Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  "Yeah," Jesse grimaced. "Not one of my better plans, in light of how things've turned out here."

  Lindy glanced over at where the children sat. "Well, he hasn't recognized you yet; I don't think, anyway."

  The reassurance in Lindy's expression was almost unbearable. Watching her desperately trying to come up with a plan, when he already knew there was none, was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

  "He doesn't live with you?"

  Jesse shook his head and closed his eyes. "No. He thinks I'm his uncle," he said slowly. "Jake—my brother—and his wife have had him since just after Erica…died."

  He forced himself to look up into Lindy's face, prepared to see the censure she surely must feel for a man who would give up his child voluntarily. But there was nothing of the kind in her features. She stared down at him, sweet understanding and concern for him in her eyes.

  "That must've been really hard—letting him go so soon after your wife passed. I'm so sorry, Jesse."

  "I couldn't take care of him," he muttered tightly. Hard to admit even now, but he needed her to know he'd had no choice. Just as he hoped, maybe even expected, she nodded her acceptance.

  "What can I do?"

  He wished for a miracle that he knew wouldn't come. He’d been wondering the same thing—what could he do? A kind of odd relief flooded through him at Lindy's reaction. He would never have expected such understanding. It humbled him, as he realized he'd been tense with the preparation to try to defend what he'd done.

  "Nothing," he whispered finally. "I just…wanted you to know. No surprises later on; you know?"

  Tears welled in Lindy's eyes, and that triggered the anger he'd tamped back. So, what had she expected? A flash of exasperation ripped through him. Was she looking for Superman maybe?

  She held the tears back and stayed strong; Jesse's irritation fled as quickly as it had flared. He was exhausted and finally let himself relax, feeling her hand gloved inside his. A wry smile crossed his lips, the split in the upper one pulling painfully. Some Superman.

  "There's only one way they can get to me, Lindy."

  "Your son."

  "Yeah," he murmured. "He's my Kryptonite."

  * * * * *

  "What's the good word?" Ryan unfolded his long legs and walked toward his comm officer, Burk Hollowell, who motioned him to the table.

  Hollowell shook his head. "Ain't none. It's all bad."

  Ryan figured as much. "Okay. Shoot. Let's have it."

  "This is a three-part whammy, Captain." Hollowell pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and they immediately began their downward trek again. "First off, headquarters confirms Tabor Hardin did escape. Not only did he escape, but botched paperwork had sent him to a minimum security facility from Big Mack at the beginning of the week. That's number two. Being there, he was able to just walk away."

  Ryan's anger seethed. He took a deep breath. "How could a mistake like that happen?"

  Hollowell met his eyes. "It wasn't a mistake. Number three—OKCPD was notified when it was discovered he'd gone missing. That was this past Wednesday."

  "And this is Friday! How in the hell could it take two days for it to get to us?"

  "If this hadn't happened, we'd still be waiting, Captain. It seems Tabor Hardin has friends in some very unexpected places. There's no record of that bulletin ever being sent—"

  "What about the media? Where the hell are they when you need them? Damn jackals are always there every other time—"

  "Well, Captain, it seems the correctional facility at Whiteford only went public with news of the escape just this morning."

  "Dammit!" This was the last straw. Someone in his own department, as well as at the Whiteford facility, had paved the way for Hardin and Rupert. At least eleven people confirmed dead, probably more by the time they could get inside the daycare. Thankfully, most of the children and some of the teachers had been let go. Ryan sighed. He could only assume the other teachers and students had been killed. Four police officers dead and three more were as good as.

  His cell phone began to ring and he snatched it from the clip-on holder. "Captain Lucas."

  "Hello, Ryan."

  He straightened, sucking in his breath. "Hardin."

  Hardin gave a mirthless chuckle. "Thought you might like to know, we've cleared out the daycare."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means we've got some little—ah—rugrats here with us, now. The five-year-old class."

  Ryan remained silent, his breath suddenly gone. He knew what—who—Hardin was after, now. The governor had twins, a girl and a boy, in that class. Jake and Melissa Nightwalker had enrolled Nash there, as well.

  He was one of the few people who knew and remembered what had gone down four years ago when Erica Nightwalker died—only because he and Jesse had always been close. It had nearly killed Jesse—first, to lose his wife to a prescription drug overdose, and then, inevitably, to have to give Nash up.

  How much did Tabor Hardin know? And who was he after, really? It would be bad enough if he thought Nash was Jesse's nephew, but if he learned Jesse was truly Nash's father, things could get even worse. Was he after revenge, or the ransom Governor Anderson's children would net?

  "What do you want?" His voice sounded like a stranger's. He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his mouth.

  "Ten million dollars, Ryan." Hardin's tone flowed silky smooth and smug with satisfaction.

  "Do you expect the parents to try to raise that kind of money?"

  "Only if they want to see their little darlings alive." Hardin's voice turned hostile again.

  "Easy, Tabor. I'm just trying to understand what you need to resolve this, without anyone else getting hurt. How many kids do you have in there?"

  "By now, I figure you know everything about them, Ryan," Hardin answered nastily. "Everything from their middle names and birth dates down to their eye color and shoe size. So you probably know what the median income is for the parents who put their little shits in here. I can't tell you a damn thing you don't already know, so let's talk about the money."

  Ryan shot Hollowell a glance. "All right."

  "I want it in bills no larger than fifties. I want it with no extra markings, chips, or ink, and I want it by 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning."

  "Would you consider allowing some of the hostages to go free? Maybe the kids who attend there on scholarship—"

  "Just to show you what a stand-up guy I am…maybe. We'll see. You get to work on putting that money together. That's what I want from you, Captain."

  Even with Hardin's lukewarm reception to the idea of allowing some of the kids to go free, something told Ryan it wasn't going to happen. "Hardin, don't hurt those kids. I'm begging you."

  "It ain't the kids you gotta worry over, Ryan. It's these three pigs I got in here stinkin' the place up. They're the ones I might just put out of their misery."

  There was silence for a moment, and Ryan breathed deep. Hardin might respect the universal care for babies and children, but it was obvious even that only went so far with him. He would kill the kids, eventually, if he didn't get what he wanted. It was just business.

  Three cops weren't even in that category. They were mere "entertainment" to a gang like Hardin and Rupert's. Despite his good intentions, Ryan couldn't resist what he knew was a mistake. The words were out before he could stop them.

  "Hardin—leave them be. Adding that charge to your others will get you the death penalty."

  "What charge would that be, Captain?"

  Hardin was having his brand of fun, forcing him to think about the possibilities, to say the words. "Cop killer."

  "Cop…killer," Hardin repeated succinctly. "Hmm. Seems like I've already appealed that one once…and lived to tell about it. You do remember Kerry and Cindy Masefield, don't you, Ryan?"

  Ryan pressed a hand to his temple, forcing a calmness into his tone he didn't feel. "Yes. I remember."

  Hardin chuckled
. "I enjoyed that."

  Ryan fought back the anger. "You might not get so lucky this time."

  "True, true. And so far, there's nothing to worry over…just a few—minor—injuries."

  "Like what?" He barely managed to quell the note of anxiety that vibrated through him, his lips compressing tightly.

  "Leon got bored. Gave Johnson a couple of gashes. And, of course, I knocked the shit out of Caspar—he's way too proud of wearing that uniform, Ryan. Now Jesse Nightwalker—your former partner—why, he's had the worst luck of all."

  Ryan gritted his teeth, recognizing Hardin's game, but helpless to put an end to it. "What did you do?" he rasped.

  "Beat the hell out of him, not as thorough a job of it as I like, so I'll finish it later—when we have some time to kill. Maybe I'll turn Jackson loose with that damn knife of his. Oh, and did I mention Jess took a bullet in all the…excitement?" He practically chortled.

  Ryan had never felt this helpless.

  "No, I didn't think I'd said anything about that earlier."

  Hardin had the hammer and everyone knew it, including him. "How is he?" Ryan finally managed.

  "Alive. Oh, stop worrying, Ryan. We have two women in here who are in their glory right now playing nursemaid. Let's see, Tommy Norton—the proud father of the baby—I'm having to keep him in line on a regular basis. He's young and stupid. Then there's Old Man Silverman. Old and stupid. Went for a gun early on and I shot a hole in his kneecap. The three unmentionables I've already told you about, and the two women. Now, Ryan, I haven't hurt either of those women yet, but that old bitch sure does tempt me to violence."

  "Let her go, then, Tay."

  "Oh, no. Not yet. If nothing else, I'll put her in charge of these eight brats. Free up sweet little Lindy for…other things."

  Ryan ignored the insinuation. Asking, begging, pleading, at this point, would merely amuse Hardin since he wasn't ready to bargain yet. He remained silent, his mind working to come up with something.

  "The old man—Silverman—why not release him?"

  "He's been at this location for at least forty years, Ryan. Knows the place inside and out. Besides, I just don't like the sonofabitch." The smile was back in his voice. "That oughtta do your heart good, realizing that the old bastard'll buy the farm first—before the three little pigs or the women."

  "Hardin—"

  "Gotta go, Captain. You get to work on my millions now, you hear?"

  "At least let us send in some medical supplies!" Desperate. He sounded so desperate.

  Hardin heard it, too. "Why?" He laughed. "They're makin' out fine with dishtowels and white sugar."

  * * * * *

  Tabor Hardin hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. Things were going quite well. He reached into the pastry case for a chocolate-covered doughnut. His skin prickled and he turned to look at the kids. Nash licked his lips as he eyed the pastry. Hardin smiled at him, then walked over and squatted in front of him. "You hungry, boy?"

  Nash nodded.

  "Didn't your mama feed you before she brought you to school?"

  He shook his head. "We didn't have time."

  Hardin feigned a look of disbelief. "No. Don't tell me you overslept."

  "Nope. She did."

  At this, he burst into laughter. He rose, shaking his head. "Rod, Lee—get these kids some pastries and milk. Never let it be said we didn't treat our hostages right." His gaze roved over the children as Macklin and Jackson walked away. It wasn't hard to pick out the Anderson twins. They sat close together, their blond hair catching the rays of late morning sun as it filtered through the holes in the storefront where the plate glass used to be. They looked up at him with identical cornflower blue eyes, filled with fear.

  All the kids looked petrified, except one. He nudged Nash's foot, making his shoe light up. "Say, that's pretty cool! What kind of shoes are those, anyway?"

  "Transformers."

  Hardin's smile faded. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

  "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Nash looked up at him steadily, brushing his bangs out of the way.

  Hardin gave a reluctant grin and patted Nash's head. "Well, you're a real good boy to remember that."

  Macklin returned with the milk and began to pass it out, while Jackson distributed the pastries. Hardin turned to survey his domain. Two sets of hostages. Jackson and Macklin had done their work well. Allan Rupert and his men were all dead. He finished off his pastry, smiling to himself.

  Life was sure good, sometimes.

  Chapter Ten

  Lindy lifted the red-stained dishtowel just enough to see that the bleeding had all but stopped. The skin surrounding the bullet hole in Jesse's shoulder was bruised a dark purple color. Every time he drew a deep breath, Lindy felt a shudder of agony ripple through his muscular body. She spooned more sugar over the open wound, then gently laid the towel back across it.

  Jesse's eyes were closed, but Lindy knew he wasn't asleep. He was just keeping the pain at bay as best he could. Right now, there wasn't room for anything—or anyone—else in his world. All Lindy could do was be there with him. That was important, and somehow, she felt their solidarity gave him an added measure of strength.

  She met Abe Silverman's eyes. The older man was breathing harder as time went on. Lindy imagined his shattered kneecap must be excruciating, but he didn't show it.

  "How're ya holdin' up, Lindy?" His voice was raspy.

  She tried to smile. "I'm fine, Mr. Silverman."

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Well, it looks like I should've sent you and Jesse right on out the door instead of back to that booth by the window." His gaze went to the blood at Jesse's shoulder. "You're in a helluva fix now, and it's my fault."

  "No, Mr. Silverman." She shook her head. "It's not your fault." She didn't want him to blame himself. He couldn't have changed anything. "Besides, I'd say we're all in a helluva fix—not just Jesse and me."

  But the older man's eyes held a knowledge that had escaped Lindy. "You two are worse off than the rest of us. Hardin—he thinks you're Jesse's girl."

  "But, I'm not—"

  "We all know that, Lindy," Mrs. Montgomery said. "But convincing…that man…of it—well, I'm afraid that's going to be an impossible job. He sees only what he wants to see."

  Lindy glanced at Jesse. His eyes were still closed, his breathing even. "I don't even know Jesse—not really."

  Mrs. Montgomery shook her head, her wise, wrinkled features filled with pity as she leaned close. "My dear, I think you are going to know him better than you ever dreamed, before this is all over with," she said quietly. "You may be the only one who can save him."

  "Me? Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, you—really don't understand." She gave a short laugh. "I don't know how I could save anyone. I stock shelves and run the cash register at a bookstore. And…and I'm just trying to write a book that will sell. I'm not anything special, just…" Her voice trailed way as she looked from Mrs. Montgomery back to Mr. Silverman and saw the same expectation in his expression as well. She swallowed past the lump in her throat at the unexpected mantle of responsibility they'd placed on her.

  "I'm just a regular girl." She shrugged, looking down when she realized they weren't buying it. Whether she liked it or not, she found herself in a position she’d never expected. Now, the fear settled in alongside the surprise.

  Save Jesse? How? What could she do to save any of them?

  "Hey."

  Lindy glanced down at the sound of Jesse's voice. His eyes were barely open, but they were filled with dark awareness. "Come 'ere." He tried to reach for her, and she leaned forward, close to him. She could see in his face that what he wanted to say was for her ears only.

  He moistened his lips, his jaw tightening for a moment before he spoke. "Lindy, you…are…special." He closed his eyes, hesitating a moment before he said, "And you don't need to waste it…not on me."

  Lindy bit her lip. The effort he was making to spe
ak was monumental. Her heart clenched at the way he had to pace his words, his breathing. "Please, don't talk," she whispered.

  But he went on, determined to say it all. "If the chance comes, get the hell out of here. Don't wait like you…like you did before."

  There was no point in denying it. She hadn't run, as he'd told her to do. But didn't he understand she couldn't bring herself to leave him? Not after he’d gotten shot protecting her in the first place!

  "Promise…"

  She couldn't, and she knew it. She shook her head, trying to stop his words, stop him from asking the impossible of her. She could no more leave him now, in this condition, than she could stop breathing. Gently, she touched his lips. She could feel tears threatening, scalding as she blinked them back. "I…can't do that—"

  "Lindy—"

  "You wouldn't do it—if the situation was reversed—would you?"

  "No, but—"

  "Jesse, please…don't ask me to leave you." She stopped, tripping over words she wasn't sure of. "Not like this."

  "I can't protect you, Lindy." His voice was raw, edged with resignation.

  Her chest tightened. "I…I know." She wiped her eyes. "So, let me try…"

  She couldn't finish, but it didn't matter. She could see he understood what she was trying to say. For an instant, there was something like amazement in his expression—wonder that she would be so selfless. That broke her heart all over again. He took her hand, his strong fingers enfolding hers. She clutched them and held on tightly.

  This might be their only chance to say whatever needed to be said between them, despite their small audience. It didn't matter what the others saw and heard, but Lindy knew Jesse was right about Hardin's perception of their relationship. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing he was intently listening to Rod Macklin. Macklin was, evidently, relating the events that had taken place in the daycare.

  "You're gonna…get yourself killed," Jesse muttered. He closed his eyes again. "Why didn't you go? Before, when I told you…get out?"

  Lindy turned back to him. Quickly, she leaned closer. She brushed her lips across his in a sweet, feather-light kiss—her answer. Her reminder to him. In that moment, without a doubt, she knew she was Jesse's girl.