Capture the Night

by Cheryl Pierson

  With expert precision, McShane leveled the gun, a sneer on his lips, his finger tightening on the trigger—

  At that moment, Eileen Bannion stepped in front of Roberts. A shot sounded through the still morning, coupled with her scream; then, she crumpled to the ground.

  Pete stood, half-walking, half-crawling to get to her. “No! Eileen!”

  McShane beat him to her side, kneeling next to her, a look of what could have passed for genuine grief crossing his face. “Eilly! What the devil— You did that on purpose!”

  “Kiss me, Kier,” she whispered. Her pain-glazed eyes went past McShane, seeking Pete’s, as if she were trying to tell him something. He put his hands to his head, as if he needed to hold it on.

  Johnny stood on the other side of the dying woman. There was something missing. He needed to understand what was going on. Pete had said earlier that Eileen could be trusted…yet…

  “Kier—kiss me.” Eileen lay still, blood pooling under her on the stucco finish.

  Johnny heard the desperation in her tone, and wondered if McShane would do as she asked. And how could Pete think she could be trusted?

  With slow caution, McShane leaned forward, touching his lips to hers. In a lightning-fast motion, bringing the last of her energy to bear, she drew the dagger from its sheath on her hip and cleanly sliced the belt holding the detonator around his waist.

  As it fell free, she ripped it away from him, tossing it to Johnny. He caught it in an awkward, one-handed grip, holding his breath when he saw it coming. But there was no sudden rumbling of the bomb being detonated in the rough handling of the controls.

  “Eilly! What are you doing?” McShane scrambled, trying to intercept it, falling short as Johnny caught it.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Wiping you…out, Kieran McShane. Killing your…child…and its mother.”

  “Why?” Her betrayal cut him, and there was no hiding it.

  “For…my brother,” she spat. “My…Robin.”

  McShane seemed to recover quickly. He rocked back on his heels, gun at the ready, a smug grin lining his face. “Yet, I live. So, you see, Eilly dear, you haven’t accomplished your goal at all. And you, like your dear departed brother, become nothing but collateral damage—as I told you before.” He gave Johnny a wary stare, his eyes sliding to the belt Johnny gripped, as if determining if he could make a successful grab for it.

  Johnny met his eyes with a look of pure, icy contempt.

  Anger contorted McShane’s features as he stared down at Eileen once more. “I never needed you.”

  Eileen’s lips curved upward. “You…don’t…matter, Kieran,” she murmured. “You never did.”

  With a muttered oath, he rose, stalking to where the sniveling Pickens still lay in a heap. He delivered a vicious kick to Pickens across the temple, then turned and stood watching his hostages. He flexed his fingers, then gripped the pistol, once more aiming it toward the small group clustered about Eileen.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “Pete—” Eileen’s voice was a weak whisper.

  He needed nothing more than her speaking his name. He sank to the roof in an awkward position beside her, taking her hand, wondering how he’d made it this far and ready to pass out. But he couldn’t leave her alone to die.

  “Tell him…everything.”

  Pete nodded. “I think you already did.” His voice was rough.

  “Kill…him.”

  It was a promise Pete wasn’t sure he could keep. He squeezed her hand in reassurance.

  “Ye’re a mess, Peter J.” Eileen lifted her hand from his to skim the bruising at his cheek. Pete swallowed hard. For a moment, he glimpsed the young girl she’d been before she’d set out to avenge her brother. It took his breath. The light in her eyes began to gutter. “Take care…”

  He clasped her faltering hand in his, brushing his swollen lips in a gentle kiss across her cold knuckles. “I will…” he promised.

  Her head tilted slowly to the side, and the light flickered out.

  Chapter 39

  From the corner of his eye, Johnny saw movement. McShane was on his way back—to gloat over Eileen’s death, to goad his younger brother into doing something stupid because of it—and to retrieve the detonator by whatever means he had to use.

  The Prime Minister nudged him in warning. How the hell was he going to keep the main detonator out of this lunatic’s hands? The Irishman seemed to hold every damn card. But McShane was alone now, and maybe there was some kind of chance…

  The officials from the President to the local police would be clamoring to bring McShane down alive. Personally, he couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to bring the son of a bitch down, period. He just wanted to go home and sleep, to stop this ceaseless burning in his side, the fire that shot through his thigh with each step.

  McShane stopped a few feet from them. A smile twisted his lips, and he put his hand out, motioning for Johnny to give him the belt. He trained the semi-automatic pistol on Brendan Roberts’s chest.

  “Hand it over, John T. I’m ready to go home now. It’s done.”

  Johnny shook his head. “You want…martyrdom, McShane.” His eyes narrowed. “To explode this bomb; go out in a blast that kills everyone within a mile radius.”

  McShane cocked his head at Johnny’s calm words.

  “It isn’t going to happen.”

  “Then say goodbye to the Prime Minister, Mr. Logan.” He turned to look at Brendan Roberts. “Eilly was a fool. You’re not worth it.”

  Roberts nodded, frowning. “Yes. I’m sorry for that. She truly was a selfless person—”

  McShane held up a hand. “Spare me, please. She was a bitch. A traitorous bitch. The belt, Mr. Logan. Now!”

  Johnny shrugged. “Death…or death. Not much of a choice, is it?”

  McShane bared his teeth. “Give it to me, Yank! Unless you want me to kill him inch by inch!”

  Johnny gave him an icy stare. “I’ll fight you for it.”

  Pete’s head jerked up, his expression incredulous. “Johnny…no! You’re in no shape—” he broke off, his own injuries getting the best of him.

  Johnny turned to look the Prime Minister in the eye, handing him the detonator. “You and Pete go back—” he nodded to where Alexa sat beside Traci, the baby cradled in her arms, “—back over there.”

  Daniel. Where was Daniel? Nowhere in sight. Had he managed to get back inside the hotel? If nothing else, maybe he’d be able to get out of this alive. As unpredictable as Daniel was in some ways, Johnny only hoped that in this he would either have managed to figure out a way to help them, or have gotten away.

  Roberts took the belt with obvious reluctance. “John, are you sure about this?” he murmured, casting a worried glance at Pete.

  “Think of it as a—gift,” Johnny replied evenly.

  Roberts nodded his understanding. “Yes. Quite.” He reached down to help Pete to his feet, then turned to look at McShane. “You will make it a fair fight, won’t you, McShane? You have gained quite a reputation for yourself—a sullied one, in that respect.”

  McShane gave a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, ye’ can be sure of it, Brendan. I’m lookin’ forward to pushin’ the button when ye’ hand that wee belt over to me. Blowin’ yer arse to kingdom come.” He looked at Johnny. “I wouldn’t mind a last good tussle before I go.”

  Something wasn’t right. Johnny saw it in McShane’s eyes, in his smarmy grin as he turned from Brendan Roberts to face him. He had agreed much too easily. Johnny had thrown out the suggestion of a fight for the belt as a last ditch effort—not expecting McShane to take him up on it. And certainly, not with such absolute relish.

  The morning air was warm. In the distance, Johnny could hear a thousand little things that he’d taken for granted for a long time. The faraway beating of the chopper propellor, waiting for the right time—a time that might never come. The sounds of city traffic a few blocks away in an area that was “safe.” Johnny’s lips curved in a cynical smile.
“Safe” was not even a mile from him; he could almost see it from where he stood, and he could damn sure hear it.

  But he was here. Here on this rooftop with a crazy-ass son of a bitch, fighting for his life and those of the others who had to sit and watch. His brother—who was hanging on by a thin thread; and Alexa, who continued to put up a helluva brave front. It was up to him, now. He was still standing, but not by much.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Alexa couldn’t believe her ears. A fight! Unbelievable… that Johnny would suggest that…unbelievable, if it worked. She’d sat holding the baby, watching, as the Prime Minister had gone to try to save Pickens’s miserable life, almost getting himself killed in the process.

  But it had been Eileen Bannion who had ended up paying the price in a turn of events that Alexa would have never expected.

  As Johnny and Pete had gone to the fallen woman, Daniel had stood in a rush, and with no explanation, made his way to the door of the equipment housing. Alexa watched him go, not daring to call out to him for fear of attracting McShane’s attention to him. Daniel made no move to conceal himself, striding with purpose toward the door and opening it. He never turned to look behind him, as the door closed, cutting him off from view.

  Alexa chewed on her lower lip, jiggling the baby to shush him. She glanced down at the child, worry flooding through her at the progressive weakening of his crying. He needed food. He was fading fast. Of course, it wouldn’t matter for any of them in a matter of a few short hours—or minutes. Either McShane would murder them all one by one, or he would allow the bomb to do his dirty work for him.

  A fight. She shook her head. Sudden, burning tears came up in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She was about to witness the man she loved possibly being killed right in front of her. Johnny was doing everything he could to protect them…giving his own life in the process. She heard him say something, too quiet for her to make out the words. But as Brendan Roberts slipped a firm arm around Pete and they started back toward where she and Traci sat, she could only surmise that he’d asked the Prime Minister to see his brother to safety.

  Anger closed a fist around her heart. Even Eileen Bannion had been permitted the comfort of her lover’s kiss as she died…a few parting words exchanged. She and Johnny would have nothing. She thought of the St. Christopher’s medallion she’d been so careful—and now, it seemed, so naïve—to put around his neck earlier for protection. It hadn’t worked. St. Christopher, you’re a fraud! She bowed her head, her thoughts a jumbled mess but for that one, clamoring above them all.

  Do what you’re supposed to do, she thought sternly. Take care of him. Protect him. You’ve done a piss-poor job of it so far.

  Pete’s protests broke into her musings as he and the Prime Minister returned. Brendan Roberts spoke low in response.

  They made it back just as Pete’s knees buckled, and the Prime Minister tightened his grip, helping him down to the solid floor beneath them. Pete let go a string of curses, and Roberts smiled, in spite of their grim circumstances.

  Traci reached forward, laying a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “You really should rest,” she said.

  Pete gave her a furious glare from his swollen eyes. “I’ll have an eternity for that in a few short minutes if McShane gets his way.”

  Roberts laid the belt aside with gentle care, kneeling beside him. His very presence demanded Pete’s attention. “That’s a few short minutes you didn’t have before, Peter,” he said solemnly, “thanks to your brother’s quick thinking.” He glanced to where McShane and Johnny had squared off. “Let’s show him we have a bit of faith in his abilities, shall we?”

  “Guess it’s all we can do,” Pete acknowledged grudgingly.

  “Sometimes, that is quite enough.”

  Pete nodded toward the stairwell door. “I was…headed over there when you were about…to get yourself shot.”

  Roberts gaze followed Pete’s. “The SWAT officers? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Pete nodded, trying to regain his breath. “That, or…the other terrorists…or both. Hell, they may’ve all killed each other…maybe nobody’s down there…”

  “That would explain why no one’s come—”

  “Not exactly. See, our men don’t know how many terrorists are up here—they don’t know they’re—” he broke off, the effort too great, and Roberts finished it for him.

  “They don’t know what’s become of their own men that were sent up first, nor the fate of the terrorists that have been killed.”

  Pete looked at Roberts. “That’s right. Open that door, and you don’t know what you’ll be letting up here with us. Our guys, or theirs.”

  Roberts’s brow furrowed. “I thought the others were dead. We assumed that earlier, didn’t we?”

  “We don’t know anything for certain.”

  The Prime Minister nodded and rubbed his jaw. “I see.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  McShane gave Johnny a feral grin. He bent his knees, motioning Johnny to come for him, to make a move.

  “C’mon, Officer,” he taunted low, with obvious relish for the onset of the battle. “I’m lookin’ forward to this.”

  Johnny regarded him with weary determination, wishing right now for nothing more than a bed and a strong shot of morphine. He should be questioning his own sanity at proposing such a contest with the stakes so high. But what choice did he have?

  They began to circle one another, and his doubt increased. Johnny watched McShane’s hand dip toward his pants pocket, then back up into a ready position. With a cry, McShane hurtled himself at Johnny, his fist clipping Johnny’s chin.

  Johnny staggered back, and McShane tackled him, driving them both to the ground. They rolled over the flat roof, the pain in Johnny’s side intense and sharp. The juxtaposition of cheery morning brightness all around him and the dark fight to the death he was engaged in allowed him the focus he needed to stave off the dizziness. He landed a hard punch to McShane’s right eye.

  The Irishman cursed, but held on even tighter, a veteran of the barroom and alley way brawls he’d grown up fighting in the streets of Belfast and bragged about so openly.

  Johnny was no stranger to that type of fight. Being half-Anglo, half-Hispanic, his growing up years hadn’t been easy, either. The military life, moving often, had seen him and his brothers always having to prove themselves wherever they went, especially in those first weeks of every transfer, when they happened to be “the new kids” on the base.

  McShane aimed a deliberate punch over the entry wound at his side, and Johnny could not hold back his groan of pain, followed by a muffled curse.

  Though McShane was smaller, Johnny realized the Irishman’s strength was enhanced by some sort of speed—drugs he’d been taking to keep himself awake and alert for the past two days.

  Johnny rolled again, coming atop McShane, his hands reaching for his throat. As Johnny’s fingers closed around his neck, McShane brought his wrist up between them, pressing against the hole the bullet had torn through Johnny’s upper arm, until the incredible pain forced him to release his grasp. He reflexively grabbed for the throbbing wound, but McShane blocked his hand, delivering a sharp blow to Johnny’s nose that drove him back off of the terrorist.

  He was on his knees as McShane tackled him again, sending them both sprawling. McShane gained the upper hand, straddling Johnny. He drew back his fist, a demonic grin twisting his battered face, and blacked Johnny’s left eye just as Johnny turned his head. His taunting laughter was all that kept Johnny conscious.

  “I’ve got plans for you,” McShane smirked. “Oh, John T., have I got plans for you.”

  Johnny swung his fist up at McShane, unseating him as his punch made a solid connection. McShane grunted in pain and surprise, grabbing for his face. “Damn me, you’ve broke my nose!” McShane squawked. He sat back on his haunches, his hand over his nose as if he were afraid Johnny would do it again. Enraged, McShane came to his feet, flinging the blood from his fingers, then wipin
g his hand on his pants.

  Johnny wasted no time in getting up. It surprised him that he was able. He was running on pure adrenaline; how long…how long would it last? He couldn’t hold out forever.

  He glanced at Alexa. She met his eyes for one sweet, intense moment, and everything between them was said.

  He turned back to face McShane. He had done everything he could. Everything he knew how to do. And where were the rest of the damn SWAT team, anyway? Surely, they weren’t all in McShane’s pocket. They should’ve figured a way up here by now, though this place was like a fortress, only one way up…

  McShane was winded, and he bent, placing his hands on his knee. His glance fell on Eileen’s body a few feet behind where Johnny stood. His lips compressed in a thin line of bitterness. “Bitch,” he hissed. “You didn’t fool me. You never…never fooled me.”

  Johnny sucked in a couple of lungfuls of air, hoping for another minute of breathing space. “She had to…to mean something to you.” Maybe if he kept McShane talking…but something nagged at him. McShane’s hand reached again for his pants pocket…

  McShane’s head swung up. “Nothing. Less than nothing. Just another whore to be used. And I did.”

  “She carried your child, McShane. That’s more—more than a—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. Johnny took another deep breath, figuring he was as ready as he’d ever be. He just wanted to get this over with, and he was already pretty certain of the outcome. Behind him, he heard the baby’s thin wail, and he could feel the tension of the entire group of hostages, including Roberts’s small cadre of men who sat, bound and helpless, nearby.

  McShane nodded as if reading his thoughts. “Aye, John T. It’s time we ended this, I think.” He came at Johnny once more, and this time when they landed, they were perilously close to the edge of the failed railing.

  They rolled once, twice, stopping only inches from going off together in a death grip. McShane raised his head to look into Johnny’s face with a triumphant, bloody grin—and Johnny knew exactly what the Irishman had in mind.