It was funny, really. During his and Sharon’s own short marriage, she had tried to get him to quit the force and sell insurance. It was safer, she’d said. No thanks, Johnny had told her. It wasn’t for him.
Shortly afterward, she’d moved out. She intended to file for divorce.
Johnny had spent a lot of nights drinking; wondering what he’d done that was so wrong…she’d known he was a cop when they’d married.
Then, he’d gotten the news from Pete. One of the other young rookies had an uncle on the force…Don Richter. He’d just hooked up with one of the world’s most beautiful women. Was she Pete’s sister, he’d asked? Her name was Logan too…Sharon Logan.
Yet, despite the way things had happened, Don always seemed to hold himself aloof from Johnny as if he were the injured party.
After the disillusionment of his failed marriage, Johnny had resolved never to put himself in such a vulnerable place again. And he’d held to it—up until now.
Now, he’d allowed himself to want again. He wanted Alexa Bailey with everything inside him—soul, heart, and mind. In her eyes, he knew he had seen what love really looked like…not the sham he and Sharon had experienced. Sharon had never once looked at him the way Alexa did.
And Alexa had spotted something in Don Richter that she instantly disliked—without even knowing the part he had played in Johnny and Sharon’s breakup.
He felt Alexa shift to shoulder more of his weight as they took a step forward, then another. And the silence stretched between them, Johnny’s question remaining unanswered until they cleared the door and entered the equipment room.
“Is…he a friend?” Alexa’s tone was careful.
Johnny grimaced. “Not exactly. Although he—he did do me a huge favor. I didn’t think so then…but now—” He stopped, looking around the building, watching the stealthy progress of the SWAT team members. His right hand moved to touch the butt of his pistol jammed into his waistband. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled, and he knew better, after all these years, than to ignore that warning.
“Now?” Alexa prodded, watching him. He was preoccupied, checking their surroundings for danger, though with the place crawling with SWAT members a more secure feeling should have prevailed.
Johnny’s eyes swept the room, his gaze cool ice, freezing everything it touched and locking it into his memory. Something was wrong…out of place.
“Now, he realizes his mistake, I’m sure.”
“Johnny—”
“Shh—walk this way, babe—toward the door.” His voice was a low, hushed whisper, but Alexa could not miss the firm command.
♥ ♥ ♥
Alexa felt Johnny’s definite guidance, his hands on her waist as he steered her away from the interior of the room toward the outside door. She bit her lip, squelching her protest.
There was, of course, no way out for them further into the maintenance housing, unless they were up to going down the airshaft—which Alexa dismissed as soon as she thought it. It would be impossible for them to climb down twenty stories, hanging by their hands and feet. She wasn’t prepared to watch Johnny fall to his death, but she knew he’d try it, if it was the only way to get to his brother.
The only other way down was the way they’d gotten here in the first place. Back down the little stairway, stiflingly close and rank with the smell of death, through the kitchen, where the body of José Mendez lay bloating, across the path of death and blood and bodies cut to pieces by the terrorists’ gunfire— and that was where they were headed.
Johnny leaned heavily against her, though she could sense the effort he was making not to. His shirt was damp with blood and perspiration, and she could feel his hand at her waist, somehow steady despite everything, guiding her back toward the door.
Alexa shivered. If one of the Irishmen should come in, she and Johnny would be prime targets out in the open like this. She melded herself to him, trying to move quickly. The shadows beckoned, offering temporary sanctuary. The door was just steps away.
Johnny stopped for an instant, then Alexa felt a renewed urgency in his movements. He muttered a harsh curse, practically hurtling them both into an alcove created by the tubing supports and wall stanchions. His breathing came hard, as he tried to quiet it and failed. They stood facing one another, squeezed into the small space that was barely big enough to shelter both of them.
Alexa stared up at him, questioning. He met her gaze briefly, bringing his rough breathing under control, and nodding toward the vast openness of the room.
At first, Alexa didn’t notice it, but as she looked closely once more, she made it out. A cell phone lying on the floor. The receiver was open, and it lay to the side of the little cubicle that Daniel had brought them to, an open transmitter to the terrorists in the hotel below.
Johnny’s phone was still in his shirt pocket. Alexa was standing so close she could turn her head and almost brush her cheek against it—against him. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the heat emanating from the closeness of his body, and leaned in next to him. His arm came around her, pulling her nearer, and she melted. Her knees went limp for an instant, and she sagged into his solid frame, eyes closed, pulse racing. Her ear pressed next to his chest, and she could hear the steady beat of his heart, through the soft cotton shirt.
His fingers tightened at her waist briefly, and she opened her eyes; his touch a warning not to move. His body tensed suddenly, and she felt his sharp intake of breath just as she heard the outside door open and shut.
From her position, she could see nothing right away—but Johnny could. And she felt his taut muscles go even tighter as he suppressed a shudder of disbelief.
Very slowly, Alexa raised her head, not daring to look at him.
Don Richter bent to scoop up the cell phone—his cell phone—from where it had lain on the floor. He smiled, at ease, as the other man approached, rifle slung across his back, red hair a tufted mess.
“I see you had no trouble following my signal,” Richter said.
Sorley O’Brian nodded brusquely. “Where are they?”
Alexa’s eyes widened, and she felt Johnny’s grip tighten in anticipation of her reaction. She bit back a gasp of utter shock.
Don Richter and the terrorists? Together in this? Why? She fought back the instinct to raise her head and look at Johnny. There was a need for total stillness right now, and Alexa felt like some wild creature of the forest, hiding, waiting for the hunters to pass her by.
She watched as Richter gave the other man a smarmy grin.
“They’re here. The payoff first, O’Brian,” he demanded, glancing around to see where his men were.
“Oh, aye. Ye’ll be gittin’ the payoff right about now, Yank.” In a fluid movement, O’Brian shifted and caught the rifle in his hands, blowing away Richter’s face and the top half of his head.
Alexa turned away from the horror, ducking into Johnny’s chest. His hand passed over her hair in silent comfort, fingers splaying at the back of her head to pull her even closer to him. She screwed her eyes shut, her lips pressed tightly together to keep any sound safely squelched.
She concentrated now on only one thing—survival. Johnny’s breathing was labored beneath where her head nestled close to him, just over his heart. She could feel the effort it took on his part to even remain standing upright, and found herself silently saying an odd prayer in her mind for the support stanchions at their back and on the sides. If the redhead turned and looked closely, he’d see them. They were as near to the wall as they could get, the shadows covering them protectively. But would it be enough to shelter them from this trained killer?
Alexa’s lips twisted bitterly. It was going to end here. She felt a terrible sense of loss. They’d come so far. They were together, at least. A calmness washed over her. They had found one another—had met and loved, even for the short time they’d had. It was a gift she’d never sought nor expected. She supposed it was only human nature, now that they’d discovered the love th
ey shared, to want—more.
Standing here in the shadowy recesses, waiting for whatever Fate decided, many thoughts raced through her mind; things she wished she had told Johnny. She lifted her head slowly, looking up. As he felt her action, he gave her a brief glance, then moved his thumb gently over the nape of her neck. His eyes burned fierce, deep cobalt, full of question and promise; of regret—and love.
In that one look, the world was theirs, and they held it, together, in their arms.
Chapter 29
Johnny tore his gaze away, back to O’Brian, as the Irishman assumed a defensive position behind the corner of the space Johnny and Alexa had occupied just minutes earlier.
The other men who had come in with Richter would be on their way back over to see what had happened. The gunshots had been deafening in this open cavern of a building.
Johnny eased his hand down slowly, away from Alexa, and drew the pistol from his waistband.
Sorley O’Brian held his rifle at the ready, his keen killer’s eyes sweeping the interior.
Johnny had an easy shot from where he stood. Easy. He’d have to make it good. If he didn’t kill with the first shot, he wouldn’t get another. A six-shot .38 was no match for the semi-automatic weapon the Irishman wielded. He and Alexa would be riddled with bullets in the space of seconds.
Richter had been dirty. Were his men corrupt as well?
Johnny sighed, closing his eyes against the river of pain flowing over him, coursing through the center of him, washing away his strength and eroding his determination.
Was it coming down to a choice between Alexa and Pete now? Up to him to choose which of them he would save—if either. That particular decision might already be out of his hands.
He slowly slid the gun back into the blood-stiffened waistband of his jeans. Easy shot, but one he couldn’t risk. No, that wasn’t right. One he wouldn’t risk. If he’d been alone here with his back literally against the wall, he would have chanced it all. Taken the shot, then dealt with the other team members according to their reactions.
As it was, he would have to stand by, watching, not aiding the other SWAT members, because he couldn’t be certain, damn it, of who was dirty and who wasn’t.
He drew Alexa back against him, half-turning in front of her, sheltering her from the gunfire erupting through the cavernous building as the team members converged on the big Irishman. Their fallen captain lay just feet from where O’Brian knelt, blocking their path to escape.
Johnny scanned their faces as they crouched, poised with their weapons. He didn’t know these three, and they all looked incredibly young to him.
A shot hit O’Brian’s arm, and he swore, making an instinctive grab for the wound. Johnny watched as the Irishman examined the hole, then slipped the knot on the bandana he wore tied at his neck and expertly re-tied it across his forearm using his other hand and his teeth. It seemed to be no more than a minor inconvenience, fueling his anger. He returned to the firefight with a fury, immediately scoring big with a fatal shot to the man who had been creeping up on his left side. The officer fell within a few feet of where O’Brian crouched, and he immediately turned to shoot him three more times in the head.
Johnny had a clear view of the other two men from Alpha Team. They were both to O’Brian’s right, no more than ten feet apart from one another.
“I’ve killed your other man!” O’Brian shouted triumphantly at the first lull in the gunfire. “Two down, two to go.” He waited, letting it sink in a moment, then, “Come out peaceable and we’ll go downstairs…sort this all out.”
There was a pause, then, “Let us talk about it, O’Brian.”
O’Brian. The man in back had called him by name. Did it mean he was in league with Richter and the terrorists, or merely that he’d studied the profiles well and knew which one of the bunch they were dealing with?
Johnny watched as the man in back ran up to the point man’s position. It was easy to see they were not in agreement about the next step. They kept a wary watch as they talked, but Johnny could sense that the shorter of the two, the one who had been point man, seemed more concerned than his team member.
And he had reason to be. Johnny’s hunch about the taller officer proved true, as suddenly, the man leveled his gun at his comrade’s unprotected neck and pulled the trigger, sending him flying backward, his gun clattering to the floor. It slid across the slick, smooth concrete, coming to a halt only scant feet from where Alexa and Johnny stood in the shadows.
“Damn it,” Johnny breathed. If either of the two men came to retrieve the weapon, there was no way they could miss him and Alexa.
His gaze quickly shifted from the traitorous gun to where O’Brian and the accomplice were walking toward one another.
“Sorley. Good to meet you in person. I’m Ben Frazier.”
O’Brian extended his hand and they shook.
“Ben, good to meet you, too.” O’Brian looked around the building, dismissing the corpses at their feet. “Any idea where Mr. Logan and company might be?”
Frazier shook his head. “No, but we’ll find them if they’re up here. This place isn’t that huge, after all.” He glanced around nervously.
“Somethin’ wrong, boyo?”
Frazier moistened his lips. “I—I didn’t know you planned to kill the captain.”
O’Brian’s grin spread slowly as he watched Frazier’s discomfort. “Well, now, I’m guessin’ that was a surprise, wasn’t it?” He shrugged. “No matter. It’s done now. And more of the take for you, eh?”
“Um…did you bring the money up here with you?”
O’Brian shook his head. “You know we agreed on a bank transfer—through our mutual friend. Cash is too risky.”
“Yeah, but the captain said he was going to talk to you about that.”
O’Brian’s smile fled, his features going very still. “Captain Richter’s dead, Frazier. There’s a reason for that. Best you remember…too much change—well, it’s not good. McShane doesn’t like changes.” He nodded toward the interior. “Now, let’s go. We need to find John Logan, security guard.”
“Is that what they told you?” Frazier smiled, and it came a bit more easily. “He’s anything but.”
Johnny closed his eyes in frustration. Was anything going to go right? He didn’t know Ben Frazier…dirty Ben Frazier, who didn’t understand that he would soon be lying in a bloody heap on the floor, too…but Ben Frazier sure as fucking hell knew him and was now beginning a litany of all the deeds he had done—and some he hadn’t.
“What d’you mean?”
O’Brian’s look of surprise tickled Frazier. His grin widened, and he began to expound. “Johnny Logan is one of the most highly decorated officers on the force. He’s a twenty-year veteran. Does a lot of undercover work now, and he’s damn good at it. Just last week he and another officer brought down a Columbian drug ring they’d been after for months. There’s pretty much nothing he can’t do—”
“A regular Superman, is he, boyo?” O’Brian goaded, his eyes cold.
Frazier shook his head. “No. Not that.” He looked uncomfortable suddenly, as if he wished Johnny were Superman, and Johnny suspected the idiot had finally begun to realize he was in a jam. “But…not a security guard, either. Just a—a police officer. Like me.” Frazier’s chin jutted defiantly as he made this pronouncement.
O’Brian grinned. “No, Benny. He’s nothing like you. For one thing, you’re dirty, just like your Captain Richter—and I hate dirty coppers.”
Frazier moistened his dry lips, and from the shadows where he and Alexa stood, Johnny could see the quick light of fear in the young officer’s eyes.
Nothing. He could do nothing to prevent what was about to happen. He would not risk Alexa’s life. He suspected O’Brian’s radio was switched on, to allow his comrades below the ability to know what was happening here. If Johnny took a shot at him, even if he killed him, there was still the problem of young Ben Frazier.
And O’Brian was r
ight about one thing: Frazier was dirty. He had pulled the trigger on the other team member—killed him in cold blood. Frazier was together with Richter in whatever scheme they’d devised with the Irishmen. Even if Johnny killed O’Brian, what would he do with Frazier? He was in no condition to deal with a hostage of his own—especially a highly trained one. He had nothing to tie Frazier’s hands and feet with, and what good would that do, anyway? It would just postpone the inevitable. If he restrained Frazier and left him here, the terrorists would kill him when they arrived—as they certainly would, at some point. If some of the other SWAT members made it here first, his fate would be a crapshoot, depending on how many more of them were dirty. And if a clean cop found him, Frazier would have to kill his rescuer to keep him silent, to avoid questions.
Frazier had understood he was taking this risk when he went over the line. Now, he would have to live—and die—with that choice.
“Let’s go,” O’Brian said, nodding toward the interior. “We’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll take this side—” Frazier stated sullenly, moving away toward the far open side of the building.
“Meet you at the back,” O’Brian confirmed, watching as Frazier started across the room.
O’Brian jerked his gun up and pulled the trigger, sending a spray of bullets into Frazier’s back, then higher up, into his unprotected neck and skull. Frazier flew forward with the momentum of the volley, then crumpled to the floor. His sightless eyes seemed to stare ahead to the place where Alexa and Johnny stood in the shadows.
Alexa jumped against Johnny, startled, and his hand tightened across the back of her head in silent warning. She nodded in acknowledgement.
O’Brian walked to where Frazier lay and prodded the corpse with his boot. He reached to take Frazier’s gun. He began to hum as, satisfied, he turned to the other two bodies and began to gather their weapons and put them in the many pockets of his camo pants.
Capture the Night Page 23
