by Diana Duncan
Bailey’s eyes drifted closed, and her breathing evened out. Her absolute trust warmed him, body and soul. He wouldn’t let her down. Con rubbed the knotted muscles at the back of his neck. The strain of exuding unrelenting confidence had finally caught up with him. For hours, he’d been projecting assurance he didn’t feel. But, for Bailey’s sake, he had to pull it together and keep it together. Not to mention the hostages who were depending on him.
He extracted a tablet of cinnamon gum from his pocket and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths. While Bailey slept, he silently battled the demons of doubt and terror.
Bailey opened her eyes and blinked in the dim light. “Where am I?” Panic pierced her grogginess and she struggled to throw off the thick comforter.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby,” Con’s quiet voice soothed. “You’re with me.” His strong, warm hand stroked her forehead.
“Con?” She glanced over and saw him sitting beside her, watching her. Dark stubble shadowed his chiseled cheekbones and highlighted his gorgeous mouth. Puzzled, she frowned. He was normally smooth shaven. “What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Nearly twenty-one hundred.”
“Twenty-one hundred? Oh, almost nine.” She studied the rumpled blankets. Drowsy and confused, a tingling memory of scorching kisses and soft caresses swirled in her muddled brain. “Did we sleep together?”
“Now that is not a flattering question.” He laughed softly.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. They were in a tent? The day’s events hurtled back in a blurred rush of fear and running. “Rats. I thought I was having a really sensual dream about you.”
A sexy smile quirked his lips. “Have those often, do you?”
“Not nearly often enough.”
He laughed again, the husky sound making her belly clench. “Maybe sometime soon, you won’t have to resort to dreams.”
Bailey grinned at him. Boy, was he in for a surprise. He’d given her solid ground to stand on. Questions and answers that had made her decision so much easier than she ever imagined. Her knight lived in a violent world of blood and death. But he also possessed a tender heart, brimming with life and love. Steeped in loyalty and bone-deep integrity. He wouldn’t let her down. How could she do anything less for him?
Their relationship, their love was special. Beautiful and rare as a flawless diamond. She refused to let her fears stop her. She’d find a way to be the woman he needed. To make their dreams come true a lot sooner than he expected. Once they escaped, she was going to leap on him and never let him go. They might not even make it out of the parking lot.
Being hunted down like an animal had given her a crash course in prioritizing. Being forced to face her own mortality had taught her not to put off important things. She’d never again worry about planning for every eventuality. If they made it out of here in one piece, she would forever live in the moment.
Don’t worry, be happy.
She yawned and stretched. “The plan?”
“Find out how negotiations are faring. Check on Syrone.”
“I’m coming with you.” She glared at the Kevlar vest in the corner. “And I’m not wearing that. It’s too heavy—I won’t be able to run. You should wear it. You’re the one always jumping in front of bullets.”
He gave her a considering look. “Makes sense.”
“Where do you want to contact the team?”
“From the sky bridge. I can use hand signals, they can send light signals back.” He slipped on the vest, rapidly fastened the buckles. “It’s on the opposite side from the bank, so the robbers shouldn’t figure out what’s happening.”
She hated to leave their cozy nest. Wished they could simply curl up and hide until they were rescued. But that would be cowardly. And counterproductive. Unless they did their part, there might not be a rescue. For them or their friends downstairs.
They conducted a wary jog to the sky bridge. The night was growing colder, and her breath puffed out white in the chilly air. Beyond the glass, ominous darkness squeezed in on every side. Freezing rain sleeted the windowpanes, making her feel more sealed in. Creepy. Like they were entombed in a big, cold, glass coffin. Foreboding shivered over her.
Lights flashed, ripping holes in the heavy black blanket surrounding them. “Damn.” Con turned from the window. “The suspects have refused to open the door and retrieve the throw phone. Not a good sign for the hostages if they won’t negotiate. The robbers could be planning SBC.”
“SBC?”
“Suicide by cop. Go out in a blaze of glory. It’s more common than people realize.”
Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed. “What now?”
“Same as we have been. Improvise, modify, adapt, overcome. We need to head downstairs and scope out the situation.”
The PA system crackled and she jumped. “Yoo-hoo to the busy little mice running loose in the mall.” The deep, graveled male voice was almost cordial. If you discounted the underlying hum of menace.
Bailey gasped. “That’s the head bank robber! The one the other guy called Tony when we were crouched outside the bank.”
Con’s expression grew murderous. “The one wearing Dad’s watch.”
“FYI,” Tony continued. “We’ve wired all the outside doors. If you attempt to open them, or blast through them…kaboom.” He cleared his throat. “Obviously, you are able to communicate with the cops. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here, and attempting to discuss details they shouldn’t know on the megaphone. So, here’s the deal. You come and see me. Talk to me. Otherwise, these hostages…” He paused. “Have very short life expectancies.”
Con swore viciously.
“You have twenty minutes. And so do they.” The PA system went dead.
Her stomach dropped to her boots and her mouth went dry. “You’re not…going down there and confront him?”
“No way. That’s TV stuff again. Never lay down your weapon and never turn yourself into bait in an attempt to save hostages. It just makes more hostages. And/or dead cops.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “I need a way to communicate with the suspects and still keep my distance. I wonder if the camping store carries walkie-talkies? That might fly.”
“They do! I saw them when I got the lantern. Cell phones don’t get reception in the mall, so would walkie-talkies work?”
“I don’t know. Worth a shot. Different schematics, different operational modes, different frequencies. If we’re lucky, I might even be able to contact SWAT. I can signal them with the frequency and channels, and they can patch in.”
They sprinted to Outdoor Outfitters. Con read boxes by flashlight while Bailey located batteries. She stuffed packages of disposable hand warmers, two sets of foot-warmer heating pads and Polarshield emergency blankets in her pack. As cold as it was becoming, they might need them later. She also spotted a portable, retractable clothesline made of thin, black plastic-coated wire that might come in handy for tying up bad guys. She finished as he selected six walkie-talkies and laid them on the counter in the back of the store.
She inserted batteries into three red radios while he put them in three blue ones. He placed a hands-free headset and mic on her ears and clipped a blue receiver to her waistband. He then situated a headset and blue unit on himself. “I’m going to hook the robbers up with a modified two-way FRS system—family radio service—and lock in one channel. It’s short range and they won’t be able to hear or talk to anyone but us. SWAT will be able to tap into the transmissions, though. I’ll be the go-between. The robbers will be on the blue set.”
“And the red set?”
“The red set is a GMRS, or general mobile radio system. Transmits up to five miles, and to a greater range of frequencies.” He clipped a red walkie-talkie to her waistband beside the blue unit and then one on his own. “If we switch the headset mic back and forth, we can talk to each other, and SWAT on the red unit, and the bad guys can’t eavesdrop.”
“Who is the third red radio for?”
&
nbsp; “Syrone.”
“Now for the million-dollar question. How are you going to deliver the radio to the robbers without getting caught?”
“I have a plan.”
“Of course you do. Will I hate it?”
He didn’t reply. “First things first. Back to the sky bridge.”
They raced to the sky bridge, where Con performed another complicated hand dance, and more flashing lights replied. She switched on her red receiver and he showed her how to operate the radios. “These are both manual and VOX, voice activated. If VOX is on we don’t have to key the mics. The receiving light will blink when someone transmits to us.” He plugged the headset mic into his red unit, and she heard his voice in her earpiece. “SWAT Command, this is the Nutcracker, do you read? Over.”
A few tense seconds of static buzz. Then a click echoed in her ears. The static disappeared. “Loud and clear,” his big brother Aidan’s smooth, deep cadence replied. “Nice to hear from you. This is SWAT Command. Is this channel secure? Over.”
“Ten-four. As much as it can be.”
“Got yourself into quite a conundrum there, eh? Over.”
Con grinned. Close to all three of his brothers, Con was closest to Aidan. Aidan had always razzed Con without mercy. The two played pranks on one another, and on their younger brothers that usually landed the pranksters in major hot water. Aidan was always there when he needed an ear. Steady. Dependable. No better man to have at your back. On a tactical op or in an emotional shitstorm. “Nothing I can’t handle. You’re command? Over.”
“That’s a ten-four. I’m the senior ranking officer on site. Alpha Dog is ten-seven and out of communication.”
“Oh, hell, we’re all in deep shinola. Over.”
“Nutcracker, what’s your status?”
“Lead-free and rolling. About to visual hostages and contact suspects. Crew leader’s name is Tony. He’s issued a deadline and threatened the hostages’ lives. Claims he’s wired the doors. He blew the vault, so he’s probably not bluffing. You have fifteen minutes to form an aggressive assault plan that doesn’t involve the main doors. If you don’t hear from me, green-light it. Over.”
“Ten-four. Fifteen minutes. Make sure you’re clear of the area.”
“Roger that. And Command?” Con’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s wearing Dad’s watch.”
“What?” Shock echoed in Aidan’s sharp question. “Repeat. Over.”
“Tony is wearing Dad’s watch. The one he had on when he was killed. My gut says this crew has been pulling the string of unsolved bank jobs and home invasions. I know it’s a long shot, but get somebody on the computers and see if the name and MO pops. Will advise next move. Stand by. Over.”
“Ten-four.” Aidan paused. “Nutcracker?” The low admonition belonged to the big brother, not the cop. “Watch your back.”
“Always do.” The emotion layered beneath the carefree words was the younger brother’s. “Don’t worry about me. Just nail this scumbag’s butt to the wall. Over and out.”
No matter how many times she witnessed it, the heart connection Con and his brothers shared never failed to awe her. “Why did you say you were the Nutcracker?”
“Never use names over the airwaves. You don’t know who might be listening in.” He studied her. “Think you can handle tossing a Molotov cocktail or three?”
“If I have to.” Queasiness roiled her insides. “Do you want me to throw them at someone?” She wasn’t sure she could force herself to do that.
“No, just create a diversion while I plant the walkie-talkie.”
“I can manage a diversion.”
“We’ve got to move. I’ll fill you in on the details as we head downstairs.”
One more quick trip to the camping store to fill emptied water bottles with kerosene. Torn strips of cammo pants twisted into fuses. A waterproof lighter completed the deadly kit.
They scuttled to the escalators, her rapid breaths loud in her ears.
Con rolled his wrist and checked the time. “Ten minutes. Ready?”
She nodded.
He kissed her, hard and fast. “Let’s rock.”
Chapter 10
9:00 p.m.
Molotov cocktails at the ready, Bailey kept a nerve-racked vigil in front of Footloose Footwear. Her shaking hands were cold and clammy. Her blood beat fast and thick in her veins. She, who had never broken the law—heck, she hadn’t received even a parking ticket—was about to bomb the shoe store.
Well, the six-foot tall 3-D advertising kiosk next to it, anyway. The acrylic triangle sat in the middle of murky no-man’s-land between the bank and the shoe store, touting the multiplex’s latest action flick. She muffled a nervous snort. When it came to action, Vin Diesel had nothing on Officer Sexy.
Who was, at this moment, a silent shadow, slipping up the corridor toward Santa’s downed sleigh across from the bank.
He’d said the robbers would watch for their approach after issuing the ultimatum. His objective was to plant a walkie-talkie near the bank, without being caught. At least that was the plan.
They had eight minutes before Con had to contact the team and abort the dynamic entry. He’d explained on the jog down the escalator that an aggressive assault was the last thing they wanted. SWAT storming in, guns blazing, was a worst-case scenario, used only when hostages were in imminent danger. No matter how careful the team, no matter how fast they hit, loss of hostage lives was a huge risk. Con thought they could still bargain.
If they could establish contact in time.
She clutched the slippery bottles of kerosene and slick lighter, and tried to slow her ragged breaths. She couldn’t afford to panic and miss Con’s signal over the headset plugged into her left ear. His life and the lives of her friends depended on her.
Con had pinpointed the advertising triangle as a soft target. Isolated in the middle of acres of faux marble, the fire wouldn’t spread. The kiosk wasn’t tall enough for flames to reach the upper floors. Everything was still waterlogged, and the fire would probably die of its own accord. He didn’t figure the crooks would stop to analyze that. They’d instinctively react to the threat, giving him enough time to plant the radio and hightail it out.
She watched the dim, backlit windows of the bank, thirty feet across no-man’s-land. The robbers had pulled the shades. Bulky silhouettes moved back and forth, loading what she assumed were bundles of money into what looked like a cart. They’d picked a great time for a robbery—surely not by accident. On paydays, the bank carried plenty of extra dough. Since mall employees had been unable to cash their paychecks due to the electrical malfunction that she now knew the robbers had caused, all that money was sitting in the vault. Not to mention every store had deposited their tills for safekeeping, per emergency procedure. The crooks had done their homework, crippled the system and would net a small fortune.
Bailey’s nervous glance roamed the desolate mall. If the robbers were busy loading money and—thanks to SWAT—revising their getaway, would they still be on the hunt? She hoped not.
“Sugarplum Fairy, this is the Nutcracker,” Con’s voice murmured in her earpiece. “In position?”
In spite of her anxiety, she grinned. Leave it to him to diffuse a terrifying situation. “Yes. I mean ten-four.”
“About to deliver Santa’s package. On three, light ’em up.”
“Okay,” she whispered back, mentally counting. One. Bailey shifted the lighter from left hand to right. Two. She thumbed the lighter and a tiny spark sprang to life. Three. She touched flame to wicks and fire flared along the kerosene-soaked rags. Holding her breath, she hurled the bottles at the base of the acrylic triangle. They exploded in a spectacular red fireball. Golden-red tongues licked up the sides of the kiosk. The charred smell of sizzling plastic stung her nostrils.
She stood mesmerized in horror. No wonder her father had dedicated his life to firefighting. Fire was a powerful, brutal foe. She’d seen the toll the dragon took on humans…in her dad’s scarred fac
e, and in the disfigured bodies of the children on the burn ward. But she’d never had firsthand experience with the beast. Her heart stuttered. Her father had been braver than she knew, again riding into battle after being burned.
Shouting erupted from the bank. Bailey shook off the memories, pivoted and ran.
She sprinted past the shoe store, Quality Leather Goods and Death by Chocolate, then veered across the walkway. Gasping, she sped toward the Bedroom Furniture Emporium to meet Con. Was he behind her? She didn’t hear him, but that didn’t mean anything. His fluid movements were like a tiger’s, silent and deadly. He could be directly on her heels and she wouldn’t know.
Inside the store, she bent double, panting for air. Con didn’t appear. Her pulse geared down from a gallop to a trot, and finally slowed to near normal. She peered anxiously around the doorway. Saw nothing but spooky shadows in the echoing gloom.
Fear clutched at her throat. Where was he? In spite of her successful distraction, had the robbers caught him?
“Yo, Bailey,” Con said quietly from behind her.
She nearly leaped across the corridor. She whirled with her hand over her rocketing heart. “I’m either going to have to hang a bell around your neck or risk a coronary before the night is over. How did you get behind me?”
“I did a fast recon to the end of the mall and doubled back. Wanted to make sure none of the bad guys were around. All clear.” His mischievous smile of approval made her tingle all over. “They’re probably occupied battling the bonfire.”
She squelched the relieved impulse to fling herself into his arms and never let go. Instead, she adjusted the heavy pack on her shoulders. “So, what now?”
“We need to establish contact before SWAT executes their dynamic entry.”
“Is there time to check on Syrone, first?” She glanced around the dark, ominously silent store as they moved farther inside. If he were okay, wouldn’t he call out? “I’m worried sick about him.”
He consulted his watch. “Me, too. But we’ve only got four minutes. Listen up. I want you to talk to the suspects.”
