Capture the Night

by Cheryl Pierson

  His heart beat steadily in the same rhythm, and he felt a calm acceptance slide over him, wrapping him in its embrace.

  For Levi.

  He had about thirty feet left. He could see a figure inside the glass door. His heart leapt as he made it out to be McShane himself. There was no doubt, as McShane raised his gray eyes to Pete, giving him a cynical smile.

  Could it get any better? Steady, Pete, he told himself. It could get a whole lot worse, he thought, seeing the semi-automatic rifle slung carelessly over McShane’s shoulder. And I won’t mind if it does get worse…as long as I take care of my business first.

  The glass swung open, and Pete could see McShane more clearly. McShane’s pale, thin hair was pulled back in a queue, wispy strands escaping on the sides. His face was pitted by the ravages of teenage acne. Standing at a diminutive five-and-a-half feet, he had learned to overcome his small physical stature and less-than-pleasing looks to become one of the world’s most feared—and hunted—men. He’d made himself a giant in the underworld of terrorism, his power and connections extending far beyond the British Empire. His gray gaze was penetrating, discerning. McShane was obviously wondering if Pete was bringing tricks to his door.

  Nope, Mr. McShane. I’ve only got two things on my mind right now. Where the hell is my brother—and how am I going to kill you?

  “Ah, the pizza police have arrived.” McShane took a step forward, careful to stay close to the wall for cover. “Pull it on up here, Officer. Inside the door.”

  Pete forced himself to hesitate warily.

  “Come now, Officer…Officer…?” He stood nonchalantly leaned against the wall, but Pete knew McShane wouldn’t miss a thing. He was taking in every detail.

  “Logan,” Pete murmured. “Pete Logan.” He watched McShane’s eyes. If he had Johnny, it would show. If he didn’t…McShane’s gaze was unaffected. Pete tamped down his frustration, feeling relief and dread mingle in his gut. No matter what, he wanted the bastard to know his name when he killed him.

  “Officer Logan.” McShane grinned and motioned Pete forward. “C’mon. We don’t want the food getting cold.”

  “No, but the deal was that I’d leave it here.”

  McShane sobered. “Sounds like you’re brokerin’, lad. What is it you want?”

  Ray would have his badge over this…if he survived. “If I come inside, you send a hostage out in my place.”

  “Plannin’ to stay with us a while, are ye’?” McShane’s eyes were alight with the prospect of getting a police officer as a hostage. He bowed and flipped a hand toward Pete. “Any one hostage in particular you’d like to—trade yourself—for?”

  Pete bit back his response. My brother, he wanted to say. No. He would not point out any specific person. If he did, McShane might capriciously murder him—or her.

  “You choose, McShane.

  McShane smiled. “Sorley!”

  O’Brian came up behind him. “Aye, sir?” He cast a glowering look at Pete.

  “Go fetch one of those bawling women. We’re going to make a trade.” He licked his lips. “Officer Logan, here, will be joining us in her place.”

  “Aye, sir.” Sorley turned and walked away.

  “Officer?” McShane indicated the door.

  Pete smiled grimly. “Not yet, McShane. Let the woman go, first.”

  “You…doubt my…sincerity?”

  Pete nodded. “You might say that.”

  Just then, the blubbering blonde woman was shoved into view ahead of Sorley’s big frame. He pushed her through the door and she stumbled past Pete toward the wall of patrol cars. Two SWAT officers ran to meet her as she neared, drawing her close between them, pulling her to safety.

  Pete couldn’t see much in the darkness, but in the flare of red and blue lights, he recognized one face—Captain Ray Carter. He was livid. Mentally, Pete apologized for the deception, but there could be no other way. And he hadn’t really lied. He didn’t consider what he was about to do heroic—foolish, maybe. But not heroic. It was just something that had to be done.

  Pete coolly turned back to look at McShane, O’Brian standing at his back. McShane smiled as Pete’s eyes met his.

  “Won’t you come in, Officer, and stay with us a while?”

  Pete nodded and moved forward, his fingers tightening on the cart handle.

  My pleasure.

  Chapter 10

  Alexa closed her eyes, steeling herself for what she might find inside the box that rested on her lap. Whomever had delivered it had to be nearby. She could not keep from glancing around the dimly-lit area.

  She held tight to the lid and pulled up. It came off easily, and she laid it on the bed beside her as her gaze fell to the contents inside. Ibuprofen. A roll of gauze. Scissors. Tweezers. A bottle of alcohol. A sports bandage and clips. Cotton swabs, Bandaids, and a few cotton balls in a sealed baggie. A green bottle of camphor medicine. And last, a tube of antibiotic ointment.

  She picked up the pointed tweezers, thinking of what she was going to be using them for.

  “What’ve you got?” Johnny’s voice was raspy with sleep.

  Alexa jumped, startled. She didn’t have a nerve left, it seemed. Johnny’s breath hissed inward as the mattress jerked, his eyes closed tightly, his lips compressed.

  She dropped the tweezers back into the box and leaned forward to lay a comforting hand on his flushed cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  He opened his eyes slowly, and Alexa watched as he made an effort to relax, his body losing some of its tension at her touch. He tried to look at the box she was holding.

  “F’get it,” he muttered thickly. “That’s nothing—compared to…what’s comin’.”

  Alexa nodded and sank her teeth into her lip. He was right. There was nothing she could say to him. It was true, and they both knew it.

  “I—I know. But look, Johnny. Someone left this box for us on the bed.” She began to take the items out, laying them on the blanket. “This is going to help.”

  “Looks like a—a damn hospital,” he growled, “and I guess I’ll need it.” The weariness overrode everything else in his voice. “Lex—did you see…who it was?”

  She shook her head and leaned down, her lips beside his ear. “No. But—he’s here, Johnny. He’s close.”

  “Covered me up—” Johnny whispered.

  “He didn’t hurt you did he?” Alarm speared through her, but she managed to keep her voice low.

  “Huh-uh. But…he knows my name.”

  “How—” Alexa broke off. “What did he say?”

  “Don’t—don’t remember.” Johnny’s voice was husky, and Alexa could see her question troubled him. He was fighting unconsciousness, and losing.

  Alexa leaned back, reaching to touch his forehead. Her fingers lingered there, soothing the lines of worry away as his eyes closed. His breathing slowly became more regular, though still shallow.

  She had to get started. Couldn’t put it off any longer, especially now. Now, at least there was a chance that she might help him survive. A very slight chance.

  Alexa took the bottle of alcohol and unscrewed the cap, then poured some of it onto one of the strips she’d torn earlier. Cleaning the knife blade, the tweezers, and the scissors, she gingerly began to swab the edges of the wound.

  She tipped the bottle, allowing a trickle of the burning liquid to run into the open, bloody hole in Johnny’s side. He shifted slightly, and made a sound between a gasp and a groan.

  Alexa stopped the flow immediately. She dabbed gently at the jagged wound to absorb the excess alcohol and blood. Surely, he was not fully awake. At least, she prayed he wasn’t.

  He lay still and quiet once more.

  God, she was so afraid! She hoped he really was unconscious. No one should have to endure what he had been going through for the past two hours.

  She pushed him gently, trying to get him to turn over on his left side without hurting his wounded arm. It was easier than she had expected—almost as if he were cooperating,
even in his troubled sleep. Alexa raised his dark cotton shirt and the ragged tail of the undershirt.

  The lump was easy to see. The skin was raised, but not broken. Deep purple and red bruising formed a star pattern outward on his skin from the center where the bullet was lodged, like colorful swirls of some macabre kaleidoscope.

  Alexa gripped the knife handle, hesitating for only a moment before she scored the flesh just above where the lead rested. She gasped at the action, blood trickling freely down the bronze skin now. It was absorbed by a piece of the sheet Alexa had laid nearby for that purpose. His body was finely sheened with perspiration. As the knife slipped into him, Alexa held her hand steady, the sweat prickling her own body in nervous anxiety. She was being watched. She could feel studious eyes upon her, adding to the unbearable tension.

  She swallowed hard and reached for the tweezers. Pulling back the flap of skin, she inserted the sharp implement into the opening she’d made. Johnny’s fingers curled into fists, and this time, she knew he was fully aware of what she was doing. She grasped the slug between the tweezers and lifted it out quickly.

  Johnny muffled a groan, letting it go into the soft thickness of one of the pillows.

  Alexa bit her lip. Then, she soaked a cotton ball with the alcohol and held it poised over the wound. “This is—really going to hurt,” she said softly.

  Wet with sweat, Johnny looked over his shoulder, slowly. “Yeah. I know. Just—do it, Lex.”

  She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see her, as he turned to lie on his side once more, exhausted. She pressed the saturated cotton to his skin, heard him inhale sharply and hold his breath a long space of time before letting it go. Controlled. Cautious.

  Alexa’s heart squeezed as she listened to him, fighting to keep himself quiet and still beneath her hands. She reached for the tube of medicated cream, thinking what pitiful power she held. How could she hope to save him with this ridiculously inadequate supply of medical goods? She was no doctor.

  She shivered as she gently smoothed the ointment over the bloody incision with a cotton swab, then pressed a folded piece of gauze to it.

  Those murderers inside the hotel could find them at any moment.

  She made sure the bandage stuck slightly, then reached to tear some of the medical tape, applying it sparingly. There wasn’t much left, she noted. She’d have to make it last.

  If the terrorists didn’t find them, the fact remained that she and Johnny were here, in this place, with a person who would not show himself. That frightened her—almost as much as the terrorists. She shouldered her hair away at the thought, knowing their mysterious benefactor watched her now. Every move she made was being charted. Why? She shook off the uneasy feeling, trying to put it out of her mind.

  She reached for the extra pillow that had been left, and placed it behind Johnny to cushion the hole she had just cut into his flesh, raising the entry wound.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Johnny let her guide him back into the soft haven, his defenses stripped by the blinding pain. Then, for an instant, there was no thought of anything as his bandaged back met the contours of the pillow. He stiffened as the pain shot through him, wicked and sharp. “Did you get it all?” he asked hoarsely.

  Alexa held the bloody bullet up in the dim light, as if reassuring herself it was intact before she answered.

  “Yes. It’s all here.” She reached for his hand and dropped it in his palm, then closed his fingers around it. “You hold onto that, okay? I’ve got to clean where it went into you, here—” She turned her attention back to the hole in his side.

  Johnny was already thinking ahead to the next task—taking the bullet out of his thigh. He was quiet…dreading it.

  “It’ll be okay, Johnny,” she murmured. “I’m going to take good care of you—” she broke off and back-pedaled hastily. “What I mean is—”

  “Why can’t you just mean what you said, Lex? Nothin’ wrong with that, is there? I mean—hell, you are taking care of me right now.” He regarded her with a probing gaze. “Won’t always be that way, though.”

  Alexa looked away and picked up the alcohol, her lips quirking as she recognized the teasing note in his voice, despite the pain. “Oh, yeah? And why is that?”

  Johnny’s faint smile faded as he became serious again. His voice was steady. “I know you’ve been wondering about—this.” He indicated the shoulder holster with the .38 inside lying on the bed beside him.

  She nodded. “Well…yes.” She stopped, her uncertainty evident. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. When you can trust me.”

  He let his breath go slowly, her words cutting him as deeply as the knife. “I do,” he said huskily. “Trust you. How could I not?”

  She nodded. “It’s about time.”

  He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m a cop, Lex. Undercover—except… things…” he drew a breath and waited a moment before he continued, “things didn’t happen like they were supposed to.” He nodded at the bottle in her hand. “Go ’head. I’ll say the rest in a minute. When I can draw breath again,” he added wryly.

  Alexa tipped the bottle, letting it trickle into the open wound. Johnny’s eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his face into the pillow. His breathing came shallow and fast as he waited for the pain of the burning liquid fire to subside. He was dimly aware of Alexa’s hands on his skin, a cool cloth against his forehead, and then his neck.

  “Just take your time,” Alexa murmured. She smoothed back his sweat-damp hair, and he could hear the tense worry in her voice; could feel the sympathy in her fingertips.

  Gradually, the pain receded to a manageable level, his breathing slowing as well. He forced it to even out, taking a deep breath then letting it go as he fought the urge to let the rapid, shallow bursts take over once more.

  She cut the material of his jeans next to the bullet hole in his thigh, the scissors cold against his skin. As if in slow motion, he reached for her arm, blindly grasping it. “Give me a pass on that right now, Lex,” he finally muttered. “I…need a little time.” He lifted his left arm a couple of inches off the bed. “Here.” He swallowed hard, shifting, a groan bitten back quickly at the movement. “Take a look at this arm first. No cutting or—anything. Just feels like the bandage slipped.” His voice was strained and quiet.

  Alexa patted his hand in wordless acquiescence and he released his grip on her wrist.

  “I know…you’re—just trying to take care of it all. But I—need a few minutes.” He opened his eyes, and when he met her green gaze, his suspicions were confirmed. She needed a reprieve as much as he did. Her face was pale in the dim light, her lips drawn and bloodless.

  But she managed to smile, and Johnny’s breath caught at the look in her eyes. Soft. Understanding. Caring.

  His heart tripped, unsure of what he’d seen; then, more certain than he’d ever been of anything in his life.

  When Alexa glanced away from him to see to his arm, he wondered how in the hell he was going to deal with this situation once they got out of here. If they got out of here.

  And, in the very next instant, he realized that was the least of his worries.

  Chapter 11

  Daniel knew they would come. Sooner or later, everyone discovered his secret place; or, at least, that’s how it seemed. Most of the maintenance people knew he was here, but they kept quiet about it. He didn’t mind Alexa Bailey and Johnny Logan being here. But the others—those ones down there in the hotel now—he knew how they were with their killing and threats. He’d seen what they’d done, watching through the vent shafts.

  He hated to think it, but he figgered he looked like that—crazy in the eyes—himself, when he’d killed that guy over the box of Donut World Winners. Well, okay, he’d asked that guy to share the Winners and whatnot, but hell, no! That guy had come up swinging on him and in the fighting time, somehow, that guy had pulled a knife on him.

  Well, he had to defend hisself, and by God, he had done just that. ’Course, that guy had got
the last laugh, though, cause when he’d taken away the knife and used it on that guy, the sorry bastard had stepped right smack on top of the cellophane over the Winners.

  But Daniel didn’t care. He’d eaten them, smashed and all. All twelve of them. And he hadn’t had to share.

  He reckoned he shoulda saved a couple for Ronnie, but Ronnie wasn’t much of a donut eater. He liked French fries and whatnot better than donuts. Daniel was glad about that, secretly. He’d sure felt bad about not sharing with Ronnie. When Ronnie found him and got him up here to his safe place, he didn’t have a thing to give him to thank him. Ronnie was the best brother anybody ever had.

  Well, now the bastards were going to ruin everything. He’d heard them talking about coming up here to look around on the roof. The big redheaded son-of-a-bitch had told the girl, Eileen, that he was going to “check things out”. He’d heard that much before he’d eased on out of the vents and come back up here. And he didn’t care that Johnny was in his bed. He was glad Johnny and Lex had found his little place. But from what he’d heard, he was worried O’Brian would find them sooner than they could get moved.

  So, he didn’t have much time to help Lex and Johnny. He wasn’t at all sure Johnny would be able to move somewheres else. He didn’t look good.

  The place he had in mind wouldn’t be as comfortable as the bed, but they sure as hell couldn’t stay where they were. Daniel moistened his lips, thinking about the reaction he was certain to get from the two people he was trying to save.

  He was used to it. People down below had always looked at him funny, after his accident—when he’d come back from Vietnam. At first, it hurt. Then, it made him mad as hell. Finally, he just got to where he accepted it…cause they did it all the time. Every one of them, except Ronnie.

  He took a couple of soundless steps, walking into the dim light from where he’d been watching. Then two more, and two more…until he stood in the aura of the light from a fixture on the second floor catwalk.