by Diana Duncan
“Could you possibly be any more audacious?”
“This is combat, sweetheart. If I lose my head, we both die. The hostages die. And that isn’t going to happen.”
Her gaze snagged on his. Sharp wariness underlying the resolve in his eyes told her he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she’d believed. High-alert vibrations emanated from his tense muscles. His words might be cavalier, but his mind and body were taut and ready for action. The thought whammed her like a sledgehammer to the skull. He was scared, too. A phrase from the SWAT evaluation report replayed in her mind. Suppression of fear. How much of his bravado was a front for her sake and how much was real? Did it matter? Either way, she trusted him with her life.
“What now?”
“Keep advancing, fast and quiet. Stay on this side until we’re even with the One Hour Photo booth.” He flicked a glance at the empty bank windows. “Go!”
She sprinted past CD Palace. Past Quality Leather Goods. Her breathing loud and raspy in the tomb-quiet mall, she hunkered outside Death by Chocolate. She’d worked at River View five years and this was the first time it had seemed threatening. Running from criminals past windows full of fudge lent an aura of unreality. The smell of chocolate lingered in the air, the rich scent incongruous in the frightening dark void. Her stomach grumbled.
Con’s arm slid around her waist. “Hungry?”
She leaned against him, taking comfort in his unshakable warmth. “I don’t feel hungry.” Terror tended to squelch her appetite. “I guess my stomach is complaining because I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch.” She’d been too upset to manage either.
“After this is over, I’ll take you wherever you want. Deal?”
A line from every B movie she’d ever seen popped into her head. “How can you think of food at a time like this? I just want out of here. Intact.”
He gave her a hug. “Almost there. Next stop, One Hour Photo.”
The fifteen-foot-square booth perched in the middle of no-man’s-land, between them and the main doors. Con scanned the walkway in all directions, and again commanded her to run.
Gasping, she clung to the orange cabana, and rested her forehead on the cool vinyl. The main doors reflected muted interior lights. Outside, black storm clouds and pounding sleet crowded the glass, thick and impenetrable. Freedom. Safety. A few hundred yards away.
“There’s Syrone,” Con whispered in her ear.
The big, uniformed, African-American man had his back to them, staring into the storm. “I wonder why he’s still here?”
“Probably waiting for you. You know Syrone. He won’t leave until every last person is accounted for.”
Guilt assailed her. If she hadn’t spent all that time agonizing over her decision about Con, she’d be long gone. Home. Safe. And so would Con and Syrone. But what about Nan, Letty and Mike? “Con? I’d thought you’d gone home. Why did you come back?”
He hesitated. “The roads are icing up. I planned to follow you at a distance to ensure you got home okay. I hung out in my truck for a while, and finally came to find out what was taking so long.” His smooth, deep voice was low, intimate. “I wasn’t going to let you see me, because you needed time alone. Until our friendly neighborhood bank robbers threw a monkey wrench into the works.”
Another phrase from his evaluation popped into her head. Sometimes, a photographic memory was a pain. Sometimes, a comfort. Quickly adapts when an unexpected event throws the plan into disarray. Thank goodness. Otherwise, she’d be cowering in the bank with her friends. With a gun pointed at her head. And nobody would know they were being held hostage. Maybe until it was too late.
Con’s nudge derailed that awful train of thought. “Looks clear. Tell Syrone what happened. Call 9-1-1. You have your cell?”
“No, it’s in my purse, in the bookstore.”
“Syrone has a radio, but just in case, take my phone. Cell phones don’t work in this blasted mall anyway.” For some reason, maybe the tall, cylindrical structure, or the steel girders supporting the sky bridge, cell reception wasn’t clear inside the mall. The remodeling was supposed to correct the problem, but hadn’t. He passed the phone over her shoulder. “Here.”
Like his camera, the cell phone was an up-to-the-minute, complicated technological marvel. The man did love his gadgets. 007 had nothing on him. “If I can figure out how to work it.”
He chuckled. “When you and Syrone get out, dial 9-1-1 and press Send. Have dispatch call up Alpha Squad. Tell ’em I’m inside with a confirmed visual on three hostages and three suspects, with a probability of a crew of six or more. I’ll signal from the third floor east windows when they arrive.”
As she slid the phone into her pants pocket, his words hit home. Shock collided with disbelief. She spun to face him. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I need to gather intel and scope out the inner perimeter.”
“Are you insane? Those guys have Uzis, all you have is a handgun!”
His impassive gaze flicked away from hers. Not fast enough.
The memory of him withdrawing his hand from his jacket in the bookstore rose like a specter in her mind. His empty hand. “Where’s your gun?”
“Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”
“Where. Is. Your. Gun.”
“At the armorer’s,” he admitted. “Needed an adjustment.”
Sick fear roiled in her stomach. “There is no way I’m abandoning you to those maniacs alone and unarmed!”
“Baby, this is what I do. I’m damn good at it.”
“I am not leaving without you.”
“We want all the hostages to go home safe and sound. In order for that to happen, I need to do my job.”
“Taking on six armed bank robbers with your bare hands? No!”
“I’m not about to pull anything stupid.” The determined look in his eyes said unless I have to. If hostages were threatened, he wouldn’t hesitate to dive into the line of fire. “Trust me.”
“Con—”
“Sweetheart, we don’t have time to debate.” He backed her against the wall. His hard body pressed into hers as he lowered his head and kissed her. Hot and silky, his tongue thrust into her mouth, giving and taking. Reassuring and seeking reassurance.
She tasted love. Longing. And an edge of desperation that scared her more than anything that had happened in the past thirty minutes. She clung to him, kissing him with recklessness born of fear. She could not lose this man she loved with all her being. Not before she had a chance to show him how much he meant to her. If she left and anything happened to him, he’d never know.
He ended the kiss. The steely resolve in his eyes terrified her. The wistful hope wrenched her heart. “Go. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”
“Then let me do what I’m trained for.” His face was resolute, his gaze tender. “You’re a liability I can’t afford. Now go.”
Scalding tears stung her eyelids and she blinked them into submission. He was right. She’d only be in his way. Clutching and whining would get him hurt. She had to be strong, for his sake. Bailey straightened her spine. Kissed him one last time, with her heart beating so painfully in her throat it nearly choked her. “I’ll see you soon. And no heroics. Promise me.”
He cupped her face and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. Her crazy mixed-up insides did a slow loop-de-loop. He smiled. “Men make promises, darlin’. Heroes keep them.”
Walking away from him was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Halfway to Syrone, she looked over her shoulder. Silent, graceful, Con loped up the stilled escalator to the second floor and glided alongside the balcony railing above her head. He offered a jaunty salute followed by a “get your butt moving” gesture before continuing.
“Syrone,” she whispered, creeping forward.
The guard turned and Bailey froze. He was big. African-American. Wearing a guard’s uniform. But he wasn’t Syrone.
“Who are—”
The behemoth scowled and strode toward her. “How did you escape?”
“Bailey!” Con’s hoarse cry echoed from above. “Run!”
His urgent command mobilized her. Instinctively obeying, she did an about-face and sprinted down the mall.
“This way,” Con shouted, pivoting and running along the balcony parallel to her frantic flight.
Beneath him, she followed his fluid stride. He veered off and disappeared. Where was he going?
Panting, she risked a glance behind her. The guard was closing fast. For a big dude, he could move. Terror sank cold claws into the base of her neck. She poured on the speed, her pursuer’s footsteps thudding behind her. Daily yoga kept her limber and toned, but not trained for a three-hundred-yard dash.
“Bailey, here!” She jerked her gaze up and saw Con leaning over the railing ahead, dangling a baseball bat. “Catch!”
Fleeing toward him, she caught the bat as it dropped. With the solid, heavy weight gripped in her hands, she ran on.
“Kneecap him, baby,” Con ordered. “I’m coming down.” He pivoted again and tore back toward the escalators.
She looked behind her. The guard was much nearer than she’d expected. Kneecap him? She glanced at the bat clutched in her sweaty palms. Imagined the crack of wood against bone. Torn tendons. Bloody splinters. Incapacitating injury. Bile stung the back of her throat. She could not do that to another human being.
She increased her speed, so did he. She tried swerving side to side like a blitzed quarterback on Super Bowl Sunday. Didn’t work. His coarse breathing rasped loudly in her ears. Too loud. She wasn’t going to be able to outrun him.
Again, she looked back. The giant was too close. Almost close enough to grab her. In the distance, Con raced toward them, another bat gripped in his hand. Fast, but not fast enough. Harsh breaths rasped her throat, her heart slammed into her ribs.
Con wouldn’t make it in time.
Saving her hide was up to her.
Her frantic gaze spun down the mall. If she ran into a store, the behemoth would have her cornered. Nowhere to hide. What to do? Please, God, what should I do?
The answer flashed by in a blurry rainbow. One desperate chance. Stiff with fear, she lurched to a stop. Whirled. Hitched the bat over her shoulder and swung with all her might. Not at her pursuer—at the gumball machines lined up in colorful rows outside Toys Galore. Metal support poles clanged. Her hands stung. Glass shattered, smashed to the floor. Large, colorful jawbreakers exploded in every direction, bouncing across the faux marble.
Her pursuer treadmilled on the rolling projectiles. His feet flew out from beneath him. He grunted, swore and flopped down with a resounding crash as his skull banged against the floor.
He didn’t move.
Holding her breath, she edged toward him.
“Stay back,” Con shouted. Skidding on jawbreakers, he managed to keep his footing and slid to a halt. He went to his knees beside the fallen guard and dropped his bat. “Hells bells, slugger. I said kneecap him.”
Her vocal cords didn’t seem to want to work, and her lips were numb. “Is h-he d-dead? D-did I k-kill him?”
He shot a grin at her. “Nah. He’s out cold.” He sobered. “Unfortunately, we don’t know if this commotion carried to the other end of the mall. We might be having company shortly.”
“I’m s-sorry.”
“We’ll handle it.” He patted the man down and tugged a two-way radio from beneath him, a smashed jumble of plastic and wires. “Well, that’s useless. Bluto must have landed on it.” He continued the search. “No gun. Obviously, they wanted him to look like Syrone to passersby. They weren’t expecting trouble.” He shook his head and swore softly. “No key card for the door, either. Probably planned on leaving with his buddies.”
“I c-couldn’t hit him. I j-just couldn’t.”
“You took him out, that’s the most important thing. You did good.” He rose and embraced her in a quick, hard, comforting hug. “Get it together. There’s no time to fall apart.”
She nodded. Sucked in a steadying breath. “What should I do?”
“Leaving an unarmed man at the door…these guys are arrogant, sure of success. We can turn it back on them.” He strode toward the toy store. Like many of the other stores, the security cage hadn’t descended because of the power failure. “Hang on.”
He disappeared, and she glanced down the mall. They were a long way from the bank. Had the robbers heard the noise? Would she and Con soon have to face loaded Uzis? Anxiety gnawed her insides. Because she couldn’t bring herself to injure a fellow human being, she might have put them in jeopardy. Traded their welfare for a criminal’s. Endangering herself was one thing, but putting Con’s life at risk…inexcusable.
She looked at the unconscious man. Confusion and slivers of hot shame splintered inside her. She felt horrible about knocking him out. Shaky, sweaty and like she might upchuck any second. Yet part of her regretted not following Con’s orders and doing the deed quietly. Thus hurting the guy worse.
Had she just done the wrong thing, for all the right reasons?
How was a person supposed to know? How did Con deal with the moral dilemma? He disabled bad guys every day without his conscience making him queasy.
Con reappeared with jump ropes and bandanas in neon colors. “The landline phone is dead.” He shrugged. “No surprise. The robbers would have been stupid not to pop the phone lines along with all the other mall systems.” His calm, matter-of-fact demeanor eased her ragged nerves a fraction. No matter what happened, no matter how badly she crumbled, he’d be there to pull her out of the pit. “Tie his ankles. Take his boots off, first. If by some strange phenomenon he escapes, stockinged feet will slow him down. I’ll tie his hands and gag him.”
When the man was secure, Con hefted him over his shoulder. “Oof. This sucker eats his Wheaties.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Make him feel at home in a nice, quiet stall in the ladies’ room. Go hide in the toy store until I’m done.”
“Actually, I kind of need to…um…when I get nervous…”
He chuckled. “Come with, then. Let’s roll. We need to move.”
She accomplished her business while Con dealt with their nemesis in the large handicapped stall at the end of the room. He must have locked the stall from the inside, because his head appeared over the top of the partition, and then he jumped down.
Con eased the restroom door open. “No sign of company. We might have lucked out.” Outside, he used a tool on his Swiss Army Knife to trip the bolt. Then he pulled a small tube from his pocket. “Superglue from the toy store. It’ll freeze the tumblers. The robbers will have to break down the door to spring him.”
They returned to Toys Galore. He strode inside, unhooked two backpacks and tossed one to her. “Grab anything useful.”
Bailey found four flashlights and inserted batteries. She set two on the counter to illuminate the store, tucked one into her pack and handed the other to Con. She lifted two more jump ropes off a rack, and picked up a plastic egg filled with Silly Putty.
He arched a brow. “Silly Putty?”
“You never know. It could come in handy.”
“If you say so.” Con palmed a black plastic squirt gun and whistled. “Looks real. Too real. Some kid got shot last year in the third precinct waving one of these puppies around. It might work. As long as nobody calls my bluff.”
The thought of him facing loaded Uzis with an empty toy pistol increased her nausea. She picked up a package of markers. Stared at the picture of innocent, smiling children on the box before stuffing it in her pack. Pictures. “Acetic acid!”
“Did you call me a pathetic ass? An empty squirt gun isn’t too impressive, but we have to work with what we’ve got, darlin’.”
She laughed. “Acetic acid. A chemical used in the stop bath during photo developing. One Hour Photo would have some. It’s a powerful skin irritant, and if shot into someone’s eyes, would sure
slow them down.”
“Have I mentioned lately how much I admire your brilliant brain? You’re a better soldier than you think.” He handed her two toy guns. “We’ll each take two. We’ll fill ’em when we’re done.”
They continued loading items into their packs. Bailey picked up a small notebook and retractable pen from a cartoon stationery display, and began to make meticulous notes.
He peeked over her shoulder, his face inches from hers. Supercharged energy radiated from his muscled body. His warm lips brushed her cheek in a soft kiss and her nerve endings quivered. “Gonna write a book about our adventures later? How I Spent A Boring New Year’s Eve at the Mall.”
“Ha, ha, funny man. I’m logging what we take and how much it costs. The toy store shouldn’t lose money, just because—” Money. She went rigid. The blood drained from her head leaving her dizzy.
“Hey.” He turned her to face him. “What’s wrong? You just went lily-white, sweetheart.”
“The money. From the bookstore,” she whispered. “When you tackled me outside the bank, I was carrying the deposit bag. I left it there. The store’s name and account number are stamped on the front. If the robbers see it lying in front of the doorway, they’ll know someone was out there and saw them. They’ll know someone else is in the mall.”
He frowned. “Low odds, but I don’t like it. I need to circle back and do a thorough recon anyway. I’ll retrieve it.”
She grabbed his sleeve, clung. “No!”
He sighed. “Since we’re in this for the long haul, let’s get something straight.” He grasped her forearms in a gentle but ironclad grip. His gaze held hers, steady and implacable. “I am in charge of this operation. The objective is to go home with the same amount of holes in our body that we came with. And to get our friends out of that bank alive. Understand?”
“Y-yes.” She’d never seen this side of him before. Hard. Serious. All business. All cop. This Con was intimidating. Centering. And in an odd, unexpected twist, exciting. She’d always been attracted to his easygoing charm. Aroused by his sexy humor. Yet, this dangerous side of him turned her on. A lot. What was the matter with her? Had terror sent her round the bend? Was she stark-raving nuts? She was a pacifist, for heaven’s sake.
