Amber Morn

by Brandilyn Collins

  The shooting stopped.

  Shrieks filled the café. Bailey pulled her arms from her head.

  “Shut up, all of you, shut up!” Kent swung his gun around.

  Screams dissolved into gasps and crying. Bev lay crumpled across Bailey’s feet, her legs drawn up and face covered. Was she hit? Bailey bent down, shook her shoulder. Bev pushed to her knees and looked up. No blood to be seen. Bailey reached for her hand.

  Mitch and Brad cussed and threatened. Kent stomped across the café floor with his gun, cursing John and every person in Kanner Lake.

  The phone rang.

  Bailey pulled Bev to her feet, cast wild looks right and left. Was everyone else safe? Hank and Ted had hold of Leslie. Carla hung on to Wilbur, her face streaked with tears. Jared shielded Paige with his body.

  Bailey cut her eyes toward Angie, who still lay across the room on the floor, not far from the counter. If anyone had been hit from a ricocheting bullet, it would be her. The phone kept ringing. Kent ignored it.

  Angie’s legs were moving. Bailey couldn’t see her face but heard her choked prayer: “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus…”

  “What are you trying to do, kill us all?” Brad strode to his father and hit his shoulder.

  Mitch stormed after Brad. “Leave him alone!”

  Kent shoved Brad away. “That man went after your mother!”

  “So kill his wife and throw her outside! Kill every last one of them, for all I care! But now you’ve busted the TV. And what if you’d shot out the front windows? The cops would pour right in here!”

  “You see any windows shot?” Mitch jumped in front of him.

  “Maybe we won’t be so lucky next time.” Brad’s teeth gritted.

  Kent shook his gun at them. “Don’t tell me what to do! Either of you!”

  The three men faced off, chests heaving.

  Angie’s weeping rose from the floor.

  “Shut up!” Kent spun around, a thick vein bulged in his forehead. He surged toward Angie, kicking abandoned chairs from his path. “I’ve had enough a you!”

  Bailey grabbed Bev’s wrist. Terrified groans spilled from the hostages.

  Brad and Mitch aimed their guns at the group. “Don’t move!”

  Kent grabbed Angie’s arm with his right hand. “Get up.” He yanked hard. Her body bent from the waist like a pulled puppet. “Get up!” He wrenched again, and she staggered to her feet, hair disheveled and face without color. Kent sneered. “Shooting’s too quick for you. Get out and die in the sun!” He flung a vile name in her face, dragged her forward. “Unlock the door!”

  Mitch sprinted over, undid the bolt.

  “Open it.” Kent’s teeth clenched as he jerked Angie across the café. Mitch pulled the door back. Instant light and fresh air wafted into the room. Bailey squinted. Kent leapt behind Angie and thrust his hand hard against her back. “Go die!”

  “Uh!” Her head whiplashed. She staggered, then stumbled over the threshold onto the sidewalk. Sunshine lit up her pink outfit.

  Angie collapsed on the pavement.

  Mitch slammed the door and bolted it.

  “There.” Kent slumped against it in triumph. “There. Hope it’s slow and painful.”

  Mitch and Brad exchanged vindictive glances and made their way back to stand guard over the hostages.

  The phone rang again. Kent made a face at it, stomped over to click it on, then off. He slammed the receiver on the table.

  Nobody moved. The air hung still and choking. Bailey’s wide eyes traveled from Kent to the ruin of her café. Dear God, help Angie. Bailey’s ankles trembled, and numbness crept over her body.

  “Now.” Kent stalked toward the hostages, gun cradled in both hands, his barrel chest rising and falling.

  The phone rang. He stopped in his tracks and swore.

  It rang again.

  He heaved a sigh. “Okay, Edwards. You wanna keep bugging me? You’re about to be sorry.”

  He swung back to the table and picked up the phone.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  “Shots fired!” A voice cut through the tac radio.

  Vince’s head jerked. He leaned toward the monitor, eyes fixed on Java Joint’s door, looking for signs of bullets. Justin pushed to his feet.

  “Still shooting.”

  An eternity passed. Vince’s heart beat in his throat.

  Dear Lord, please save them.

  No movement on the screen.

  “Gunfire ceased.”

  Vince grabbed his phone and punched on the line. Pressed it to his ear, listening to the rings. Once, twice. A third time, a fourth.

  Come on, Kent…

  On the monitor the Java Joint door flung open. A woman clad in pink staggered out to the sidewalk and collapsed.

  The door closed.

  Vince’s veins chilled. He hunched forward, eyes narrowed, desperate to make an identification.

  Pink clothing. Short, grayish-brown hair. Angie Brendt.

  Had she been shot?

  The phone line connected, then went dead.

  Vince punched talk again.

  Angie lay on her stomach, one arm flung out. Vince could see no bloodstain on her back, her head.

  The Java Joint phone kept ringing. Vince kept the receiver to his ear as he picked up the tac radio. “Frontal position, one of you called in gunfire?”

  “Yes.”

  “Second frontal — I heard it too.”

  Vince watched the screen. “Can either of you get a visual for any wounds on the woman who just came out?”

  A pause. “No wounds, far as I can tell.”

  “Ditto for me.”

  Vince felt sick. This was it. His negotiations had failed.

  But one thing at a time. First, he had to get Angie out of there, whatever her condition. Second, assess the situation inside Java Joint. If Kent would just pick up the phone!

  “Jack.” Vince spoke into the radio. “Can you get some men up there to retrieve the victim? I have reason to believe she may be suffering from a heart attack, so we need to get her out quickly.”

  “Understood. Two men are on their way.”

  Onscreen, Angie’s stretched-out arm began curling inward. “She’s moving,” Jack said.

  They fell silent, watching. The phone rang in Vince’s ear.

  Angie rolled to her side. She struggled to her knees, then managed to push to her feet. She stood, swaying, facing up the sidewalk.

  Come on, come on, get her out of there. At least she was conscious and on her feet. The men wouldn’t have to bodily carry her away. Even so, the café door could open any minute. Angie would be cut down in seconds.

  The phone line connected.

  “Edwards!” Kent seethed. “You better be calling to tell me T.J.’s free.”

  “I’m calling because I heard reports of gunfire. Everybody all right?”

  “Sure, we’re great.”

  “No one hurt?”

  Kent laughed low in his throat. “The place has seen better days.”

  “You mean the café?”

  “What you think I’m talking about — the Chamber of Commerce?”

  “So — no one was shot?”

  “Not yet. But soon.”

  Vince closed his eyes. “What about Angie?”

  “I kicked her out.”

  “You kicked her out?”

  “Yeah. Got tired of her whining.”

  Vince looked back to the monitor. Angie was dragging herself up the sidewalk.

  “Listen, Edwards. You pushed me too far with that man going to my house. My house!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Kent swore. “Don’t act like you don’t know!”

  “I —”

  “Shut up!” Kent’s breathing fumed.

  Angie listed to one side. She stepped sideways and slumped against a building.

  Come on, Angie, you can make it.

  “Now hear me, Big Chief. I’m tired of waiting around. And after what you done — I swear,
if Lenora’s hurt, I’ll come after you personally and kill you with my bare hands. It’s just past one thirty now. You got one hour to get T.J. out of prison and on his way home. If two thirty comes and that ain’t happened, I shoot a hostage. Every half hour after that, I shoot another one.”

  Vince kept his voice even. “Less than an hour doesn’t give me much time.”

  “Better hurry then.”

  “Kent, I don’t have the authority to open the prison cell for T.J. I can put in the request, but I can’t —”

  “You got one hour. You and I ain’t talking until then. And by the way — just to keep myself entertained, I’ve decided to play a little game with the folks in the meantime. They get to decide who goes first.”

  The line went dead.

  PART THREE

  Ultimatum

  SIXTY-NINE

  The two men nearly scared Angie to death. They came out of nowhere, covered in dark gear like those policemen on TV shows. Carrying guns.

  “Oh!” Her hands flew up, and she almost fell over against the building.

  Was she hallucinating? All the pain, and her wobbly legs, and the sun was so very bright…

  “Police.” One of the men ran toward her. “We’re getting you out of here.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away. He was strong. Her feet hardly touched the pavement.

  Next thing she knew, they’d stumbled around the corner building and turned down Second Street. A van idled in the middle of the road, pointed toward Lakeshore. The man steered Angie toward it. She heard hard steps behind them. Kent? She threw a wild look backward.

  No. The second policeman, running backward, his gun aimed toward Main.

  They reached the van. The first man pushed her into the backseat and crawled in after her. The door slammed. The second man jumped in front.

  “Go!”

  A third man behind the wheel sped the van down the street.

  Angie fell back against the seat, her eyes closing. Oh, she hurt. “Where are we going? I want to see David.”

  “We’re going to get you to an ambulance. You still in pain?”

  “Yes. Which hospital? What about my friends? I want to see David.”

  She prattled on. Angie knew she sounded like a fool, but she couldn’t stop herself. She gripped her left arm, massaging. Wanting the pain to go away. Wishing she could just fall asleep, wake up on another day.

  “Where are we — which —?”

  “Just stay calm now.” Angie felt a hand on her shoulder.

  The van stopped. Doors opened. Angie kept her eyes closed. The pain was too much, and all the commotion. Her brain couldn’t handle it.

  Other voices. Footfalls. A hard metal snap.

  Gurney?

  “Ma’am, come on, let me help you get out.”

  Then she was sliding over… on her feet for two seconds… hands helping her down. The sun was bright, turning the insides of her eyelids mottled red. She was lifted, slid into the ambulance. She felt someone climb in behind her. Doors closed.

  The ambulance moved.

  “Which hospital are we going to?”

  “Kootenai Medical Center.” A woman’s voice. “Just be still now.”

  A blood pressure cuff around her arm. Tightening. “Please. You have to tell David.”

  “Is David your husband?”

  The pain. Angie’s breath came in puffs. “No. But. Soon. Maybe. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, huh?” A smile in the woman’s tone. “Well then, we better get you fixed up quick.”

  SEVENTY

  Angie had gotten to safety.

  Vince lowered the phone, relieved for her. But the feeling was short-lived.

  Justin put down his pen and sat back.

  One hour.

  Briefly, Vince focused on the pictures of the hostages, envisioning their positions within the café.

  Tactical wouldn’t need an hour. While he’d been negotiating, Vince knew Jack and his men had been doing their homework. Thanks to the building plans, they knew every inch of Java Joint’s layout by now. What kind of front door it had, the lock system. They’d studied the photos of the hostages and HTs. Each CRT member would know his exact job. Who would go in first. Who would be last. Who carried the shields, who wielded the gun with frangible ammunition to breach the door.

  In the meantime, Vince would try to keep Kent Wicksell on the phone, despite his unwillingness to talk. Vince would call until he answered. Distracting him was important. One, he was the one most likely to storm out the door or harm someone inside. Two, according to Brittany’s information, he tended to sit at a certain spot when he was on the phone. The more Tactical knew about the HTs’ positions upon entry, the better.

  Vince needed to get Brittany’s diagram down to Jack immediately.

  He picked up the radio, prepared to speak the words he’d so hoped to avoid. The CRT commander would be expecting this. With the gunfire, the HTs had left Vince with no other choice.

  “Jack, this is Vince.”

  “Yeah, Vince.”

  “I’m giving you the green light to go tactical.”

  SEVENTY-ONE

  “They get to decide who goes first.”

  Pastor Hank watched, nearly numb with shock, as Kent punched off the call and smirked at the phone.

  Leslie gasped. She eased away from Hank into Ted’s arms. Bev and Bailey clung to each other, shivering. Wilbur cussed under his breath.

  Hank thought of Janet. Dear Lord, thank you that she’s not here.

  If God had ever used sickness for good, it was now. Janet would be in Java Joint right now if their youngest daughter wasn’t fighting mono.

  But she and all three daughters must have heard the news by now. Hank’s heart squeezed, thinking of their terror.

  Lord, help them be strong. And surround us in here. Protect us with your angels…

  Hank knew his church members were praying at this very minute. The prayers of everyone combined were what had kept them all alive until now.

  Except Frank.

  Hank looked to Paige. Her face was white, her blue-green eyes lifeless. She held on to Jared.

  Kent laid the phone on the table with a firm clack. He turned evil eyes on the group. “Everybody, go sit down where you were.”

  Brad and Mitch backed up, their weapons following the hostages’ movements. No one spoke, the only sounds their footsteps and chair legs scraping into place.

  All hope had fled the room.

  Hank sat down at his table across from Wilbur. The older man looked ready to bite somebody’s head off.

  Two tables over, Jared dragged his chair into place, facing Bev. Angie’s seat between them screamed its emptiness. Anger and fear welled in Hank, and he curled his fingers, fighting the emotion. Did anyone out there even know Angie was on the sidewalk? Surely she’d been rescued. The thought of her lying on the hot pavement in the sun, in such pain…

  Lord, please. No.

  The phone rang. Hank started at the sound.

  Kent swore and threw a black look at the receiver. He grabbed it, punched it on, then off.

  The clock ticked.

  Sweat ran down Mitch’s temple. He jerked his shoulder up and wiped it away.

  Kent glowered at the hostages, his large nostrils flaring. “What’re you all so quiet for? You don’t decide who I shoot first, I’ll do it for ya.” He pointed to Bailey. “And it’ll be her.”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Vince perched in his chair, phone pressed to his ear. Wicksell kept disconnecting the line. What’s going on in there? Vince’s focus glued to the monitor, even though he hadn’t yet heard from CRT. The screen froze on the empty second block of Main, Java Joint in the center. The scene looked like a movie set, waiting for action to begin.

  If only this were a movie.

  The line jangled in his ear. Vince’s nerves thrummed.

  Larry, Justin, Roger, Wiley, Tranning, and Judge Hadkin all crowded around the desk, their attention fixed on the s
creen. Roger rubbed the side of his face, back and forth, back and forth. A nervous, helpless gesture after running on all four cylinders only to be brought to a screeching halt. Wiley stood with fat legs apart and arms crossed. Hadkin pushed his lower lip up against the top one, plucking at loose skin on his Adam’s apple. Larry gripped the black marker from the situation board. He’d marked “RELEASED” across Angie Brendt’s photo. No need now, but it gave him something to do.

  Another ring.

  They spoke little. Nothing left to say. All the activity — the negotiating and information gathering; logbook and situation board maintenance; the discussion between attorneys and judge, once so important — cut to the ground like a sword through the knees. All for nothing.

  If Vince had learned one thing in his training, it was that incidents like this were unpredictable. And fluid, never static. One idea might work — like the TV/hostage exchange. The next could fail.

  The station line jangled. Roger answered it and walked across the room, facing the situation board. He spoke in low tones. Vince couldn’t hear the words.

  In his ear, the Java Joint phone rang again.

  The line connected, then cut off.

  Vince exhaled in frustration. He lowered the receiver.

  “What’s the use?” Tranning held up his hands. “They won’t answer.”

  Vince ignored him, punched the talk button again.

  Roger turned around, relief on his face. “Great news from Al. Channel 2’s reporting Frank’s out of surgery. He’s still in critical condition, but everything went well. Unless some complications come up, looks like he’ll make it.”

  “Yeah.” Justin raised a fist.

  Vince’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank You, Lord.”

  Now, save the hostages…

  “One more thing,” Roger said. “Al’s asking if you know anything about John Truitt going to Kent Wicksell’s house to talk to his wife. A Channel 4 reporter was there, and they got it all on film. She let him in the house but then threw him out, yelling at him to not come back.”