Steal Me

by Lauren Layne

  Anthony relaxed. Slightly. Mandela knew only that Maggie was loosely connected with his family. Not that he’d slept in her bed, made her breakfast, walked her damn dog…

  “It’s possible,” Jozlin mused. “Especially considering that Smiley’s first note was sent to you. Right, Captain?”

  “Correct,” Anth said. “Sent to my brother Vincent, actually, but with my name on the envelope.”

  This time when Jozlin leaned back in his chair, his frustration had turned to speculation. “If Eddie’s prone to jealousy and watching the diner, he could get the wrong idea about Ms. Walker’s relationship with one of you. Mistakenly assume that there’s something romantic there.”

  Mistakenly.

  Ha.

  Tell him. Speak up now.

  But he couldn’t. A relationship with an informant on an in-progress case was the ultimate career suicide. He’d taken enough risks as it is, going by her house late at night and then staying there.

  He leaned his elbows on the desk, feeling unbearably weary.

  He needed to put a stop to this thing with Maggie. Whatever it was. He could no longer tell himself it was just sex. Not when she was all he thought about. Not when he would—

  Anthony’s phone vibrated.

  So did everybody else’s.

  Anthony stared at his phone for a split second and was already in motion before Jozlin spoke. “A hostage situation at the Darby Diner. Isn’t that the same diner that—”

  “Yeah,” Anthony said, shoving open the door and all but running toward the exit.

  Mandela was right behind him. “Think it’s Smiley?”

  “I know it is,” Anth replied with grim certainty.

  “Think he finally went after—”

  “Yes,” he said again, interrupting because he couldn’t bear to hear Mandela say her name. Couldn’t bear to even think it.

  A dozen officers were swarming around him in seconds, as Anthony barked out questions that nobody had answers to.

  How many hostages?

  Did they have eyes on the suspect?

  Was he armed?

  And the most heartbreaking question…the one he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

  Was Maggie inside?

  Chapter Thirty

  Margaret, baby. You don’t look happy to see me.”

  Maggie’s eyes flicked to the gun in Eddie’s hand as he watched her with a Cheshire cat smile. The man she’d been married to had never been into guns that she was aware of.

  But he looked comfortable with this one.

  Too comfortable.

  Maggie had always read about people in life-threatening situations whose minds went perfectly clear and focused.

  But since Eddie had strolled into the diner, locked the door, and informed the occupants that he’d shoot anyone that moved, she’d waited for that moment of clarity.

  It hadn’t come.

  Her mind felt completely blank with terror.

  And not just that…she felt small.

  Just seeing his face again felt like a time machine, and she went back to the place when she was quiet and meek and tired.

  “I’m happy, Eddie,” she said, hoping to keep him content.

  Her eyes roamed around the restaurant for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure everyone was okay. Luckily he’d come in at a slow time. Only a handful of tables were occupied.

  A couple of elderly men in the corner who came in every Wednesday for coffee and pie. A group of chatty women who’d each made about nine customizations to their order. A lone businessman on his laptop.

  And worst of all, a mom and her little girl.

  Gloria was the only other waitress working today, and she’d just gone out back to smoke. Maggie was the only server in the building, and judging from the silence in the kitchen, she was guessing the cooks had managed to get out the back door.

  She was hoping so, anyway.

  “The police are on their way, Eddie,” she said quietly. “Might already be outside.”

  The mom and the businessman had called 911 within moments, before Eddie had demanded everyone hand over their cell phones.

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You know all about the police, don’t you, baby?”

  She closed her eyes. “You’ve been watching me.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He lowered himself into one of the booths, watching her with an amused expression. “Watching you. Watching them watching you. It’s been great fun.”

  She felt a surge of loathing as she looked down at his all-too-familiar form.

  She’d touched him once. Loved him.

  She wanted to throw up.

  The worst part was, he’d never looked better. He’d always had the haggard, dry look of someone who survived on whiskey and onion rings and bitterness, but he looked vibrant and alive.

  Stealing had made him this way.

  Except…

  She looked closer. Something was off. There was a wildness to his eyes. He was radiating energy, yes, but a strange, manic kind of energy. As though he were high on something.

  If Eddie had gotten into drugs—and she wouldn’t be surprised—it would certainly explain the new changes in behavior.

  Not to mention his creepy grin.

  “Are you really doing these things? Stealing?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said, studying the gun in his hand. “Who else could elude the cops for this long? Moretti in particular; I’ve heard he’s sharp, but…” He shrugged, then grinned. “I outsmarted him, didn’t I?”

  “He’ll find you,” she said.

  He snorted. “Well, of course. I all but delivered myself to him.”

  Maggie opened her mouth, then shut it, surprised by the truth of his statement.

  “So you’re here to turn yourself in?”

  “God no. Why would I do that?”

  “Then why are you here?”

  His look was pitying. “Why do you think, Margaret?”

  The terrified fuzz around her brain was starting to clear. “Me. You came for me.”

  “Correct.” Now his smile was gentle, and even more creepy. “I did it all for you. I understand why you left, you know. Because I couldn’t provide for you with everyone else keeping me down. It’s why you changed your number and left home, abandoning your friends. And even your family. Your dad says hi, by the way.”

  Maggie put a hand to her jumpy stomach. “You talked to my dad?”

  “Several times. Visited him when he got out of the hospital. He was all too happy to take me up on my offer to cover his bills after you couldn’t.”

  Her hand moved to her mouth. She was going to be sick.

  Eddie had gone to see her dad. Who hadn’t said a word.

  “Have to take care of my people, and Charlie’s still the closest thing to a dad. He called me son, you know.”

  Maggie’s eyes closed. “Eddie…can you…will you let these people go?”

  He glanced around. “No, I don’t think so. Not until you agree.”

  “I agree,” she said quickly, her eyes flitting to the little girl, eyes wide and confused as she rested against her mom’s chest, just a tad too young to understand what was happening. “Whatever you want, I agree.”

  He studied her face before sighing. “No, you don’t, Maggie. You don’t understand yet.”

  “Then tell me,” she said, slowly lowering to the seat across from him. “Because I’ve got to tell you, Eddie. You sound like a crazy person.”

  He stiffened, and over his shoulder, he saw the businessman give her an incredulous-warning look.

  But she was acting on instinct now. Eddie clearly saw her as the same meek, pushover wife she’d been before, who’d be all too happy to do his bidding in exchange for even the merest thank-you.

  She needed to establish that she wasn’t that woman anymore. Never again. Needed to show that she wasn’t Margaret Hansen any longer. Margaret Hansen had been a people-pleasing fool, easily controlled by a guilt trip and the hope
of praise.

  Maggie Walker was…

  Self-sufficient.

  A writer. Waitress. A dog owner. A friend. Lover.

  Maggie Walker was whole.

  “Do you have any idea how pathetic a cop’s salary is?” he asked, his expression returning to its neutral cheerfulness.

  She frowned, confused at the change in topic.

  “Even captains,” he continued. “I mean, they can support themselves, but he’ll never take you to Paris.”

  Paris? What the hell? She’d never had more than a passing interest in Paris. The way he was talking, it was like he was in some sort of fantasy world.

  “Where have you been living?” she asked, trying to keep in control of the conversation before he could delve any further into his weird crazy place.

  He laughed then, happily. “A hotel over on Fortieth, between Ninth and Tenth. Can you imagine? These fools have been bugging every one of our friends, checking security cameras in the fucking Plaza, and I’ve been living under their noses in a boring chain hotel just steps from Port Authority.”

  Eddie leaned forward then, his hair falling across his forehead boyishly. “Do you have any idea how many cops swarm around Port Authority? How many I walk by, looking them in the eye, who don’t have a clue?”

  He slumped back again laughing, having cracked himself up with his cleverness.

  “You broke into a senator’s house,” she said.

  He held up a finger at that. “Now, in my defense, I didn’t know it was a senator’s house until I broke in. Saw a couple framed photos with the president and started to snoop through their mail—oh, speaking of mail, did you get my note?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “I hoped the Morettis appreciated my effort on that one. Sending it to the surly homicide detective while making sure that Mr. Self-Important would get it.”

  “How do you know so much about the Morettis? Why do you care?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Margaret, honestly. You used to understand me better. I care because you care. I’ve been coming by Sunday morning for a couple of months; watched the way you fawned over their tables. Watched you panic when you tried to not so subtly flirt with the captain by dropping bagels in his lap and whatnot. You did the same to me when I was courting you.”

  She frowned. “I did not—”

  “The ketchup packet, remember?” His voice was earnest now.

  “What are you—”

  There was a flash of rage on his face. “Don’t play coy with me, Margaret. I’m not in the mood. I know you remember.”

  She forced a smile. “Of course I remember.”

  She didn’t.

  He sat back, mollified, and to her relief, he didn’t ask her to recount an incident for which she had no recollection. For all she knew, it had never happened. His grasp on reality was tenuous at best.

  “Oh look,” he said, glancing out the window. “The cavalry are here.”

  Her head turned, glancing out the window to see a barrage of cop cars. Her eyes skimmed for Anthony, but Eddie had already stood, jerking her arm and dragging her backward away from the windows.

  “Eddie, please,” she said, her voice pleading. “Let these people go. They haven’t done anything, they’re just—”

  “Okay,” he said simply, shocking her.

  He waved his gun in the direction of the people seated at their tables, terrified eyes on every last one of them. “Outside. All of you. Don’t try anything heroic; I’d hate for anyone to upset me and my gun here.”

  They all scrambled for the door. One of the elderly men looked at her, then straightened his shoulders and took a step toward Eddie, but Maggie caught his eye and gave a firm head shake.

  He hesitated, his expression sad, before following his companion outside.

  “You.” Eddie stopped the mom carrying the little girl when she was steps away from the front door.

  The woman and Maggie both tensed. Please don’t let him hurt these innocent people.

  “You go find Moretti—any Moretti—tell them that I’m taking her with me, one way or another. Make sure they understand that.”

  The woman nodded, and Maggie had a feeling she didn’t understand, but Maggie did. She knew that Eddie was saying that if anything happened to him, he was taking Maggie with him. Dead or alive.

  Who was this man? He’d always been possessive, maybe a little off toward the end of their marriage, but never violent toward her.

  The door closed behind them, and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, just as Eddie gently pushed her toward the floor behind the counter. He followed her down so he was sitting across from her, cocky grin on his face, the gun stopping its haunting aim at her chest.

  “Gotta avoid the window,” he said. “Just in case their snipers are more competent than the rest of them,” he added with a pleasant smile.

  “How does this end, Eddie? If you wanted us to run away together, barging in here with a gun wasn’t the way to do it.”

  “You know, I thought of that,” he said. “Better to find a way to sneak you out from right under their very noses, disappear forever. I could do it, you know. Easily.”

  Yeah. Definitely off his rocker.

  “So what’s with the circus?” she asked, gesturing to his gun, to the likely ever-increasing police activity outside.

  He pursed his lips, looking sulky. “I’m tired of being anonymous.”

  “Hasn’t that been your entire point? You’re Smiley. Your MO was a stupid sticker.”

  Eddie grinned, looking pleased. “I knew you’d like that.”

  Again with the nausea. “Tell me you didn’t do this for me.”

  “Of course I did. Although it was just a game at first. A way of testing myself. And why shouldn’t I have had what those people had? I only hit people that had plenty of extra.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real Robin Hood.”

  His eyes flashed again, that deranged, angry look. “You know I’ve never cared for sarcasm, Margaret.”

  She pressed her lips together but refused to apologize. She was done apologizing.

  “But then,” he said, good humor returning. “Then I started to watch the way he’d go to your house. Stay there. Saw the way you’d smile at him when he came to the diner. And then you went to his house…” Eddie clucked his tongue reprovingly. “You stayed the night, Margaret. Here I was busily outsmarting the police, and were you admiring me? No. You were choosing the loser in the match.”

  The terror was completely gone now, clarity setting in.

  Eddie was crazy. Deluded. Jealous.

  Armed. Definitely armed.

  But he was careless too. His grip on the gun would loosen frequently. He hadn’t tied her up. Didn’t even seem to be watching her all that closely.

  He underestimates me. It isn’t occurring to him that I’ll fight back.

  “I needed you to see the real man in all of this, Margaret.”

  She lifted her eyebrows condescendingly. “So you corner yourself in a diner with two doors, both of which undoubtedly have dozens of officers on them right now?”

  He blinked, as though surprised that she didn’t get it. “None of that matters, Margaret.”

  “What does matter?”

  Eddie leaned forward, his smile gentle. “That I have you. And that he sees that I have you. It’s the checkmate he’ll never see coming.”

  “Because he didn’t even know there was a game,” she said. “Anthony Moretti doesn’t care about me. He’s been trying to catch you.”

  Eddie blinked. “But—”

  She leaned forward, her voice mocking. “I did stay over at his place, yes, but I slept on the couch. Did you bother noting that his sister was over at his place too? We watched movies, had too many glasses of wine—”

  “He wants you!” Eddie barked. “I came here to show him that you’d always be mine.”

  “Wrong, Eddie. He wants you. And you walked right to him.”

  Eddie’s look of
outrage was priceless. But it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as his look of complete shock when she grabbed the gun out of his slack hand and turned it on him.

  “Margaret—” His hands went up.

  “Don’t bother, Eddie,” she said, climbing to her feet, the gun trained on his chest. “Just one question. Have you always been this crazy?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Where’s the Goddamn negotiator?” Anthony bellowed, his voice turning several heads even amidst the chaos.

  Sergeant Corvalis pointed. “Dorfman’s over there being briefed by the fry chef. The cook was there, saw Hansen in person, so Dorfman wants to know his mental state.”

  “I don’t want fucking Dorfman,” Anthony growled. “Where’s Evans?”

  Christina Evans was the best damn hostage negotiator the bureau had.

  “Evans just got married last week. She’s on her honeymoon.”

  Anthony opened his mouth to snarl that someone needed to bring her back from her honeymoon.

  That he needed her here, because Eddie Hansen had Maggie locked inside a diner.

  With a gun.

  He ran two hands over his face, only to realize that they were shaking.

  Get a grip. She needs you.

  “Anth.”

  He turned, saw his brothers and Jill, faces somber.

  “We heard on the radio,” Luc said. “Is Maggie—”

  “In there,” he said gruffly.

  “Do we know it’s Smiley?”

  Anth jerked his chin in the direction of the distraught-looking chefs. “The cooks got out the back door, but one of them saw the guy. Description is a match for Hansen.”

  “Someone’s coming out!”

  They all turned toward the shout, guns drawn as the door slowly opened.

  An elderly man stepped out, white as a sheet, hands over his head. Several others followed, each more terrified than the last.

  Anthony’s heart lurched when he saw a woman clutching a little girl. Christ, a child had been inside.

  The cop in him mentally cataloged the wellness of each person coming out, saw as each person was promptly moved away from the diner.

  The man in him continued to watch the door, which had slammed shut behind the mom and her child. His heart was thudding madly as he waited for the one face he needed to see.