by Stacy Green
Nathan shrugged. He didn’t regret the trade-off. Every life he saved eased the sting of the one he’d caused to end.
Casually, he glanced at Emilie. The partner now faced her, head moving slightly. Nathan guessed he was whispering sick versions of sweet nothings. Still leaning away from her tormentor, Emilie suddenly caught Nathan’s gaze.
In the dusky light of the lobby, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes. He could only tell they were wide and staring at him, her chin set hard, like she’d bitten down on something and couldn’t unlock her jaw. Only seconds passed, but her fear leached across the tile separating them and penetrated Nathan’s bones until his anxiety was on high alert.
Emilie needed his help, and he didn’t have any idea how to give it to her without risking a bloodbath from Joe.
Emilie wished she could ask the hostage negotiator—his name was Nathan, she reminded herself—why he’d put himself in this position. Did he really think he could help them more as a hostage? How could he so easily decide to trade his life for a complete stranger’s?
Hope sparked in her frozen chest when Nathan came inside. Maybe he could save them. Creepy went rigid when Nathan entered, and Emilie swore she felt the rage rolling off her captor. But he never said a word to Joe or the new hostage, never made a move away from her.
“Have you heard of the devil’s underground, Miss Emilie?” If he felt threatened, Creepy’s voice revealed nothing. The words rolled off his tongue with ease, his faint accent making everything terrifyingly pretty.
“No.”
“It’s a dark, dark place. A place hope long ago abandoned. And yet some people choose to be there. Some even like the refuge, the freedom. It’s a place of pure ugliness and yet, there’s a beauty in the lives existing in the undergound.”
“Sounds charming.”
“In a strange way, it is,” Creepy said. “Sometimes, when I’m visiting the underground, I liken it to Dante’s journey. ‘Justice moved my supreme maker: I was shaped by divine power, by highest wisdom, and by primal love.’” He nodded his head like a preacher deeply moved by his own sermon. “The underground is their path to hell. Because we all choose our paths, right?”
Emilie wished darkness wasn’t falling on the lobby. If she could only get Nathan to see her eyes, surely he’d realize how terrified she was of this man. She glanced at Creepy her stomach launching butterflies when she realized the hostage negotiator watched them. Somehow, maybe she could make him see.
“I’ll show it to you sometime.” Creepy snatched her thoughts back to him. Still, she stared back at Nathan.
“What?”
“The devil’s underground. I’ll take you there. Soon.”
The knot of fear residing in her stomach exploded, streaming its contagion into her blood. She tried not to cry out loud, forcing herself to look at Nathan as if he were Christ himself. He was her only shot at salvation.
“Here’s what I want you to do.” Joe broke his silence. He’d spent the last few minutes brooding, and Nathan kept his own mouth shut. Joe maintained his control, and Nathan had time to observe.
Mollie the employee continued to comfort the terrified customer: a portly, middle-aged woman who’d somehow managed to wrap her body around the petite Mollie. If she minded, the girl gave no indication. Comforting the customer probably helped her keep her mind off her own fear. Occasionally, Mollie cast a worried glance at Emilie and the partner. Emilie smiled weakly at her employee, but her body remained drawn rigidly away from her admirer’s. Knees held tightly to her chest by her fisted hands, she reminded Nathan of a sexual assault victim he’d questioned during his first year as a beat cop. In the hospital, the beaten teenager drew her body up as if she were trying to swallow herself. She refused to speak until the female Special Victims detective arrived.
Nathan needed Emilie to stay alert. He spoke loudly so that everyone in the lobby, including Emilie and the silent man, turned to stare at him. “What do you need me to do?”
Emilie’s right leg jerked. Her fist relaxed for a split second. A lock of hair slipped from its knot, the tendril curling around her taut chin. She barely nodded.
“Call your people,” Joe said. “I’ll tell them my demands. They can either get them done or pay the price.”
Nathan gave Joe his full attention. “You want my advice?”
“Nope.” He jerked his gun and got to his feet. Nathan did the same. Joe was smaller than he was but wiry and probably muscled. He carried an automatic weapon capable of killing everyone in the bank before Nathan could subdue him. And even if he could somehow outmaneuver Joe before he started firing, the partner also had a gun. If Nathan acted out, lives would be lost. His best option was to keep Joe happy and calm until SWAT made its entrance. Nathan’s presence inside the bank virtually guaranteed the teams were getting ready.
Joe waved his gun at Mollie and the crying customer. “You two just keep on being good and quiet. This’ll all be over before you know it.”
Silent partner watched, completely submissive to Joe. No, submissive isn’t the right word. The guy didn’t seem to care what Joe was up to, and that made about as much sense as sticking a live wire in a light socket.
“What about you?” Midway to the phone, Nathan stopped, pointing to the partner. “Don’t you want to know what he’s planning? This concerns you too.”
He heard Emilie’s breath hitch and was close enough to see nerves flush her pale face. She stared at Nathan, but he kept his attention on the other man.
“He knows he screwed me.” Joe nudged the barrel of the gun in Nathan’s side. “He lost his right to an opinion.”
“You agree with that?” Nathan wished he could see the man’s eyes well enough to read them.
A muffled sigh came through the facemask. “He’s right. It’s best I stay here.”
“Right there?” Nathan asked. “Seems to me it would be easier to watch the hostages if you were in between them. Or at least had them all where you could see them. Emilie’s blocking your view of the others.”
She shivered. The man seemed to swell in his black clothes, chest expanding, arms tightening the way a man’s do before they take a swing. “Don’t you have a phone call to make?”
Joe dug the gun deeper into Nathan’s side. “He does. Get on with it.”
Nathan should. But the ferocity of the partner’s body language and the desperation on Emilie’s sweating face pushed Nathan to the edge, where risks can pay off or cause massive tragedy. “You know, SWAT thinks she’s in on this with you.”
“What?” Emilie’s voice cracked from nonuse. “I’m not. I don’t know this man.”
“I believe you,” Nathan said. “But I’m just telling him, his choosing to focus on you instead of all the hostages makes the cops think you’ve helped plan this whole thing.”
“What your people think is irrelevant. They’re too small-minded(hyphenate) to look beyond the obvious.” The partner cocked his head, rounding his shoulders.
“Maybe they are,” Nathan said. His gaze flickered to Emilie and then back to the masked man. “But I’m not.”
“Who gives a shit if they think she’s involved?” Joe said. “Maybe that’ll work to our advantage.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Why?” Joe demanded.
“Because she’s not in danger. So all his attention on her works against you.” Nathan prayed this didn’t backfire on him. “They see you as less of a threat. And since you’re kind of the odd man out, SWAT thinks you’re not the person they need to talk to. Looks like these two are sitting back letting you do the dirty work, and they’ve probably got a separate plan.”
“I don’t have a plan,” Emilie burst out.
“Shut up.” Joe pulled his arm back and stepped toward her, but the partner shot to his feet like an electrical jolt had struck him.
Tall and strong, leaner and better dressed than Joe, he raised his own gun. “No more violence. Let’s get the call made and get out of here.�
�
Nathan caught a ripple of an accent but couldn’t place it. Emilie stood, her legs wobbling. She pitched forward, and Nathan caught her by the arm. She seized his forearm, her fingernails digging into his skin, her grip so tight he felt her pulse pounding in her wrist. He finally saw her eyes—they were a deep green, a pretty contrast to her fair, freckled skin and auburn hair. They shined with panic. He squeezed her arm, hoping she could stay calm. The partner yanked her out of Nathan’s grasp so hard Emilie teetered on her heels and then slammed into the teller counter. Mollie cried out and moved toward her, but Emilie waved her off.
“I’m okay.”
“Jesus Christ.” Sweat dribbled off Joe’s chin as he looked at his partner in disgust. “You tend to your little redhead. Madigan, make the call.”
Damn right he’d make the call. He just hoped Johnson got the message.
His boss answered immediately. “This is Sergeant Johnson.”
“It’s me.”
“You stupid, arrogant ass, Madigan. What the hell kind of hero complex you got going on?”
“He was going to kill the hostage,” Nathan said. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So you put yourself in his place? I expected better from you. Supposed to be the superstar negotiator, loaded with awards and honors and a bunch of accommodations, and then you go and stick your head up your ass.”
“I did what I had to do.”
Joe shoved a dirty fist into Nathan’s chest. “You girls can catch up later. Repeat this to him: I want a car at the back door in thirty minutes. You will escort me and my associate over there to a safe place. Long as no cops bother us, I’ll let you go.” Joe’s steely eyes dared him to argue.
Nathan should have been scared. Or at least humbled. Instead, his adrenaline spiked to dizzying heights. His sister always said he was addicted to the chase. Nathan repeated the words to Johnson.
“Aw, Goddamn you. Now look what you caused.”
“Listen, boss,” Nathan said. “You need to do what he says, or this is going to go the way of the Ellison case last winter.”
Johnson sucked in a breath, probably one loaded with nicotine. “What? The Ellison case is nothing like this.”
“Sure it is.”
“Madigan, you get hit on the head?”
“Nope. I’m telling you, this has Carl Ellison written all over it.”
Johnson had to get the message. The Ellison brothers had broken into a wealthy, young widow’s home, thinking she was out. They’d only planned to rob the place, but when Carl caught the homeowner trying to get out the back door, he lost his head and refused to leave her alone. His brother tried to stop him, but Carl shot his brother and then raped the woman, leaving her for dead. She’d survived to identify him. Nathan hoped his boss would read between the lines.
“Let me give him some incentive,” Joe said. “Tell him if that car isn’t here in thirty minutes, I’m shooting all three hostages.”
“Boss—”
“I heard.” The anger had left Johnson’s voice. “Ellison, huh?”
“Yes.”
Another heavy exhale. “You tell Mr. Joe we’ll get it done. And Madigan?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Alpha 10.”
“Understood, sir. I won’t take any more risks.” Nathan checked his watch as hung up the phone. “He says the car will be here.”
Joe jerked his head and then swaggered back to his seat. Nathan glanced at Emilie. She’d sat down, and the partner resumed his watchdog position.
He’d better enjoy his strange game. Nine minutes and fifteen seconds until SWAT entered the bank.
* * * *
SOMETHING WAS ABOUT to happen. Emilie saw it in Nathan’s face, the quick tic of his mouth as he said goodbye to his boss. She prayed it didn’t involve him actually leaving with Joe and the partner because she didn’t think the hostage negotiator would survive the night.
Creepy inched toward her, his hand barely brushing her right knee.
She might not survive the night either. Before she could suppress it, a raw moan slipped from her sore throat.
“What’s the matter, Miss Emilie?” Creepy whispered through the mask, his hand heavier on her leg now.
Her entire body went numb. “I’m tired of sitting in the dark, waiting for something to happen.”
“Josephine was always afraid of the dark.” Melancholy crept into his normally serene tone. “She said the dark held the powers of black magic, of witchcraft, and bad luck. Poor girl slept with a candle burning.”
Emilie risked another glance at him. Narrowed in either anger or grief, his eyes glistened with moisture. “She was wrong. All of those exist in the daylight as well. Poor Jo didn’t need to fear the dark. Her bad luck came on a hot, sunny afternoon.” His voice faltered.
“What happened to her?”
“That’s none of your business.” Her captor jumped as though jolted with electricity. “Josephine belongs to me and to me alone,” he snarled.
Barely able to breathe, tears threatening to fall, Emilie scooted as far away from the man as the small space would allow. Her fingernails dug into the bare skin of her calves.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was contrite. “Forgive my rudeness. That was extremely ungentlemanly.”
Intimacy had crept back into his tone. What did he want with her? Why did he choose her? When would this end? She’d rather die than continue to endure him.
The questions raced through her brain at super speed, making her already sky-high pulse ratchet higher.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Emilie,” Creepy Guy pleaded. “I would never hurt you.”
“You already have.” She squeezed the words out between clenched teeth, ignoring her throbbing jaw. She didn’t know how much longer she had before she completely lost her remaining sanity. Making a run for it and getting shot by Joe would be better than the constant closeness of the other man.
He edged closer until his covered arm brushed her bare one. The material was soft and lightweight. Breathable. Expensive. Not cheap rags like Joe wore.
“Only because you’re scared. But I knew we were connected the first moment I saw you. Once you allow me to explain my actions, you will understand everything. You carry our connection with you every day.”
Her chest started to heave. She bit her lip, fighting back the impending panic. She searched for Nathan and found him still sitting next to Joe, watching the two of them. Could he see the sheer terror on her face?
She didn’t understand any of this. She’d never seen this man in her life. She tasted blood. Her teeth had drilled through the tender flesh of her bottom lip. Swatting the blood away with the back of her hand, she summoned her courage and looked the man in the eye. “We have no connection.”
“Oh, but we do. I’ve watched you for so long, my dear Miss Emilie.” He spoke softly now. “So many times, I was close enough to reach out and touch you, to make you mine. But the time and place weren’t right. Waiting for you has been torture.”
3
SHE WANTED TO run, to ask Joe to put her out of her misery, to beg Nathan to take her with them. Anything to make something happen.
“What are you thinking about, Miss Emilie?” Creepy Guy cocked his head toward her. “You look sad. I don’t like that.”
Emilie didn’t speak. All she had left was anger and fear, and neither of those would appeal to this man.
“Your skin has the loveliest pink undertones, Miss Emilie. Its paleness matches your beautiful auburn hair and green eyes, but I see a gold tone as well. The soft white color of your blouse sets it off perfectly.”
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She tasted it on her lips and realized how thirsty she was.
“White means purity and innocence, of course. Most people who choose to wear it have no business doing so. Few in this world do, except children, for isn’t innocence the essence of childhood? As adults, do we not strive to protect that innocence by any means necessary?”
He leaned closer, as if they were special friends, his gloved hand brushing her shaking arm. Underneath the mask, his dark eyes were wide and knowing. “There is nothing so precious as a child, my dear. So many are tossed to the side like garbage, free to roam about the world unprotected from the evils of man and pure fate. There is no sin worse. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Miss Emilie?”
Her mind snapped, her nerves at the end of their charred rope. She stumbled to her feet, legs tingling as the blood began to rush back to her feet. “Joe, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“No,” he snarled. “Sit back down.”
Nathan jerked to the edge of his seat. Emilie took a step toward him.
“Please. It’s just down the hall.”
“I don’t give a damn.” Joe leveled the gun at her. “I’m waiting for the call that’s going to get me out of here. I can’t be worrying about taking you to the can.”
“I’ll take you.” Her hovering captor stood and took Emilie’s elbow in his gloved hand. His hand trembled against her bare arm. Her heart actually sank into her stomach like a heavy stone, and then adrenaline slammed it back into place. She couldn’t let this man get her alone.
“I can wait.” Emilie yanked her arm away and sat back down.
Creepy Guy stiffened. His hands clenched into fists. Pure venom overtook the excitement in his eyes. Emilie held her ground and stared right back at him.
Finally, his expression relaxed. He returned to his spot beside her. “I see you’re not quite ready, then. I understand. You will be soon enough.”
* * * *
NATHAN CHECKED HIS watch. Four minutes to go, and it couldn’t happen soon enough. Emilie was about to lose it, and Joe’s fuse was nearly burnt out. Nathan expected the partner to demand Emilie leave with them, but he’d said nothing.
He had an end game. Nathan just hadn’t figured it out yet.
Joe sat back down, the chair rocking with the force. He stared at the gun in his lap, tracing the barrel with dirty fingers. “Wasn’t supposed to end this way. We had a plan.”
“These things usually don’t end well,” Nathan said.
