"Nightwalker."
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse couldn't breathe. He felt his lungs tighten, as if an unseen fist squeezed the air out of his body, not allowing them to expand again. The deli fell silent once more, in a calm almost as deep and terrible as before, broken only by the distant sounds of the outside world—a call from one officer to another; the sound of a car engine.
Hardin sat, studying Nash's face for a long space of time, until finally he began to laugh. He sat back flat on the floor amid the slivers of broken glass, laughing until the tears began to roll down his cheeks.
"This…this is…just so rich!" He gasped for breath and opened the record book again. He stopped to chuckle once more, then put his finger on the page and ran it down to Nash's name. "Yep, there it is. Big as Texas. Nash Nightwalker." He wiped his face cheerfully and stood up in a swift motion. "Come here, boy."
Jesse tensed, and Ryan laid a palm on his arm quickly.
Hardin put his hand down to pull Nash up, but he ignored Hardin's offer and came to his feet on his own, as if he didn't see the outstretched hand.
For a moment, the smile faded from Hardin's face. He looked down into Nash's eyes and nodded his head. "Got to be. Come with me." He started across the room toward the group of hostages, Nash close beside him, but not touching him.
They stopped at Jesse's feet. Jesse looked up at his son, his heart catching in his throat. When had Nash gotten so tall? His birthday had been four weeks ago—a month. Had a month gone by already? A month, and he hadn't seen him once in all that time. Had he forgotten how to be a father? No. No. He wasn't truly a father to Nash. Never had been. And now, it was too late.
Hardin couldn't seem to keep the smile away. He lay what was meant to be a friendly hand atop Nash's head. He squirmed out of Hardin's touch and stood a step farther away from him. It didn't faze Hardin's sudden good mood.
"I'll be a monkey's uncle, Jesse. You almost had me. Yessir, you sure 'nuff did! Here I was, believing that long tall tale you spun about having a baby girl. I was gettin' real steamed over payin' out good money to my snitch for information that wasn't true. But lookee here! Look what I found over in that row of little snow white kids!" He glanced back at the other children, his bright look faltering for a moment under Mrs. Montgomery's steely stare. He regained his composure quickly, turning back to look at Jesse once more.
"I found me a little Indian boy over there, Jesse. Got the same last name as yours, 'bout the perfect age to be yours, and by God—I bet if I hadn't-a pounded your eyes shut, they'd be looking out at me about the same, exact way this boy looks."
Jesse managed a weary, tolerant smile. "What's your point, Hardin? Make it, or shut up. I'm trying to rest here."
Hardin wasn't grinning anymore.
Jesse knew he'd expected him to crawl, beg him to spare his boy. There was a question in the gray eyes. "Is this a crazy coincidence, Jesse? Maybe Nash, here, isn't yours after all. I have to know—for sure." He glanced at Nash.
Jesse saw a moment of unguarded fear and uncertainty in his son's midnight black eyes.
Hardin dropped down to crouch beside Nash, not touching him—yet. Nash stole a quick look at him, then went back to staring straight ahead, not looking at anyone or anything in particular.
"Who is this man, Nash? Do you know him?"
Nash's throat worked. He blinked rapidly, then looked down at his shoes.
"Do you?" Hardin's tone was sharper this time, and Nash inched a little farther away.
Jesse fought to control his rising anger. "Well, Hardin, you've sunk to a new low… and I didn't think that was possible." He tried to inject a note of boredom into his tone. "Why don't you stop trying to scare the kid?"
"Pick on someone my own size?" Hardin mocked again.
"Basically. I think we've covered that ground already, haven't we? No munchkins or dwarves around right now to oblige."
Hardin's eyes slitted. He stepped forward and leaned close, his 9mm swiftly turned to Jesse's temple, cold and hard against his skin.
Jesse had been expecting it. He surged upward at the same instant, almost dislodging the gun from Hardin's grip. Agony flared in his shoulder, running the length of his body.
Mr. Silverman bared his teeth and lunged forward to help, but his shattered kneecap left him breathless and gasping as he fell back against the wooden counter.
For an interminable moment, Hardin and Jesse grappled with the gun until Hardin maneuvered himself into the position he needed. He laid his arm across Jesse's throat to cut off the air, pressing on the hole in his shoulder at the same time. The pain took Jesse's breath completely.
From somewhere behind Hardin, he heard angry voices, accompanied by the sound of a struggle. Tommy. Tommy and Rod Macklin, most likely. Jesse tried to heave upward, to push Hardin's hellish grinning face back, to loosen his grip so he could breathe again. He couldn't do it. His world grayed out until all he could see were Nash's eyes, big as saucers, watching as Hardin murdered him. Damn it. Damn it.
Hardin's grip ripped loose as Ryan Lucas's fist suddenly made contact with Hardin's nose and sent him sprawling back onto the floor.
It was over in an instant, as Rod Macklin jerked Tommy Norton around in front of him, his gun at Tommy's head. "Go ahead, you bastards. Go ahead and finish it up. I guarantee you, this one won't make it out of here alive."
Ryan froze, then eased back to the floor.
Jesse drew in deep breaths, dizzy and nauseated from the pain in his shoulder. Slowly, his world began to right itself as Lindy laid a cool cloth against his forehead, speaking soft words next to his ear. The blackness receded at Lindy's touch, and he leaned against the counter once more for support. He sucked in the oxygen his lungs had been deprived of, his hand going to his throat. When he opened his eyes, he was looking straight at his son.
Nash's gaze was calmer now that he could see the reassurance in Jesse's expression. His lips pressed tightly together, his hands clenching at his sides, fear still alive in his eyes.
Hardin pulled himself up off the floor and shook away the effects of Ryan's blow. "I'll handle this," he muttered, glowering at Macklin. "Put your gun away, Rod. This is only going to take five seconds and one shot if I don't get a straight answer this time."
He jammed the nose of the barrel under Jesse's chin. "You're gonna go to the Happy Hunting Grounds in the sky if that little bastard doesn't give me a straight answer, Jess. You better hope he doesn't lie. I hate liars and I hate men who don't own up to being a father. You oughtta know that by now."
Jesse made no reply, and Hardin grinned coldly. "Who is this man to you, Nash? Don't you be lyin' to Ol' Tay now; you tell me straight up who he is." He glanced over his shoulder at Nash.
Nash stepped forward, his dark gaze unwavering as he met Jesse's look. He didn't respond to Hardin, as if waiting for Jesse to give him some kind of sign.
He was going to lose his son for good, one way or the other. Whether Hardin killed him now, or later, there was nothing he could do about it. Jesse held out his hand. Hardin shifted the pistol to accommodate the movement as Nash came straight into his arms.
"He's my dad."
* * * * *
Hardin holstered the gun as Jesse took a deep breath and pulled Nash to him.
He's my dad. He's my dad.
He ignored the sudden agonizing thrust of pain the movement caused. His world shrank to this moment, shared between them; a moment he had both dreaded and anticipated for years. Not the exact way he would have planned it, but it was okay. More than okay. How long has he known the truth?
The intense emotion of Nash's childish hug, awkwardly given, was something Jesse couldn't have imagined. Of course, Nash had impetuously thrown his arms around Jesse's neck many times in the past, in thanks for a gift, or when Jesse was getting ready to leave after a visit. But this was different. He wasn't "Uncle Jesse" any longer. Now, he was Dad.
Ironically, Jesse had Tabor Hardin to thank for the turn of events w
hich prompted Nash to admit the secret he'd discovered. How? How had Nash learned it? Hell, it didn't matter…not now. Now, he just cherished the feel of his son's arms around his neck, the smell of fresh-washed little-boy hair and skin, their hearts beating together through the fragile fabric of shirts and flesh.
He might never hold Nash this way again, but he wanted his son to remember this moment forever, if it was all they were granted. Nash silently sobbed against his neck, and he palmed the back of the dark head in an awkward bid to offer comfort. Nash had been strong through everything, yet Jesse knew he felt these tears were shameful and unwarranted.
"Aw, ain't that sweet?" Hardin mocked. "Lookee here, fellas, I've done my good deed for the day—reunited a daddy and his baby boy. Whaddaya think that'll buy me in heaven?"
Brindle McAdoo snickered. "Jewels in your crown?"
"Yeah, Brin. All kinds of 'em." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Jesse pointedly. "I gave you one, Jess. Don't try it again. You pull another stunt like that, I will blow this boy's head clean off his shoulders before I kill you."
Hardin stood up slowly, eyeing Ryan. "Same goes for you, Captain. Now, if you want to test me, you go right ahead. I'll start with Jesse's boy and work my way through them other less expensive kids." His lips curved. "There's just two guaranteed to live, and that's only cause they're worth some money. Royce Anderson's brats. Best you keep the other six in mind next time you take a notion to start swingin'."
"Hardin, you hurt those kids, I'll kill you myself!" Mr. Silverman exploded. His expression was filled with pain, but for the moment, anger overshadowed everything else.
Hardin's gaze shifted to the deli owner. "Old man, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but somebody oughtta tell you, you need to stay down—'specially when your leg's as tore up as yours is." He made a tsking noise, shaking his head. "You're a tough old cuss, I'll give you that." He watched the older man for a moment, then asked, "How'd you like to go see about the Missus? What if I was to turn you loose?"
"I ain't askin' you for anything, Hardin. Not one God-blessed thing." Mr. Silverman mopped his forehead with his damp handkerchief, working hard to keep his voice steady, his eyes focused.
Hardin's lips lifted in a half-grin. "You got grit, old man. That's gonna earn you a ticket outta here. That, and the fact Miss Lindy asked so nice for me to release you." He reached to finger the top of a nearby barstool, giving it a spin. "Just don't see how I have any choice but to let you go."
Abe Silverman was anything but grateful, still spitting mad over the destruction of his family business and the treatment of his customers. "Whaddaya want, Hardin? A handshake and a 'thank you very much'? Kiss my red, white, and blue ass, you son-of-a-bitch." He flipped Hardin the bird. "There's your 'thank you.'"
"Not very hospitable, old man." Hardin's eyes narrowed, but the smile didn't leave his face. After a moment, he said, "Ryan, help Mr. Silverman to the door, will you? But—now, don't you think you're leaving, too, Captain." He finally looked at Lucas, his grin widening. "You step one foot outside that door and I'll blast both of you to hell."
"Back shoot us? That's what I'd expect from you," Mr. Silverman muttered disgustedly.
"Get going before I change my mind, you old bastard."
Ryan stooped to help the older man up. It was plain to see, he couldn't walk at all; the bad leg wouldn't hold any weight.
"What am I supposed to do when we get to the door?" Ryan asked quietly.
"Hmm. I don't know, Captain. Isn't that why they pay you the big bucks—to figure these things out? Let him crawl, for all I care."
Jesse looked up at Hardin. He disentangled himself from Nash, handing him off to Lindy without thinking about it. "A trap, Hardin? Get Mr. Silverman to the door, call one of the cops out there to come help him. Then what? Invite them to come inside and join the party? At the end of a gun, of course."
"Why don't you let Captain Lucas escort Mr. Silverman to safety?" Lindy's quiet reasoning caused all the men to look at her. "I mean—well, if you let him go, at least you have someone to negotiate with who you know is reasonable, right? You all know each other."
Jesse's chest clutched. She was trying so hard. She would never give up, and he admired that in her.
Hardin gave an explosive burst of laughter at her wrangling.
"Darlin', there ain't a pig in Oklahoma, Texas, and Kansas who don't know Tabor Hardin." He pursed his lips. "But, the lovely Linden does have a valid point. As long as you're in here, Ryan, I'm forced to deal with amateurs out there."
Abe leaned heavily against Ryan. "Make up your mind, will ya?" he snapped.
Hardin shook his head, jerking a thumb at the door. "Go on, Ryan. Simplify my life and get him out of here."
"What about the kids?" Ryan shifted to take more of Abe's weight as they moved forward a step.
"Do not push me, Captain. I may release a couple of them, and then again, I may not." He looked at Lindy suddenly. "Which ones would you cut loose?"
Lindy didn't hesitate. "Jeremy Tate, and Amanda Delaney."
Hardin grinned at Jesse. "Got yourself a keeper there, Jess. Yessir, Miss Linden's a real keeper. Wants me to send Mr. Jeremy Tate out. The one kid who could tell me anything I want to know about the others—my 'information person'—along with Amanda Delaney."
Hardin stepped closer. "Why that particular little girl?"
"She's scared!"
"Uh-huh. So are the others."
"Well, Mr. Hardin, we know the Anderson twins and Nash won't be going anywhere. That leaves five kids."
"And you picked the two who would be most useful to me otherwise."
"I hardly see how Amanda could be useful."
Hardin brought his hand down hard on the counter, then dropped to a crouch beside her. Jesse sat forward reflexively, and Nash flinched. "Cut the shit, Miss Oliver! You know very well what you were doing! Amanda Delaney's so cross-eyed scared she'll tell me anything I need to know!"
"What can a five-year-old kid possibly tell you?" Lindy yelled back at him, her eyes blazing. She put Nash behind her. "Why don't you stop bullying these kids? Stop looking for ways to use people. What the hell difference does it make which two you let go? Try doing the right thing for once in your miserable life."
Hardin drew back, as if she’d slapped him.
Jesse stopped breathing. Damn. She'd gone too far this time.
Lindy put her hands to her mouth, eyes wide with shock at the outburst. The deli was silent.
Hardin's face mottled red with suppressed rage.
"Lucas!" Hardin didn't turn to look at where Ryan and Mr. Silverman stood, a few steps from the front door. His eyes were riveted on Lindy.
"I'm here."
"Take those two kids with you. Jeremy Tate and Amanda Delaney. Take them and get out."
Ryan motioned to the two children silently, and they ran to him. They all headed for the door again, Ryan cautioning them in a low voice to stay with him. He stopped at the door, casting a worried glance back over his shoulder to where Tabor Hardin hunkered down, still glaring at Lindy. His eyes met Jesse's briefly in reassurance. He'd do what he could to get them out.
Jesse nodded.
"We're gone, Hardin."
"Yeah, you just make damn sure you answer the phone when I call. Tell everyone you're living proof Tabor Hardin did the right thing—for once in his miserable life." His eyes bored into Lindy's, but she didn't look away.
Ryan stepped out onto the sidewalk with the older man leaning on him, the SWAT members running forward to help.
As Hardin rose and stalked away, Jesse had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him this was probably the only 'right thing' Tabor Hardin planned to do—ever.
Chapter Fifteen
Nash sat on the floor beside Jesse. He drew his feet up close to his body, wrapping his arms around his legs. He rested his chin on his knees, staring ahead at nothing.
"Nash?" Jesse's fingers closed around his arm, pulling him nea
rer. He didn't answer, just moved closer as Jesse tried to lift his arm enough to put it around his shoulders, but he couldn't manage it. Nash pressed near to him, and Jesse gave his leg an awkward pat. "It's okay, son."
Nash nodded. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry. I just didn't know what I should do, so I told the truth."
Jesse let his eyes drift shut just an instant. "You did the right thing—telling the truth." He was met with silence, and when he twisted to look at Nash, the boy's eyes were somber and black as coal.
"You're wondering why I didn't, aren't you? Tell the truth?" Jesse glanced down, trying to figure out the best way to approach the subject. How he wished he had told the truth, years ago!
If I'd kept him, none of this would be happening right now.
"Nash…" He sighed, looking back up into his boy's steadfast ebony gaze.
I can't explain everything. Not yet.
"Can you trust me?"
Nash nodded quickly, then studied the floor. "Is it…because you didn't want me, though?"
From where she stood at the end of the counter, Lindy turned and met Jesse's eyes. He gathered himself before answering, taking the few seconds he needed to choose the right words. Nash waited, fidgeting with the Velcro fastener, tracing the outline of Optimus on his shoe.
"No, Nash." Jesse forced the lump down in his throat. "It was never that. I loved you since the minute your mom told me she knew we were going to have you. We both loved you," he added forcefully.
Nash looked up at him, puzzled. "My real mom?"
Jesse's thoughts grew cloudy. The conversation was taxing him. He knew it was the blood loss.
Lindy closed the distance between them, sitting down beside him.
He automatically took her hand in his. Somehow, she knew he needed her. He smiled to himself. She continually amazed him.
"What happened to my real mom?"
Jesse sighed heavily. "I promise I'll answer all your questions once we get out of here. Right now, that's what I have to concentrate on, okay?"
Sweet Danger Page 12
