Nobody But You B&N

by Barbara Freethy

  "Okay. I'll tell you what happened to me. There was a guy who was harassing my fiancé, one of her coworkers. He would follow her, take pictures of her walking down the street and send them to her. One night I saw him outside of our apartment. Stephanie wasn't home. He was waiting in the shadows for her, but he got me instead. I confronted him. He gave me a smug smile and said something to the effect of having my fiancé. I hit him. One punch, and he went down. He hit his head on the sidewalk and died in the hospital an hour later."

  Hallie stared back at him with wide eyes, but so far there was no hint of disgust, so he went on. "The prosecutor twisted what happened between us, and he persuaded the jury that I was paranoid, jealous and angry enough to kill an innocent man who was interested in my girlfriend. The man wasn't innocent, but he was clever, smarter than me. He'd covered his tracks."

  "But your fiancé must have defended you?"

  "She tried, but she fell apart on the stand. Her words were taken out of context. She got confused. It was bad. In the end, I went to jail."

  "It sounds so unfair."

  "It felt that way to me."

  She considered his words, and he was happy she hadn't rushed to judgment, although he couldn't imagine why she hadn't. Everyone else had been eager to form an immediate opinion.

  "Did you mean to kill him?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I just wanted him to leave her alone. But I acted stupidly. It was a bad decision to confront him, one I've had plenty of time to think about."

  "When did you get out?"

  "Seven months ago. I've been trying to start over, but my old life is gone, and I haven't quite figured out where my new life is going."

  "You have time."

  "I guess." He fell silent as the phone on the desk rang again. This time—finally—the man in the Yankee cap strode forward to answer the call. "Looks like they're ready to deal," he murmured.

  "Let's hope the cops are, too."

  "Yeah?" the gunman said. After listening for a moment, he added, "You don't need to know my name." He paused again, his gaze moving toward Max. "He's fine, barely injured."

  Spencer's lips tightened. Obviously, the police knew Max was hurt. They must have been able to regain some of the security video before the cameras were destroyed.

  "No one is going anywhere," the gunman said. "We want a car at the door and two hundred thousand dollars in unmarked bills in a bag on the front seat." He listened again. "No one comes out until the car is here. I don't have to give you anything in return. You have fifteen minutes before we start killing hostages." He slammed the phone down without waiting for an answer.

  "My brother doesn't have fifteen minutes," Spencer said to Hallie. He directed his next words to the gunmen. "You need to send out a hostage, show you're cooperating."

  "We don't need your advice," the hooded man said.

  "Look, you can let my brother go. I can carry him to the front door and put him outside. The paramedics can take him from there. He's no good to you. You can't use him as a shield. You can do that with me."

  "Or me," Hallie put in. "I'll go with you."

  "Hallie, no," Spencer said, but he could see the fighting light in her eyes.

  "It doesn't matter if I die. I should be dead."

  "Shut up—both of you," the hooded man replied. Then he and his partner moved away to talk again.

  "They're not going for it," Spencer said. He looked into Hallie's gaze. "Thanks for the offer. That was brave."

  She shrugged. "I just want to do something good for a change."

  "You're doing that now. You're helping me save my brother's life."

  "I hope so," she said. "If your hands are getting tired, we can switch."

  "No, I'm good," he said, keeping the pressure on Max's abdomen. "Maybe the police will act quickly knowing that Max is hurt. Hopefully, it's five minutes instead of fifteen."

  * * *

  Emma couldn't stand the waiting. Every minute seemed like an eternity. After getting kicked out of the SWAT van, she'd been sidelined behind the police tape. Her father must have called her mother and siblings at some point, because her entire family and bridal party now surrounded her.

  As she glanced over her shoulder at the group, it seemed a surreal site, a bridal party in gold gowns and black tuxedos gathered outside of a bank on a cold winter night. They were supposed to be at the reception now, drinking champagne and making toasts.

  They were not supposed to be waiting out a hostage situation with Max's life in jeopardy. She could still see his body on the ground, blood spreading across his white shirt, Spencer rushing to his side and then some other woman coming over to help. Had they stopped the bleeding? Was the wound bad? She had a million questions and no answers.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and prayed for Max to make it through.

  Burke came over to her side. "I just talked to Brady. They're making a deal. There should be some action soon."

  "What kind of action?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  "You do know, Burke, tell me." As a firefighter and arson investigator, she'd worked hostage situations before. She knew how delicate and dangerous the negotiation could be.

  "They're going to get them a car and some cash," he said, compassion in his eyes.

  Out of all of her family members, Burke probably came the closest to understanding her feelings right now. He'd lost his fiancé in a car crash just a few weeks before they were supposed to get married.

  "Are they really going to let them walk out and drive away?" She didn't believe that for a second. "They're going to at least try to take a hostage with them."

  "That won't be a man who's injured. Max won't be their shield."

  "You're right. I just want this to be over."

  "I'll see if I can find anything else out."

  As Burke walked away, she returned her gaze to the bank. She'd gone to this branch a million times. She knew some of the tellers by sight. And nothing bad had ever happened. Why today?

  "Em?"

  She turned her head at the tentative voice and for some reason the sight of her brother Sean's face put tears in her eyes. He'd made it. And maybe because he'd made it, Max would, too. It was a completely irrational and illogical thought, but she grabbed on to it anyway.

  He opened his arms, and she gave him a hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Sorry I'm late. I should have left a day earlier, given myself more time. I don't know why I didn't."

  She knew why he'd put off the trip, because Sean was uncomfortable at family events. He was the lone ranger, the one Callaway who didn't fit in, the black sheep, at least in his mind, and probably her father's, too. Sean and her father had been at odds for as long as she could remember. In fact, sometimes she thought there was something more between them, something so deep and so private that only the two of them knew what it was. But whatever it was that stood between them, she hoped someday it would disappear, because she missed Sean being in her life.

  "I'm just glad you're here now," she said. "Max was shot. I don't know how bad it is, but I don't think it's good."

  "He's tough. Max will fight his way back to you, Em."

  "I know he's trying."

  "What can I do for you, Em? You need anything?"

  "Just Max."

  Sean nodded. "Do you want me to go? Nicole said you didn't want to talk to anyone."

  "I don't want to talk, but I wouldn't mind the company," she said, knowing that Sean could stand quietly by her side and not say a word.

  "You've got it."

  They stood in silence for a few minutes and then Emma found a need to break the silence. "I'm going crazy. Tell me something to distract me. Tell me about your band."

  "It's good. We just finished a three week tour through the Pacific Northwest."

  "Where are you going next?" she asked.

  "Nowhere. I'm going to be in San Francisco for a while. We're spending the next few weeks in the studio."

 
"That's great."

  "Maybe," he said, doubt in his voice.

  "What? You don't want to be home?" As she looked at him, she saw his gaze dart across the crowd to the woman standing close to Nicole. It was Jessica Schilling, the mother of Brandon's twin brother, Kyle. Nicole had told her that she thought there were sparks between Sean and Jessica, but Nicole had not wanted to encourage that connection. Jessica was practically one of the family now, and Sean didn't have a track record for long-term relationships. Nicole didn't want Sean to break Jessica's heart and cause a rift between Jessica and the Callaways, which, in turn, could hurt Brandon and Kyle's relationship.

  As Sean didn't answer, she prodded, "Sean?"

  He finally looked back at her. "What was the question?"

  "Why don't you want to be home?"

  "It's complicated."

  "Is it Dad who complicates things? Or someone else?"

  He smiled. "You're always so curious, Em."

  Before she could press for more information, the police moved some cones to allow a car to drive past the barriers. The sedan stopped just a few feet from the front door. "Something's happening," she murmured, her heart jumping into overdrive.

  Sean put his arm around her shoulder. She appreciated the warmth, because she was shaking with nervous chills.

  She prayed to God that Max would be the first one out.

  Chapter Seven

  Max groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

  "He's waking up," Spencer murmured, excitement in his voice.

  While Hallie appreciated the fact that Max was regaining consciousness, she didn't want him moving. She put her hand around Max's cold fingers and said, "Stay still. Everything is okay. Don't move." Max seemed to settle a bit at her words. She looked back at Spencer. "We need to keep him quiet—for a lot of reasons."

  Understanding flashed in Spencer's eyes. He knew as well as she did that besides the medical implications of Max awakening, jostling his wound and restarting the bleeding, it was better for all of them if Max remained still and didn't factor into any actions the robbers were considering. They were probably lucky that the gunmen had never looked at their I.D.'s, never realized Max was a cop. If they had, they'd probably be even more panicked than they already were.

  She looked across the bank, watching the men pace and argue and then take a quick break to check the window. It was clear that they weren't in agreement about their next step or who was in charge. The hooded man seemed to be the most unpredictable. He was the one who'd shot Max without a second thought. The guy in the Yankee cap seemed more reasonable, but he was also getting worried. And why wouldn't he be? She couldn't imagine that the cops were going to let them walk out of the bank and drive away.

  Max stirred again, his fingers twitching under her hand. He stretched one of his legs and then grimaced in pain. She put her other hand on Max's shoulder and leaned down next to his ear. "Don't move, Max. We need to get you back to…" She paused, looking at Spencer. "What's her name? The bride?"

  "Emma."

  She leaned back down. "We need to get you back to Emma, Max, but you have to stay still, so you don't start bleeding again."

  His lips parted. "Emma," he breathed. "Love—love you."

  Hallie's heart tore a little at his words. He thought she was Emma.

  "Don't forget," he murmured.

  "He thinks you're Emma," Spencer said.

  "Then I'll be her." She squeezed Max's hand and said, "You have to fight, Max." She took a deep breath, not sure she could say the words she needed to say for Max, for Emma, because she hadn't said those words since her fiancé had died. In fact, her greatest regret was that she hadn't had a chance to say those words to Doug before he passed away. That night they'd been bickering a little, nothing serious, just the things couples do. What a waste of conversation and time that had been. How she wished she could have those moments back.

  She couldn't change the past for herself or for Doug, but maybe the words could mean something now, to another man who really needed to hear them. She put her face right next to Max's. He was so weak, she could barely hear his breath. She needed to give him some strength.

  "I love you," she whispered. "And I need you to come back to me. You have to stay still and rest, so the bleeding doesn't start again. You can do this, Max. Don't quit on me. We're not over yet. We're getting married, and we're having a future."

  She sat back on her heels, hoping he'd heard her, hoping that he could hang on for the woman he loved. While she'd seen a lot of people die, she'd also seen a few miracles, and she wanted one for this man.

  "Thanks," Spencer said.

  "I hope it helped. I don't know what Emma would have said."

  "Exactly what you did. He's calmer now."

  "I hope he stays that way." She tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear as she looked out across the bank. "I wish these guys would calm down. The longer this goes on, the more nervous they get, and that makes them more dangerous. I thought this would be over by now." She could feel the tension rising in her own body. She needed to calm down, too.

  "Tell me about the island you're going to," Spencer said.

  "I don't know."

  "You do know. Concentrate on that, Hallie."

  She tried to focus on the dreamy image of paradise that had been getting her through the last few weeks.

  "Are there palm trees?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Wide beaches?"

  "With sand so hot it burns your toes," she said slowly.

  "Good. What else?"

  "The sea is blue-green, and the fish are so colorful, snorkeling is like looking through a kaleidoscope."

  "Let's not forget about the rum," he said with a small smile.

  "They put those little umbrellas in the drinks. And they have hammocks strung up between the trees where you can nap." She paused. "I think I might be able to sleep there. It will be quiet, no noises to wake me up and make me want to dive for cover. The only sound will be the waves crashing on the beach. But I've already missed my flight."

  "You'll catch another one."

  She nodded, realizing her pulse had slowed back down. "Thanks. I was getting wound up."

  "You're doing great, Hallie. And when we get out of here, I'm going to buy you a rum drink with one of those umbrellas. I know a place right here in the city that makes them. It won't be your island bar, but it will tide you over until you can get there. What do you say?"

  "That this is a first."

  He sent her an enquiring look. "What do you mean?"

  "It's the first time I've been asked out while I was trying to save someone's life and my own."

  "I wasn't asking; I was telling," he said, a cocky note in his voice. "We're getting out of this, Hallie. And I'm going to buy you that drink. You can bet on that."

  She liked his confidence. "You're on."

  As she finished speaking, the phone rang again and the Yankee-capped man strode to the desk to answer it. He listened, then hung up and turned to his partner. "The car is here and the money. We're good to go."

  "That's it? It seems too easy."

  "I was just thinking that." Yankee set down his gun on the desk and walked to the window. "There are a million cops out there, probably snipers on the roof."

  "I don't like it," the hooded man said. "They're setting us up."

  "What do you want to do then? We can't stay in here all night."

  Hallie sighed as their debate began again. At this point, any action was preferable to no action, especially where Max was concerned. His momentary calm had passed, and he was starting to move his legs now. He was also trying to pull his hand out of hers. She tightened her grip, then looked at Spencer.

  "We have to do something," he said grimly.

  She nodded. "The bleeding is starting up again, and he can't lose any more blood." She licked her lips, unable to believe what she was about to suggest. "I think we have to make a move."

  He stared back at her. "I agree."


  "You do?"

  "Yes. We can wait it out, but Max can't. You're going to have to take over here, so I can try to get a jump on one of them."

  "I can help. I'm a soldier. I know how to fight, Spencer."

  "Not like this."

  "Close enough," she said, remembering all the hand-to-hand combat training she'd undergone. It had been a long time, but she could do it. "You take one; I take the other. I think we can do it." She actually had no idea if they could do it or if they were about to commit suicide, but she didn't want to see Max die right in front of her without trying everything she could to save him.

  His lips tightened. "We're only going to have one chance, one moment of surprise."

  "The guy in the baseball cap put his gun on the desk," she said, meeting his gaze. "Now is the time."

  "All right," he said decisively. "Start screaming. Pretend Max is dying, and you're terrified. Get hysterical on them. It will draw them over."

  "Then what?"

  "I'll jump the closest guy."

  "Or I will."

  "They could shoot you, Hallie."

  She knew that was a real possibility but she was tired of being a victim. "I'll take the risk."

  "All right. Ready?"

  "More than ready." She drew in a breath and then started screaming. "Oh, my God, oh my God!" She put her hands on Max's chest as if she were searching for a heartbeat. "He's not breathing anymore. He's dying. Help! Help!" She jumped to her feet.

  "What's going on?" the hooded gunman demanded, running over to them.

  "We have to get him out of here," she yelled, waving her hand at Max. "Look, he's not breathing anymore. I have to get help. I can't let him die." She jerked to the right, and the gunman instinctively reached for her left arm. It was exactly what she wanted. She brought her other fist down hard on the back of his hand, the hand that was holding the gun.

  He swore and dropped his weapon. It skidded across the floor. As he made a move to retrieve it, she kicked in the groin. He doubled over in pain.

  Spencer leapt up and grabbed the gun off the floor. He was ready when the second man raced towards them, and he wasted no time pulling the trigger.