Brady. You have to. Promise me."

  "I'm going to do everything I can," he said grimly.

  It wasn't a promise, but it was all she was going to get.

  * * *

  Spencer stared down at Max's face. It appeared that his brother's skin was taking on the faint hue of blue, or was that just the strobe lights flashing through the upper portion of the uncovered windows? He looked over at Hallie, needing her reassurance.

  Her face was tense, her jaw tight, her eyes filled with determination but also fear. She was checking Max's pulse and after a moment she nodded. "He's hanging in there."

  A part of him wondered if she was telling him a comforting lie, but he chose instead to believe her words, because any other scenario was too terrifying to contemplate. He shifted his body as his legs began to cramp from the tight position. He was careful to keep the pressure on Max's wound. Thankfully, the bleeding had slowed down.

  He glanced across
the bank where the men were in yet another discussion about whether or not they should answer the phone. He was desperate for them to get the negotiations started, to take some sort of action. It was Max's only chance. But these idiots didn't know what to do. "We had to get the stupidest bank robbers on the planet," he muttered angrily.

  "I wouldn't tell them that," Hallie replied.

  "Maybe I should. They need some advice."

  "They're not going to take it from you. Unless…" She paused. "You showed them a tattoo before. What does it mean?"

  "It's a prison tattoo, the same one the hooded guy has on his arm."

  "You were in prison?" she asked, surprise in her eyes.

  "For seven years. Manslaughter. I killed the man who was stalking my fiancé," he added, making short work of a long story.

  "Sounds justified. How did you end up in jail?"

  He could hear the doubt in her voice, and he wasn't surprised. Everyone had questioned his side of the story. "It's a long story."

  "Tell me at least part of it."

  "I can't. I have to think of a way out of this."

  "There's no way out, Spencer, not unless they pick up the phone and start talking to the cops."

  "How can I make them do that?"

  "You already tried. Let's just do what we're doing." She drew in a shaky breath. "I feel sick."

  "Hang in there," he said, seeing the distress in her eyes.

  "I'm trying. I could really use a distraction from all the blood."

  He hesitated, taking another quick look across the bank. Their captors weren't paying them any attention. They were confident they had this group under control, and they did. Spencer was the only one who could probably do something, and he couldn't take his hands off of Max's abdomen.

  "Spencer," Hallie said. "Please talk to me."