by Pamela Clare
The relief on Nick’s face made warmth blossom in her chest.
He loved her. He still loved her, despite their fight. And she loved him.
“I’m so sorry—for everything.” He glanced over his shoulder, pressed a finger to his hidden earpiece. “We need to get you out of here—now.”
“Where is HRT?”
“In the basement, trying to defuse a bomb.”
Oh, well, that explained a few things—such as why Moreno was still living and breathing and hurting people.
“Do you want to lie low, or do you want to be part of the takedown?”
“Are you kidding me?” She grabbed her panties out of his hand, stepped into them. “Give me a freaking weapon.”
* * *
23:10
Five minutes.
Was that all that remained of Sophie’s life with Marc?
She’d thought they still had a lifetime ahead of them. Watching Chase and Addy grow up. Proms. Weddings. Grandchildren. Gray hair. But unless SWAT raided the hotel in the next few minutes, one of them was going to die. And she was terribly afraid she knew which one of them it would be.
“How much does your husband love you?” Moreno asked the question with a smile, his tone of voice mocking, his cell phone buzzing in his pocket.
“You’re despicable.” The words were out before Sophie could stop them. “My husband is strong, brave, honorable—all the things you’ll never be.”
Moreno’s smile faded, his upper lip curling. “Is he honorable enough to die for you? Would he give his life to save yours?”
Oh, yes, he would. He’d proven that years ago when he’d jumped in front of a bullet meant for her. He’d sacrificed his future for his sister and niece. He was in this situation tonight because he’d been trying to save lives.
Oh, Hunt.
But Sophie didn’t answer Moreno. The bastard was excited by her fear, by the control he had over her, over all of them. If these were the last five minutes she had on this earth, she wouldn’t spend them dancing on his string.
She turned away from him, her gaze seeking out Matt, who had just offered to die for her. He stood not far away, Alex still holding him back. She wished she could give him a hug. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, as if Moreno’s unwillingness to kill him instead were somehow his fault.
Mr. Baird looked up at her, shrugged. “I didn’t know he was going to do this. I ... I didn’t know.”
“Shut up!” Alex shouted at him. “You’re pathetic.”
Sophie willed herself to look into his eyes. She couldn’t blame him for being afraid, for wanting to save his own life, but he had betrayed Marc to a killer. She said the kindest thing she could think of under the circumstances. “Don’t ever speak to me again.”
Her pulse was racing now, her heart thudding behind her breastbone, the minutes rushing by. Everyone in the room seemed to be staring at her.
Moreno’s phone buzzed again. Still he refused to answer.
Sophie’s gaze was drawn to the ballroom’s doors.
“It doesn’t look like he’s coming.”
Snickers from Moreno’s men.
And some part of her began to hope.
Maybe he was no longer here and couldn’t make it in time. Maybe SWAT was about to raid the place. Maybe he didn’t know because the FBI truly couldn’t reach him.
She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want Chase and Addy to grow up without her. But dying would be easier than facing every day of the rest of her life without Hunt.
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back.
“Two minutes left.” Moreno laughed. “Are you scared?”
Two minutes?
My God.
Her heart beat faster.
Sophie willed herself to smile. “Not for myself.”
There was so much she wanted to say to Hunt, to Chase, to Addison, to her brother, to her friends.
“If you kill either of them, Moreno, you’re going to bring a world of shit down on your head.” Reece’s voice brought Sophie’s gaze to the other side of the room, where he and Kara stood together, holding hands, helplessness and anger in their eyes. “Answer your phone. Talk to Kimble. There has to be a better way to resolve this than killing an innocent woman.”
Sophie gave Kara a smile, wishing she could tell her how much her friendship had meant over these past eleven years.
But Reece wasn’t giving up. “She had nothing to do with your cousin being in prison. She’s a mother of two little children, for God’s sake. Do you have children?”
“Not that I know of.” Moreno laughed, glancing around at his men, who laughed too. “One minute.”
He motioned one of his men over to her, cold fingers grasping her arm, pulling her roughly toward the doors.
Sophie looked over her shoulder toward Matt, time running out. “Don’t feel bad. Tell Marc not to blame himself. Tell him—”
“Tell me what?”
Marc!
Her heart gave a hard thud, then seemed to shatter.
She’d known he would come.
He stood just inside the ballroom door, shirtless and shoeless, duct tape stuck over a bloody wound on his rib cage, streaks of dried blood on his abdomen, his hands behind his head.
Tears filled her eyes. “I love you.”
13
Chapter Thirteen
23:15
Marc saw the terror in Sophie’s eyes and wanted to crush Moreno. He crossed the ballroom, came in between Sophie and Moreno, gave her a smile. “Sorry I’m late.”
He hadn’t meant to cut it so close. The moment he’d heard from DeLuca that Moreno was threatening to kill Sophie, he’d known his time was up. DeLuca had warned him that they wouldn’t be able to protect him. They couldn’t give themselves away until after the ED was defused. And Marc had understood.
He’d broken from the pack. He was on his own now.
But he wasn’t going to endanger anyone else. To make the FBI’s story work, Marc had stripped out of his tactical gear and stashed it somewhere the bastards wouldn’t find it before making his way to the mezzanine level. If he’d shown up in SWAT gear, he’d have blown it for all of them.
Sophie’s chin trembled. “I wish you hadn’t come.”
Something twisted in his chest.
He knew she meant it, but no way was he going to let a terrorist kill the woman he loved, the mother of his children. If Moreno wanted him, he could fucking have him.
“Not a chance.” He reached out, slid a thumb over her cheek.
Marc needed to buy time—for himself, for Sophie, for HRT.
He locked down his emotions, turned to look down at Moreno, who was shorter than he was by a head—and had deep purple bruises around his throat, as if someone had tried to garrote him. Had Holly done that?
“You’re not so big after all, Moreno.”
“You’re the mamagüevo who killed my men?”
“Yeah.” Marc crowded him, forcing Moreno to take a step back. “They had no clue what they were doing up there. You’d think they had never assembled a machine gun before. Oh, wait ... You mean they hadn’t?”
Moreno’s nostrils flared, and Marc could see he was pissed. “What did you do with the weapons?”
“I disassembled them, threw some pieces over the side of the building, and hid the rest.” He moved toward Moreno again, forcing him to step back once more, putting as much space as possible between him and Sophie.
One of Moreno’s men stepped forward. “We should send him up there, hold a gun to his bitch’s head, and force him to put the weapon together again.”
“¡Maldito idiota!” Moreno turned on the man, who backed quickly away. “He threw some of it off the side of the building. Do you think we should also open the doors and let him walk about in the streets?”
Come on, HRT!
“I could try, if you’d like, but that’s a lot of screws and shit to find in the dark.”
Moreno glared
up at him. “You killed my men, and now you’re going to die.”
Marc faked a Spanish accent. “‘My name is Commander Moreno. You killed my men. Prepare to die.’ You’ve watched too many movies if you think you can get away with killing a cop.”
Moreno glared at him, his brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“Princess Bride. You mean you haven’t seen ... ?” Marc raised his eyebrows, blew out a breath. “Wow. And, hey, man, what happened to your throat? You’ve got serious ring around the collar.”
Moreno looked completely confused now. He rubbed his throat, then drew something out of his pocket. “What you said about not getting away with it—you’re wrong. I have this.”
Marc knew he was holding the detonator in his hand, but feigned ignorance. “A garage door opener? Or maybe you push the button, and it turns you into a real man.”
Moreno glared at him, got right in his face—or his chest, really. “I push the button, and a bomb destroys this building and everyone in it. So don’t fuck with me.”
Gasps. Alarmed whispers. Crying.
Somewhere, a woman singing.
Kat. Poor Kat!
Marc raised a brow. “So if I fuck with you, you’ll commit suicide?”
“And kill everyone in this building, including your whore.”
Marc shook his head. “I don’t know, man. How is that a victory? If I were you, I’d want to go home in one piece.”
Moreno slid the detonator back into his pocket, jabbed Marc in the chest with a finger. “That is because you are a coward.”
Marc crowded him again. “You hit and hurt defenseless women and hold more than three hundred people at gunpoint, one of them a woman about to have a baby, and I’m the coward? When I took on your men, I was outnumbered four to one, and they had the rifles. Tell me, Moreno—who’s the coward?”
He saw in Moreno’s eyes the moment he snapped.
The bastard stepped back, motioned to two of his men, his gaze locked with Marc’s. “Take this piece of shit out into the hallway, make him get on his knees, and shoot him in the back of the head. If he resists, I’ll shoot his bitch.”
Marc turned to Sophie, took her into his arms, and held her tight, pressing a kiss against her hair. “It’s going to be okay, sprite. You’ll be okay.”
Her voice was tight with tears. “I love you, Hunt. I am so proud of the man you are. Chase and Addy are going to grow up so proud of their father.”
Marc caught her face between his palms, tilted it up toward his, kissed her on the mouth, his thumbs brushing her tears away. “You’re everything to me.”
Moreno’s men jerked him away, Moreno laughing as they hauled him off.
Marc caught Reece’s gaze. “Take care of her.”
Already, Matt and Alex had come forward and now stood on either side of Sophie, who watched him, terror in her blue eyes, tears streaming down her face.
They turned him around, forced him back out the doors and onto the balcony. At least they weren’t going to kill him in front of Sophie. He could be grateful for that. He caught one last glimpse of her over his shoulder—Sophie, his sprite.
“Down on your knees.”
“Suck my dick.” If he could just buy another few minutes…
One of them struck him in the back of the knees with the butt of a rifle, forcing him to kneel.
He’d thought he’d bluff his way out of this, fuck with Moreno’s head long enough for HRT to make its move, or maybe fight his way out of it. But Sophie’s life depended on his surrender, so he would surrender. For her sake, for the kids who needed their mother, for the woman he loved.
Images chased one another through his memory. Sophie at sweet sixteen, offering herself to him on a starry night in the desert. Sophie cuffed to a bed, his hostage. Sophie holding newborn Chase in her hands. Sophie making pancakes for him and the kids last Christmas morning. He’d had a good life. Because of her, he’d had a good life.
Behind him, someone racked the slide of a pistol.
Time’s up, Hunter.
Marc had always known he would die in the line of duty. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
God, watch over Sophie and the kids. Watch—
BAM!
* * *
23:18
Julian stood on the stairs, ready to move.
In his earpiece, he heard DeLuca’s voice. “The situation upstairs is critical.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Tuck said. “This one?” He pointed at one wire in the tangled nest that was the ED’s detonator.
“Yeah,” Bauer answered. “No—this one.”
“You sure?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m sure.”
Someone had better be sure—and fast.
Ahead of Julian, Cruz shook his head, a grin on his face.
So the bickering was part of their EOD routine. Good to know.
Julian had gotten a few minutes to talk with Schroder, who’d made a house call with antibiotics and some eardrops for little Addy that he’d acquired from a nearby hospital pharmacy. He’d said Tessa was doing well and that her mother and step-father had come over to wait the night out with her. Julian had been grateful for Schroder’s help—and glad to hear Tessa wasn’t alone.
DeLuca spoke again. “They’ve taken Hunter out into the hallway to execute him. Andris, Tower, do not intervene, or you’ll risk giving us all away. Copy.”
“Copy that.”
Son of a bitch!
And then…
“Live shooter. I say again, live shooter. We have a shot fired.”
Julian felt like he’d been punched in the gut, breath rushing from his lungs.
Hunter.
It couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t have.
Jesus!
“You okay, buddy?” Cruz reached over, put a hand on Julian’s shoulder.
Julian forced his emotions aside, willed himself to concentrate on the job. Sophie was still up there—and Kat. Sheridan and Kara. The rest of the newspaper staff. Not to mention Secretary Holmes. They were depending on him and the men of HRT to be professionals, to do the job they’d been trained to do.
Julian wouldn’t let them down. “I’m fine.”
If Hunter was dead, Julian would kick his ass.
FBI SWAT had come through the old tunnel and now stood ready to back up HRT on Tuck’s command, a dozen men strapped and ready to play rough. The plan was to move silently up the stairs and into the service hallway, taking out the men Moreno had posted there without being heard. Then they would toss flash-bang grenades into the open area of the Grand Ballroom and rush in, taking out Moreno and his remaining men before they could open fire on the hostages. At the same time, DPD’s SWAT—Hunter’s team—would move in on the bastards on Sherman Street.
“That’s it,” Tuck said. “Device is deactivated. We’re good to go.”
Tuck and Bauer got to their feet, put their helmets back on, checked their gear. Then Tuck moved to the foremost position, his gaze meeting those of his men and then Julian’s as he passed. “Let’s get these bastards.”
Tuck moved up the stairs like a ghost, the rest of his men and Julian falling in behind him, FBI SWAT taking up the rear.
* * *
23:19
Holly watched Marc pitch face-first onto the carpet, hands pressed against his ears, an expression of pain on his face. She lowered her voice to a whisper, her own ears ringing. “Sorry!”
Marc looked up at her, apparently surprised to discover he wasn’t dead. He got to his feet, looked down at the two men who were, his gaze lifting to Holly’s once more. “How’d you get two at the same time?”
Holly pointed to Nick, who stood out of sight behind one of the pillars.
Nick gave Marc a thumbs-up, then motioned to them to hurry up.
“Help me move them,” Holly whispered. “I don’t want Commander Asshat to look out and see them.”
Marc nodded, grabbed one of the men and pulled him into the shadows
, then came and took over for Holly, who’d managed to drag her dead guy only about half that distance. When both bodies were concealed, he confiscated a firearm, and the two of them made their way over to Nick.
“You know, you cut it close there,” Marc said. “I thought I was a goner.”
“Sorry, Hunter. I had to make sure not to hit you, or you would be.”
Marc rubbed his ears. “I’m going to be deaf.”
Nick grinned. “Hey, but you’re alive.”
“Yeah.” His voice was calm, but Holly could see beyond the badass exterior to the emotions he was fighting to suppress—shock, relief, rage.
“I’m sorry about the noise.” She tried to explain. “I had to take the suppressor off the pistol because those guys didn’t have suppressors and—”
Nick cut her off. “Do you two think we can hold this little debriefing later?”
Holly nodded. “Right.”
“I want the two of you out of the way when the action starts. Neither of you are in uniform or wearing body armor, and HRT doesn’t know you’re with me. I don’t want to risk your becoming collateral damage.”
Holly didn’t like this. She owed Moreno. “What about this dress and these heels makes me look like a narco-terrorist?”
Nick didn’t answer, but turned to Marc. “Watch over my wife?”
Marc nodded. “You’ll watch over Sophie?”
Holly gaped at them. She’d just killed a bad guy, shot him at almost point-blank range in the side of the head. Why were they talking about her as if she weren’t in the room? “Hey, I’m a grownup operative. I can take care of myself.”
But they weren’t listening.
“You got it, Hunter.” Nick turned to go, but Marc had one more question.
“Does Sophie know?”
Holly shook her head, her heart hurting for her friend, who believed her husband had just been murdered.
A look of pure anguish came over Marc’s face.
Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “It will be over soon.”
* * *
