by Green, Stacy
“But the railroad came and changed everything, as it often did. One hundred ten acres of land between Main Street and Fifth Street—which is now Las Vegas Boulevard—were auctioned off.” He fiddled with his gloved left hand, turning what must be a ring.
Emilie focused on the tile floor and counted the blue flecks in the pattern.
“One of the city’s original buildings sat on this very spot—the Wildwood Hotel. Fifty rooms, a huge parlor, and a breakfast room. Very popular among the travelers riding the new rails.”
“Listen to me.” He laughed. “You must think I’m a boring well of facts. But I do love history. It’s such a vital part of who we are as a people and as a culture. Don’t you agree, Miss Emilie?”
Her lips pursed, fighting an inner battle. Common sense said to keep her mouth shut and not play his games, but her quick-tempered, irrational side wanted to demand answers.
“Miss Emilie, are you listening?”
“How could I not?” She chewed the inside of her cheek. This man was stupid. He was a psychopath, and talking to him would only fuel his rambling nonsense.
“It’s fascinating, no?” He sounded pleased. Emilie finally peeked at the man.
Of course he was staring at her. “Now, after World War II, the Wildwood fell behind the times,” Creepy Guy continued. “It resurged in the eighties with new owners but just wasn’t glamorous enough. The hotel sat empty for several years before it was purchased by your bank.”
He messed with the ring again. “It’s a shame the city didn’t refurbish it. The Fremont Street Experience is nearby. The old hotel would have fit perfectly into the antiquated theme.”
Emilie wet her dry lips. If Creepy Guy wanted to talk, she’d oblige. Maybe she’d stay alive longer. “The place was falling down. It was an eyesore, with cracked windows, rotting floorboards, and faded paint. Millions would have gone into repairing the place. Nobody wanted the burden.”
“Such a shame. Far too often, the great historical pieces of this country are tossed aside because of financial burden. Or because no one can see their potential.”
He leaned toward her. His hot breath leaked from the tiny pores of the face mask. “We know all about burdens, don’t we, Miss Emilie?”
“All right,” Joe shouted. “You get one damned hostage, but don’t ask for another. I’m going to open the front door just wide enough for the hostage to get out. If I see a cop trying to ambush me, I’ll blow his head off. And you won’t get a second chance.”
He slammed down the phone and tramped across the lobby. Emilie wrinkled her nose as his stink overrode the already putrid odor of stale perspiration. Beside her, the partner sat up straight. He reminded Emilie of a dog protecting its new toy.
Crazy Joe ignored them and stopped in front of the small group. None of the hostages looked up. Miranda sat stock-still, her face white with fear. Emilie prayed they’d release her.
Joe kicked a thirtyish man sitting closeby. “You. Get up.”
He’d chosen a customer and a potential threat. The man looked to be in good shape and could probably put up a decent fight. Anyone with a name tag was far too valuable.
Joe grabbed the customer’s collar. Emilie saw the man’s fists clench.
Don’t fight, Emilie silently begged. Just get the hell out of here.
“Unlock the door,” Crazy Joe ordered. “Open it real slow.” He waited until the door was just wide enough for the man to fit through and then shoved him hard. “Consider yourself lucky.”
The door slammed shut again. The lock slid home, the ominous finality of it echoing through the lobby.
Creepy Guy relaxed. “Don’t worry, Miss Emilie. I’ll take care of you.”
Joe kicked a planter over, scattering dirt over the floor. “Stupid cops. Think they can outsmart me.”
“So clueless.” Creepy Guy sounded amused. “He’s not walking out of here a free man.”
“What about you?” Emilie kept her voice low. Her heart pounded, her head ached. She wasn’t going to like the answer.
His dark eyes bore into hers. “I have other plans.” He touched her arm with a gloved hand. “We have other plans.”
Fear squeezed her throat shut. The man’s gaze never wavered. He enjoyed her terror. She swallowed hard and glared back. Emilie wasn’t going down without a fight.
Somehow, she had to talk to Nathan again.
* * * *
Nathan sat alone on the bumper of the SWAT truck, an unopened bottle of water dangling from his hand. The heavy Kevlar vest clung to his body with a slimy layer of perspiration.
To his left, a reporter spoke into a news camera.
“The standoff at WestOne Bank on Fremont Street has entered its third hour.” Doing her best to fit in with the gravity of the situation, she’d pulled her styled blond hair into a sensible ponytail and shed her tailored coat. Her bright red top stood out like a beacon against the police cars and black, steel walls of the bank. “One hostage has been released, but nine remain inside. Police are working fervently to bring a peaceful end to the crisis.”
A peaceful end. That was primarily Nathan’s responsibility as hostage negotiator. But success hinged on talking to the individual in control, and Nathan was beginning to think he’d yet to do so today. Joe didn’t have brains or self-control to pull off a job like this. The partner knew where all the security cameras were. He’d shot them out immediately. He’d managed to stay almost completely out of sight of SWAT’s surveillance cameras, which meant he was damned familiar with WestOne’s infrastructure.
“Madigan.” Johnson and the released hostage stood in front of him. “This is Tim Landry.”
Nathan got to his feet and shook Landry’s hand. “Tell us what happened in there.”
Landry pulled out a pack of Marlboros. His hand trembled as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and dug for a lighter. Johnson lit the smoke.
“Thanks.” Landry recounted the men’s entrance into WestOne, verifying what SWAT already knew. “Joe’s crazy. I thought he was going to start shooting.”
“What about his partner?” Nathan asked.
“All he cares about is the branch manager,” Landry said. “She tried to sit with the rest of us after she talked to you, but he wouldn’t let her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Landry.” Johnson waved an officer over. “Get checked out by paramedics.”
He turned to Nathan. “Warrant came through. Detective Avery’s going through her records but nothing sticks out so far. Looks like the partner’s obsessed with Davis.”
“Avery’s working the case? God help us,” Nathan said as Landry and the officer walked toward the ambulance. He pushed his issues with Detective Avery aside. “So partner’s all over the one woman guaranteed to be at the bank today. That’s no coincidence–he’s after Emilie.”
Johnson lit his own cigarette. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a ploy. Could be the men think acting separately will make our jobs tougher.”
“Not in Joe’s mind. He thinks he’s running the show.”
The crackling static of the radio filled Nathan’s ears. “Davis is standing up, talking to Joe,” Chris said. “Partner jumped right up like he was glued to her ass.”
“Damn,” Nathan cursed. “She’s going to get him all riled up.”
“She just pointed to the phone.”
“You get a better look at the partner?” Johnson gnawed on his cigarette.
“Not really. He’s tall. And agitated. Took a couple steps to follow her and then stopped. Joe’s pointing at Davis, yelling something I can’t make out. She just sat back down and covered her face. Partner sat next to her.”
“Why’d she try to use the phone?” Johnson asked. “She’s got to know Joe wouldn’t let her.”
“She wanted to tell us something,” Nathan said. “Something worth risking Joe’s anger. Chris, what’s happening now?”
“Looks like the partner’s running his mouth. She’s rocking back and forth.”
“Goddamnit.” N
athan kicked the bumper of the SWAT truck. “What’s that bastard up to?”
* * * *
“Don’t let him get to you.” Creepy Guy patted her shoulder. “Although I don’t see why you needed to talk to that negotiator again.”
“Because I want out of here.” Emilie jerked away from the contact. “I’m tired of sitting in the dark, waiting for something to happen.”
“Josephine was always afraid of the dark.” Melancholy crept into his normally serene tone. “She said the dark held the powers of black magic, of witchcraft, and bad luck. Poor girl slept with a candle burning.”
Emilie risked another glance at him. Narrowed in either anger or grief, his eyes glistened with moisture. “She was wrong. All of those exist in the daylight as well. Poor Jo didn’t need to fear the dark. Her bad luck came on a hot, sunny afternoon.” His voice faltered.
“What happened to her?”
“That’s none of your business.” Her captor jumped as though jolted with electricity. “Josephine belongs to me and to me alone,” he snarled.
Emilie scooted as far away from the man as the small space would allow.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was contrite. “Forgive my rudeness. That was extremely ungentlemanly.”
Intimacy had crept back into his tone. Emilie cringed.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Emilie,” Creepy Guy pleaded. “I would never hurt you.”
“You already have.”
He edged closer until his covered arm brushed her bare one. The material was soft and lightweight. Breathable. Expensive. Not cheap rags like Joe wore.
“Only because you’re scared. But I knew we were connected the first moment I saw you. Once you allow me to explain my actions, you will understand everything. You carry our connection with you every day.”
“We have no connection.”
“Oh but we do. I’ve watched you for so long, my dear Miss Emilie.” He spoke softly now, like a lover would. “So many times, I was close enough to reach out and touch you, to make you mine. But the time and place weren’t right. Waiting for you has been torture.”
* * * *
A uniform hurried to the SWAT truck, pulling a scrawny teenager with him. “Sergeant. You’ve got to hear this.”
Nathan looked at the boy: acne-marred face, greasy hair slicked back with sweat. His dirty clothes smelled musty. Street kid.
“What?” Johnson didn’t look up from the blueprints he studied.
“This kid delivered flowers to the bank this morning.”
“So?”
“They didn’t come from a florist. Some guy off the street asked him to take them in.”
“To who?” Nathan asked.
“Emilie Davis.”
“What kind of flowers?”
“Don’t know.” The kid shrugged. “Big white ones.”
“And he wanted them to go to Emilie Davis?” Nathan mopped the sweat off his forehead.
“Yep. Paid me a hundred bucks to make sure she got ’em.”
“Did you get his name?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“What’d he look like?” Johnson stuck the blueprints under his arm.
“A dude. Tall, kinda skinny. Sorta dark skin.”
“Could be anyone,” Johnson said.
“You’re telling the truth?” Nathan glared at the boy. The last thing they needed was some douche-bag kid wasting their time.
“Yeah, man. Dude kept going on about how important it was she had the flowers today. Today was special to them.”
“The partner sent those flowers.” Nathan’s suspicions were confirmed. “He’s here for Emilie, not the money.”
“You don’t know that for sure. This kid could be full of shit.”
“You really wanna take that risk? I’m telling you, boss, Joe’s just a patsy. The partner’s using him to get to Emilie. He’s going to let Joe take the fall. And I don’t think Joe has a clue.”
Johnson waved the kid and uniform off. “What’s your plan?”
Chapter Three
“What are you thinking about, Miss Emilie?” Creepy Guy cocked his head toward her. “You look sad. I don’t like that.”
Emilie chewed on the inside of her cheek. Did he really think she ought to be having a good time? She turned to glare at him, but the compassion in his eyes quelled her retort. She didn’t understand him at all.
“Your skin has the loveliest pink undertones, Miss Emilie. Its paleness matches your beautiful auburn hair and green eyes, but I see a gold tone as well. The soft white color of your blouse sets it off perfectly.”
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. Her skin crawled with disgust.
“White means purity and innocence, of course. Most people who choose to wear it have no business doing so. Few in this world do, except children, for isn’t innocence the essence of childhood? As adults, do we not strive to protect that innocence by any means necessary?
“There is nothing so precious as a child, my dear. So many are tossed to the side like garbage, free to roam about the world unprotected from the evils of man and pure fate. There is no sin worse. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Miss Emilie?”
Emilie couldn’t take another second of his rambling.
“Joe,” she called, awkwardly jumping to her feet. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“No,” he snarled. “Sit back down.”
“Please. It’s just down the hall.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Joe leveled the gun at her. Emilie shrank back a step. “I’m waiting for the call that’s going to get me out of here. I can’t be worrying about taking you to the can.”
“I’ll take you.” Her hovering captor stood and took Emilie’s elbow in his gloved hand. His hand trembled against her bare arm. Nathan’s words came back to her. She couldn’t allow him to get her alone.
“I can wait.” Emilie yanked her arm away and sat back down.
Creepy Guy stiffened. His hands clenched into fists. Pure venom overtook the excitement in his eyes. Emilie held her ground and stared right back at him.
Finally his expression relaxed. He returned to his spot beside her. “I see you’re not quite ready, then. I understand. You will be soon enough.”
* * * *
“Madigan,” Joe snarled into the phone. “You better have something good to tell me.” Nathan heard the huff of his breath and the clunking of his boots as they hit the bank’s floor.
“I want to talk to your sidekick.”
“Why?”
“I just want to make sure he’s with us.”
“He’ll do what I say.”
“You sure you can trust this guy to not leave you hanging?”
Joe didn’t respond. Nathan gave him time to stew.
“Hey, jackass,” Joe yelled. “Why don’t you get away from that woman and back me up? This ain’t no social call.”
“We’re inside,” Chris murmured over the radio, “in a back hallway by the vault. Keep him talking.”
“I thought you were the boss, man,” Nathan said.
“Fuck you, Madigan.”
“Holt, you got eyes on the target?” Johnson’s voice echoed in Nathan’s ear.
“About ten feet ahead and to the left. He’s still got Davis separated from the others.”
There was a sudden female cry. Nathan’s body went rigid. One of the hostages had seen a member of the SWAT team.
“Go, go, go!”
“What the hell?” Joe slammed the phone down. Nathan focused his attention on the radio noise.
“Stand down,” Johnson ordered as Joe shouted obscenities. “Do not draw your weapons.”
Pop, pop, pop! The clatter of gunshots, breaking glass, and the firecracker-like noise of assault rifles rang in Nathan’s ears.
“Suspect down.”
“In pursuit,” Chris shouted. “Partner heading down the east hallway with Emilie.”
Nathan snatched the bank’s blueprints from a nearby officer. The east hall
way led to more offices—there was no sign of another exit. The only other option was the basement.
“He’s trapping himself, Chris. Nothing down there but more rooms. Watch your backs.”
A nervous feeling bubbled up in his stomach. They were missing something.
Nathan pressed the earpiece to his head, listening as Johnson and a rookie SWAT member raced after Chris while other SWAT members evacuated hostages.
Another gunshot. “Keep your heads down,” Chris yelled. “He’s just firing at random.” A woman’s scream came over the mic. Emilie? “Shit, he’s taking her down the basement stairs.”
The partner’s haphazard shots forced SWAT to halt at the top of the stairs and take cover.
“There’s no place for him to go,” Johnson insisted, breathing hard. “Hold your positions.”
“Can you see him at all?” Nathan hated being stuck outside.
“No,” Chris replied. “He’s too quick.”
A gut-wrenching sound screeched over the radio: the crack of a gun discharging and the dull thud of impact as the bullet connected with flesh.
“Officer down,” Johnson shouted.
“Adam,” Chris yelled. “Adam, talk to me.”
Adam Briggs had been a member of the team for only three months. Chris was his mentor, and the two had grown close.
Adam’s ragged breathing was loud in Nathan’s ears as the rookie struggled for air.
“Just my side,” Adam gasped. “Don’t worry about me. Get that bastard.”
“Holt, give me some light,” Johnson said.
“Entry point’s in his right armpit, just above the Kevlar. He’s bleeding pretty badly. “
“Goddamned lucky shot,” Johnson huffed. “Put pressure on it.”
Nathan found his voice. “Paramedics are coming in now. Chris, what’s going on with the partner and Emilie?”
“Shit. It’s quiet, Nate,” Chris said. “Too quiet.”
“You need to get down there.”
“Madigan, you know damned well I can’t send Holt down there,” Johnson cut in. “Perp’s got too much of an advantage. We’ve got to wait for backup.”
Nathan listened as the paramedics arrived and Johnson ordered the rest of the team to reassemble in the hallway. “This sneaky bastard has no way out. But he does have the advantage, and we’re not taking any more risks. We’ll set up here and cover the stairs. If we have to wait him out all night, then fine. He’ll crack.”
