"This key is a lot like yours; it's to my apartment." He held the next key up for her to see.
"Stop—"
"Lindy, I need to get this all said, and we're running short on time. We need to be on the same page about all this."
"You will be with me when we leave here."
She sounded so sure of herself that, for a moment, Jesse almost believed it, too. But then, reality intruded again.
"No," he said, looking into her eyes. There could be no misunderstanding. He wouldn't allow it. "I don't…think I will, Lindy. At least, we can't be sure of it, so we need to prepare for everything. For anything. If we walk out of here together, you can just give my key ring back. But…if we aren't together, I want you to know what these keys are for." His expression softened at her look. "What I'm giving you…it's not what I'd like to give you, sweetheart. But it's all I can do, under the circumstances."
A slow tear trickled down Lindy's cheek, and she brushed it away irritably. She didn't argue any more.
"This apartment key…well, you know. Apartment 215. Right down the breezeway from 217, that happens to belong to you." He smiled, but she didn't look at him. "Lindy, I want you to take anything and everything you might want or need from there. I don't have a lot in the way of groceries, but take what there is. I have a decent stereo and TV, and—"
"Jesse, stop!" Lindy put her hands to her face as if to hold it in one piece. "I can't do this. I can't sit here and…and let you discuss your possessions like this." She took a shaky breath, ending on a sob.
"You've got to face reality," he said gently. He put his hand out to her and she ignored it for a moment, then finally took it. "There's still a good possibility Ryan will come up with something."
"Something not being the ransom money Hardin wants," she replied with a sniff.
"Knowing Hardin, he's probably asked for an exorbitant amount. I don't think he'll get it," Jesse answered honestly. "And even if he did, I think he'd still figure out a way to kill me."
"I told you I was not going to let that happen." Lindy raised her head to look directly into his eyes. "I meant it."
They were both silent for several seconds, then Jesse said, "There's a box in my apartment. A small wooden trunk in the closet. My grandfather made it. It's got…some stuff inside."
Lindy remained quiet, but he could see the mutiny in her expression. She didn't bother to hide it.
"It's for Nash," he said quietly.
"What is it?"
"Uh…you'll see." He squeezed her fingers. "Just stuff like old comic books and baseball cards. Nothing much, but they might be worth some money someday." He stopped, then continued, his voice halting and rough with emotion. "Half it up…just in case…you know."
You know... He wanted to be sure their baby—if there was one—would have something of its father. His heart clutched, to think of leaving her like this, struggling as she was, if she carried his baby. It took a minute for him to realize the odd, tight feeling in his chest wasn't all due to regret at the thought of what might be. There was a fair amount of hope there, too. But he steadied his voice and went on.
"If you aren't pregnant, keep what you want of it, if anything, or give it to Nash."
The thunder rumbled outside again, but Lindy never flinched.
"This key," he held up a small gold key, "goes to a lock box I keep in the closet. There's a place where a breaker box used to be, but has a door over it now. Open the door, and the box is just inside." He gave a wry smile. "Not a lot of stuff in there, either, but there's a little money, title to the truck and…a ring. Now, that ring…" He tried to make his voice neutral. "It's been in our family a while."
"Jesse, it needs to go to Jake, for Nash and to stay in your family." She put her hands up, crossing her arms across her breasts as if to hold her breaking heart inside, to keep her life from draining away.
Jesse shook his head. "I never had anyone offer me so much, Lindy. To stay with me, no matter what." His tone was low. "To…die with me…or die trying to save me. That's love. Love like I've never had before. You are my family, Lindy." He trailed a finger down the front of her cheerful, yellow shirt, unable to keep the note of longing from his tone. "And maybe there'll be another."
Jesse held the keys out to her, and she took them after a moment, slipping them into her pocket wordlessly.
"This is hard for both of us. I'm the only other person in the world who understands what you're going through right now. But whatever happens, Lindy, just know I love you. And…that's why you have to get out…if you can."
"I can't leave." But even as she said it, he knew he'd won. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I have to stay with you."
"No." He reached to touch her hair again, committing the feel of it to memory, as well as the color. Would their baby—if they'd made one—have that feature of Lindy's? The thought of the child they might have created pushed the edge of determination harder into his voice.
"You have to go, for me." He put his hand on her stomach, his eyes meeting hers and locking. "For us. When midnight comes, no one will be able to help me. Not even you."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The rain had stopped, finally, and the two paramedics had shot Ryan so full of meds he felt like a new man. Reluctantly, they'd allowed him to get up. He was just climbing out of the ambulance as Retired Commissioner Ken Oliver parked beside one of the cruisers and opened his door. He walked purposefully toward a cluster of officers who stood a small space away from Ryan. Bob Drummond turned his way, as did the others, watching his approach.
"Commissioner!" Drummond exclaimed, the color draining from his face in the red and blue glare of the flashing lights.
"Bob. What's the news? Any word?"
Drummond opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again.
A grim smile touched Oliver's lips. "I know my daughter's in there, Bob, if that's what you're wanting to say. I've probably got more information on the hostages than you do, at this point."
"Then you know Charles Norton's boy's in there, too."
Oliver's blue eyes turned hard. "Yes. But my priority isn't Charles Norton's kid, Bob. It's my own. If he gets out alive in the process, so much the better. But Lindy is my concern." He glanced around. "Where the devil is Norton, anyhow?"
"Still at the meeting—with Governor Anderson."
Ryan stood silent, listening. He hadn't known that meeting was still going on. It was taking them long enough.
Oliver snorted. "Waste of time. Either they'll give Hardin the money or they won't."
Drummond cocked his head. "From what we can gather, they're not taking any hostages with them when they leave. So, they will be released…or killed."
"What's going on now?"
As Drummond filled him in on Rogers' plan, Oliver asked direct questions of him—many of which Drummond had no answer for.
"Hardin was pissed over Ryan being unavailable," Drummond said tightly. Though Ken Oliver had no direct authority any longer, Drummond wasn't foolish enough to dismiss the many friends the ex-commissioner still had in high places. "Ryan asked Jim to take over for the time being."
Oliver froze him with icy eyes. "It's just as well."
Ryan started forward, but stopped as Drummond flinched and looked away, drawing a deep breath.
Oliver ignored his reaction. The ex-commissioner looked around. "Where's SWAT?"
Drummond shook his head. "They're out there. Just can't get into the building. Jim and seven of the men are over there." He nodded toward the closest grate. "They're getting ready to go down, but—"
"Communications?" Oliver interrupted abruptly.
"Not prudent at this time, Commissioner. Hardin's monitoring everything that's going on."
"How do we know those men are safe, Bob? How do we know they haven't drowned, or come up against a wall, or God knows what?" Oliver's voice rose louder, and some of the other police officers turned to watch the show.
Ryan sighed. Bob was taking the heat for s
omething that, in reality, he had no control over. Ryan understood, though. Oliver was worried.
"We don't! Look…what did you want us to do? Hardin hears everything we're saying if we use phones or radios."
Oliver raked a hand through his graying hair. "I don't know. I only know Lindy's in there, and if Hardin finds out he's got a cop's kid, he'll have a field day. It's already drug on too long. Something's gotta give…soon."
"Soon enough," Drummond muttered as he glanced at his watch. "Hardin says he plans to start torturing Jesse Nightwalker at midnight. Twenty minutes 'til show time. It's all about to come down, one way or another."
Headlights lit the cruisers and men from behind as three sedans pulled in near the edge of the blockade and parked.
Ryan squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the emerging figures as several men got out of the vehicles, slamming doors shut behind them.
Oliver nodded, a grim smile quirking his lips as Mayor Charles Norton, Police Commissioner Jack Rawlins, and Governor Royce Anderson flanked by two bodyguards walked toward the group. None of them carried a strongbox.
Evidently, Ryan thought, the hostages' fates had been decided. The committee was not going to negotiate.
* * * * *
The bedroom door flew open, banging the wall. Hardin walked in slowly, followed by Macklin. A smile crawled across his face as Lindy's terrified eyes met his.
She stiffened as she felt Jesse go tense beside her. She sat sideways on the edge of the bed, Jesse's thigh resting against her leg. "No," she breathed, shaking her head.
Hardin grinned even wider at her distress, glancing at Macklin, who started to laugh.
"Wild one, ain't she?" Hardin murmured appreciatively, returning his gaze to Lindy, then to Jesse. "It's a shame it's all gotta end, Jess. But"—his smile disappeared—"it's a fair man who pays his debts." He waited a measuring moment before he continued. "And I know you're fair—if you aren't anything else."
"I don't owe you, Hardin. But get on with whatever you're gonna do. Guess you have to justify it somehow." Jesse lay unmoving, watching Hardin and Macklin advance.
"No!" Lindy jumped to her feet, as if to protect Jesse, but Hardin grabbed her shoulders with a snarl.
"All for him, huh?" He brought his face close to hers, so close she could feel his breath hot against her cheek.
She tried not to flinch. His eyes were hard, boring into hers like steel. It was difficult to imagine she had thought he had any regard for any other being—woman or child.
Yet, she had almost begun to see the human side of Hardin. He had been damaged as a child. But it had turned him into a monster. Jesse said earlier that to understand Hardin, you had to think like him. But how? Thinking like him, understanding him, was impossible, it seemed. But, it was necessary, if they had any hope of surviving.
As Hardin came close to Lindy, Jesse started up, but Macklin delivered a crushing right cross. Jesse blocked it, but Macklin's pistol materialized in one swift movement. "Come on, Nightwalker. Give me a reason. Like I need it—"
"Rod." Hardin spoke softly, his tone a warning.
Macklin shifted uncomfortably and stepped back, but he didn't put the gun down.
In the next instant, Hardin jammed his mouth down atop Lindy's, crushing her lips as his hands held her head immobile. She didn't take or give, merely stood woodenly until he lifted his head from hers with a grimace. She wanted to wash her mouth out with soap.
When she didn't respond, his fury seemed to evaporate from him as mercurially as it had appeared. He drew a hand across his mouth as if the kiss he'd demanded left a bitter taste on his own lips.
"Why in the hell would you sleep with that…that Indian half-breed?" He shook his head, puzzling it in his mind, his eyes going far away somewhere for a moment, then focusing on Lindy with hard intent. "Don't try to deny it. It's all over you—the way you look—hell, the way you are around him."
A crush of fear gathered inside her chest, with the realization that she had damned Jesse to even more of Hardin's wrath. From somewhere behind her, Macklin made a noise of disgust.
Lindy didn't move. "Is that what you want?" She moistened her lips. Hardin's eyes held hers. "Me?" Nerves made her voice rusty, but by Hardin's deep stare, she could tell he had other thoughts.
"So, you'd barter your body for that bastard's life, is that it?" Hardin's lips curved in a faint disbelieving smile. "By God, I believe that's what you're asking, isn't it, sweet Linden?"
"Lindy, no!"
Lindy almost looked at Jesse, but Hardin's gaze held her captive. To save Jesse, she would lose him. Hardin seemed to understand at the same moment.
"You do love him, don't you?" He stepped back, breaking the hypnotic spell between them. "No." He shook his head. "Even you, sweet Linden, can't prevent what must happen. Jesse Nightwalker is going to die." He glanced at Macklin. "Tie him up, Rod. Those window bars'll do. Nice, high window. Give him a view of the bed. He can have his memories while he dies, at least."
Lindy glanced at Jesse. As Rod Macklin stepped close to lay a beefy hand on his arm, Jesse grabbed Macklin's arm and twisted, launching himself up from the bed at the same moment. He pushed Macklin to the floor and came astride him, Macklin's Glock appearing in Jesse's hand as if by magic. Jesse held it to Macklin's head and the man grimaced, tensing beneath him as if he fully expected Jesse to pull the trigger.
In that moment, Jesse raised the gun, aiming for Hardin. But Hardin was too quick. He pulled Lindy to him, in front of him. His own weapon held ready at Lindy's side, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
"Shall I do it, Jess? Shall I blow her guts out…and maybe get a two-for-one shot?" He gave a speculative grin. "She might be carrying your brat already. Do you want to take the chance? You know I'll do it."
* * * * *
Oh, yes, Jesse thought bitterly. He knew Hardin wouldn't hesitate to kill Lindy, would even take pleasure in it, knowing that to kill her would be the same as killing Jesse himself. It must be written all over both of them, this love for one another.
"Toss it away, Jess. Nice an' slow. Don't make me kill her now; she's still young enough she could find someone else in this ol'world. You an' me—we're both gonna end it soon. No more chances for us, that's for sure. But don't ruin it for your girl."
Jesse gripped the Glock tightly, knowing he couldn't do anything but lay it down—just as Hardin directed. Just him, he'd have risked it. He'd have blown Hardin's deranged ass to hell and back, probably use about ten rounds to do it, too. But not with Lindy in the mix. Not while she stood in Hardin's grip. She looked at Jesse, trusting him to do whatever he needed to do.
He knew what that would be. Reluctantly, he leaned forward and laid the gun on the carpet, just over Macklin's head. "Let her go."
"Not yet." Hardin nodded. "Get up."
Jesse came to his feet swiftly, a slight grimace the only outward sign of his pain. Macklin stood up, glaring at Jesse, wiping a trickle of blood away from his lip. Jesse never spared him a glance, his eyes still on Hardin and Lindy.
Hardin motioned with his gun. "Over there. By the window. Back up to it real easy."
Jesse took a slow step back, then another. One more, and the windowed wall was at his back. His hands clenched at his sides, then relaxed.
"Rod, go get those cuffs off of Officer Johnson." Hardin's smile was perverse. "He's so scared he won't be needing anything but the sight of Leon's box cutter to keep him in line."
Macklin chuckled and headed for the door.
"Oh, and wake Leon up, will you?" He kept his eyes on Jesse, his fingers slowly uncurling from Lindy's arm as he spoke. "We'll be needing his services very, very soon."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The night sky was clearing, letting the light from the half moon glint occasionally through the buildings, glancing off the glass of the windows as the clouds shifted. The ex-commissioner stood where he was as Drummond made a hasty retreat back to where some of the other officers stood talking.
>
Ryan straightened and started toward Oliver, noting the moment the three principals realized who he was and that he had made it to the scene before they had. Ryan could see the tension in Rawlins' body as the commissioner made his way toward Oliver.
Charlie Norton didn't look glad to see him, either; a wry grin twisted Ryan's lips as he watched the politics unfolding. The Mayor paused slightly, then kept coming. But that hesitation had been enough. That, and the unintentional shift of Norton's shoulders. He moved like a robot, watching them gain ground as he approached slowly from the darkness behind Oliver.
Oliver pulled a cigarette out and had it lit by the time Royce Anderson thrust his hand out. "Governor," he murmured in greeting. "Good to see you."
"My kids are in there, Oliver."
Ryan noticed Oliver watched the governor for a long moment, taking a drag from the cigarette, then blowing the smoke away. "I know," he said finally
Jack Rawlins stepped closer to shake hands with his old friend. "Ken. I'm glad you're here." There was puzzlement in his voice.
"Yeah, my kid's in there, too, Governor," Mayor Norton declared. He made no overture to Oliver, casting a glare at the governor for his directness. "I know yours are younger and there's two of 'em, but I s'pose everyone's kid's most important to their own parents, right?" He gave a nervous laugh.
Anderson ignored him, his worried eyes meeting Oliver's once more.
"So…we're not bargaining?" Oliver looked past Anderson to where Jack Rawlins stood. "No money? That's dangerous, Jack."
"We can't start that, and you know it." He shook his head. "Talk about dangerous…well, we can't let Oklahoma City set that kind of precedent."
Oliver kept his expression carefully neutral. "What's your strategy?" He glanced at Anderson's lost gaze, at Norton's pompous expression, then back at Rawlins. "Other than long winded meetings and conjectures."
"Now, look here, Ken," Rawlins blustered, "I'm the commissioner now. I'd be glad for any input you can offer, but it's my call."
Oliver nodded slowly, then gave Rawlins a thoughtful stare. "Your call, Jack? Well, what is 'your call'? That's what I'm asking." He took another drag on the cigarette, then tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his heel. "No bargaining; what do you intend to do instead?"
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