by Cassie Miles
The only way Trevor could find out was to take one of them down and ask questions. He moved into the open so he’d have a better shot. Sierra was right behind him.
“Taking hostages is wrong,” she said. “They’re only kids. They must be scared to death.”
“Damn it, Sierra. Get back inside the store.”
“Where are the firemen? And the cops?”
“They must have gone toward the explosion.”
“I guess that leaves you and me to stop these guys.” She raised her rifle. “Partner.”
“Those vests are packed with explosives,” he warned her. “Aim for their ankles.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t shoot if there’s a hostage in the way.”
“Right.”
He had to admire her grit, her selfless bravery. Sierra would have made a good soldier.
Sighting down the barrel of his rifle, Trevor tried again to get a clean shot. It was impossible. The people in the mall who weren’t being grabbed as hostages fled wildly. One woman, bleeding from a head wound, collapsed on the floor.
Trevor took aim at the lower legs of the man who appeared to be the leader. A child darted in front of him. Holding the little boy, the leader raised his automatic weapon to return fire. But he wasn’t aiming at Trevor. Sierra! She stood right beside him.
Without thinking, Trevor reacted. He dived toward her, knocking her off her feet. Holding her tightly, he rolled back inside the store and found cover.
He pulled her up to a kneeling position, quickly inspecting her. “Are you okay?”
“I dropped my rifle.”
“Let’s get it.”
But when they peered into the mall again, the Militia were gone. They had retreated into the electronics store next door to Olson’s Outdoor Sporting Goods. And, Trevor knew, they had taken the hostages with them.
“We’re too late.”
The need for action still pulsed in his veins, but he knew this battle was over. And the Militia had won. Inside the sporting goods store he sprawled on the floor with Sierra beside him, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“What will they do?”
“Since they have hostages, I assume there will be demands.”
“For money?”
He doubted this assault was about raising capital. If they wanted cash, they would have gone to a bank. Besides, they were outfitted smartly, with expensive weaponry. Unless Trevor missed his guess, somebody else was footing the bill for the Militia. “It’s likely that they have some kind of statement. This bomb blast and coordinated assault was a show of power.”
“There’s got to be something else we can do.” Her copper-blond hair fell across her forehead as she lowered her head. “I don’t want to give up.”
“We tried.”
“It’s not good enough.” When she looked up at him, her eyes brimmed with tears. “This is my fault, Trevor. Boone Fowler called me on Monday and threatened to come to the Galleria. I should have told someone.”
“You’re right. You should have told me.”
A sob racked her shoulders. “I never thought of a bomb, never thought he meant to hurt anybody but me.”
Trevor pulled her close. Her body trembled against his chest. Though she needed his reassurance, he wouldn’t lie to her. “Let’s try to figure this out. In that phone call, what did Boone say? Exact words.”
“He said he had money for me. Lyle’s share of something. Then he said I would get what I deserved.”
Sitting on the floor of the sporting goods store, Trevor stroked Sierra’s back. For days he’d been trying to get this lovely woman into his arms, but this wasn’t what he wanted. Not tears. Not this miserable sense of failure.
“We’re not giving up,” he said.
“Good.” She took a deep breath, then another. It seemed she was gathering her strength. “What should we do?”
“Let me think.”
The bomb in the Galleria and the armed assault had been carefully planned. Therefore, he had to assume that the phone call to Sierra wasn’t random. How did the phone call serve the purposes of the Militia? “When Boone called you, what did he expect you to do?”
“He probably thought I’d call the cops.”
“And the response from law enforcement would have been to question you and to place a few more cops in the Galleria.”
“Doesn’t make sense.” She leaned away and swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Why would he want to alert the police?”
“A trap.” Trevor thought of Danny at the garden shop. Danny, the Militia sympathizer, had been too anxious to spill his guts. “It was a setup. Boone wanted to lure law enforcement to the mall.”
“Why?”
“He wants everybody who might be pursuing him to be here.” Trevor frowned as the last logical piece clicked into place. Boone had enacted an old and not particularly sophisticated battle plan. He wanted to bring all his enemies together in one place. Then he would attack. “The Militia is going to use potassium cyanide to wipe out as many officers as possible.”
And bounty hunters. Boone Fowler held a longstanding grudge against Cameron Murphy.
Sierra gazed up into his eyes. “So, this wasn’t about me?”
“Killing you was a bonus. That’s why they entered the Galleria through the back of your store.”
“Thank God!” She clutched her hands to her chest. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I told the police.”
“You’re not off the hook,” he said. “You should have told me about the contact.”
“You’re right, Trevor. No more secrets.” She smiled up at him. “Can we still be partners?”
“I’d like to be the man who protects your back.”
“Same here.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and he embraced her. The barrier between them had crumbled. From now on, they were on the same side.
Chapter Eight
Sierra stood at the second-floor railing beside Trevor and looked down at the devastation caused by the Militia’s bomb explosion in the Galleria food court. Her favorite lunch table beside the wall of windows had been obliterated.
Those tall windows were shattered. Shards of glass sparkled amid the scorched wreckage, which was now being searched by firefighters and forensic investigators. Why investigate? It was obvious what had happened. The Militia had happened. And they needed to pay.
Anger churned inside her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, and pinched her nostrils shut against the noxious stench of charred metal, concrete and plastic.
The food shops that lined the edge of the court were gaping holes. Their signs and counters were burned beyond recognition, their food-processing equipment mangled. The tables and chairs in the food court had scattered in a chaotic pattern that radiated out from a center support beam. The bomb must have been planted there. She eyed the thick concrete pillar that rose from floor to ceiling. If it had collapsed, the roof of the Galleria would have caved. The devastation would have been worse. “It’s hard to believe nobody was killed.”
“There were injuries,” Trevor said grimly.
He had been on his cell phone frequently, gathering information. Thus far, he had learned that the Militia had taken ten hostages. Their demands included a million dollars and a helicopter. They also had a statement—a videotape of Boone Fowler that they wanted played on television.
“Who’s this person you keep talking to on the cell phone?” she asked.
“Cameron Murphy. He was my commanding officer when I was in the Special Forces, and he was largely responsible for the capture of Boone Fowler and the Militia the last time they were apprehended.”
“So he’s got credibility,” she concluded. “That’s important. It means the police will listen to him.”
Trevor took off his hat and raked his fingers through his shiny black hair. He looked different. Intense.
After that brief moment of reconciliation when she’d wept in his arms, he’d gone into action, h
is focus narrowed to a laser point. A fierce intensity flamed in his keen blue eyes. Every muscle in his body was taut.
As she studied him, Sierra realized that she was being given a glimpse into Trevor Blackhaw’s true nature. He had told her that he was a bounty hunter and an interrogator. But she saw something deeper in him, an almost primal identity. Above all else, he was a warrior, a man who lived to fight the good fight. He would show no mercy to his enemies, and he would defend the innocent with his last breath.
She was proud to be his partner.
Trevor turned his head, alert to a sound she hadn’t even heard. “Here’s Murphy now.”
It was no surprise to her that Cameron Murphy was another formidable man. Probably about forty, he had black hair, dark eyes and an indefinable air of authority.
He shook her hand as he identified himself. Then he turned toward Trevor. “You said there was something important you needed to tell me.”
“This is a setup,” Trevor said. “The explosion. The Militia in explosive vests. The taking of hostages. It’s all a ploy.”
“How so?”
“Boone Fowler has put a plan in motion that will guarantee the presence of every law enforcement person in the state of Montana—everybody who’s after the Militia. All his enemies.”
“A classic military strategy,” Cameron said.
“With all these people—including the bounty hunters—gathered in one place, Boone Fowler will detonate explosives to disperse the nerve gas. In one action, he will disable many of his pursuers.”
Murphy gave a curt nod. “You’re onto something.”
“I strongly advise,” Trevor said, “that most of the FBI, SWAT teams, sheriffs and police be evacuated. Those who stay should be equipped with gas masks.”
“Which aren’t a guarantee against exposure,” Murphy said. “Potassium cyanide can be absorbed through the skin. Anything else?”
“You should be the first person to leave, sir. The Militia has a serious resentment toward you.”
When Murphy grinned, Sierra saw a reflection of the same warrior spirit she had seen in Trevor. Formidable men, indeed.
“I won’t retreat,” Murphy said. “Not if I’m the target that will draw Boone Fowler into the open.”
“Boone’s not here,” Sierra said. “He wasn’t leading the attack team. That was Perry Johnson.”
“He’s here,” Murphy said. “I feel it in my bones.”
A crackle came over the public address system in the Galleria, and Sierra glanced up. She was amazed that the system was still working.
The announcement sounded surprisingly distinct. “The hostage takers demand that we play the following audio.”
Boone Fowler’s harsh baritone resonated over the destruction his Militia had caused. “We are the true patriots, unafraid to stand up for what we believe. We are willing to become terrorists in order to save our once proud nation.”
Trevor reacted with a frown. “That’s a change in his usual line of crap—the mention of terrorism.”
Cameron nodded. “Boone doesn’t usually align himself with the other terrorists of the world. He likes to think the Militia is unique.”
“Bastards,” Sierra muttered. “The only difference between the Militia and a gang of schoolyard bullies is that they have better weapons.”
“Unfortunately,” Cameron said, “their weapons are life-threatening. I’d like to see you and Trevor get out of here. Out of harm’s way.”
As Boone’s voice continued with his illogical rhetoric—condemning capitalism with one breath and demanding a million dollars with the next—the rage inside her built. “I won’t leave until I see the Militia captured. Or dead.”
“I’ve heard about your stubbornness,” Cameron said. “Be careful, Sierra.”
“I will be.”
He turned to Trevor. “I’ll put forward your theory, but I can’t promise to make a difference. It’s going to take some tough talk to get all these high-ranking law enforcement people to agree on a course of action.”
“I understand.”
Cameron looked back toward Sierra. “Any chance you’ll change your mind and get out of here?”
“No, sir.”
“You don’t intend to listen to reason?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
With a grin, he nodded to her and then to Trevor. “Good luck.”
Cameron strode toward the center of operations, where law enforcement officials had gathered. Though Trevor didn’t actually salute when his former commander walked away, his posture stiffened. His respect for Cameron Murphy was obvious.
“He’s right,” Trevor said. “We should go.”
“I won’t give up.”
“Believe me, Sierra. I don’t like the idea any more than you do.”
In his voice, she heard his deep frustration. In his clenched fist, she saw barely checked rage. This was not a man who liked to retreat. “There might be something we can do.”
“Such as?”
“Rescue the hostages.”
“Just like that?” He snapped his fingers. “There are probably a hundred cops, FBI and SWAT assault teams swarming all over this mall. The electronics store where the hostages are being held is surrounded, but you think you can waltz right in and save them.”
“I know a few things the SWAT teams don’t.” For several months, she had worked next door to the electronics store where the hostages were being held. “For one thing, I’m familiar with the ins and outs of the ventilation system.”
He eyed her curiously. “May I ask why you know this?”
“Long story short,” she said. “There was a hamster escape in the pet store. Somebody had to volunteer to look for the little beasts. So I went on a search, crawling through the air ducts.”
“You’re a strange woman, Sierra.”
“And a determined one.” If there was anything she could do to thwart the Militia, she had to try. “I can’t just step back and let these slimeballs hurt innocent women and children. Come on, Trevor. I don’t want to run and hide.”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “We’re stepping back and letting all these lawmen do their jobs.”
“What if we can do it better?” She could see him leaning in her direction. In his heart, he wanted to go on the attack. She made a last appeal to his warrior spirit. “We can fight the Militia. And we will win. Are you with me, partner?”
He gave a quick nod. “All the way.”
WHEN TREVOR AGREED to go along with Sierra, he didn’t really expect they’d be allowed access to the sporting goods store. The situation in the Galleria bordered on chaos, but security had tightened. The authorities would never allow him and Sierra to attempt their own rescue of the hostages.
Nonetheless, they came up with a plan. The first step was to get close to the sporting goods store. Trevor wished he had backup from the other bounty hunters. Since Murphy was here, he assumed the other men were busy with their own missions using their special expertise. He had no assignment. In a situation like this, there wasn’t much call for an interrogator.
He and Sierra approached command central for law enforcement—a group that now included Cameron Murphy. These men had taken a strategic position on the second floor, directly across from the electronics store where the hostages were being held. Their location underlined the irony of a commando attack at a shopping mall; the store occupied by command central was Victoria’s Secret—a place where few of these hard-boiled men had ever gone before.
Amid bras, panties and a whole bunch of pink lotions, orders were issued to the SWAT team sharpshooters. An intense FBI contingent worked on hostage negotiations. Other cops were deployed to clear all the cars from the parking lot and to deal with the media.
After an introduction from Murphy, Trevor faced off with the county sheriff, an elected official who was famous for being an outdoorsman.
Trevor stated his request. “We need a couple of deputies to evacuate the pet store.”
The sheriff raised both bushy eyebrows. “Come again?”
“If nerve gas is released in the Galleria, those animals will die.”
“Listen up,” the sheriff growled. “We’ve got a genuine crisis here. Human beings are in danger. We can’t be worried about puppies and kitty cats.”
His response was what Trevor had expected. “I understand, but—”
“Voters love puppies,” Sierra interrupted. “The voting public would be really upset if they knew you abandoned a pet store. You can’t let those animals die.”
The sheriff frowned and rubbed at his neatly trimmed beard as he considered her words.
“You know I’m right,” Sierra continued. “If one fluffy Persian kitty is overcome by nerve gas, you can kiss the little-old-lady vote goodbye.
With an impatient gesture, the sheriff summoned three deputies and gave the order. “Evacuate the damn pet store. And make sure the media people see you carrying puppies out of the mall.”
Sierra led the way across the upper level and down an escalator to the pet shop, which was on the first floor and around a corner from the electronics store. While the deputies opened cages and picked up animals, she took Trevor to the back of the place, near the fish tanks. She pointed to the ventilation shaft. “If we climb through here, we can get to my store.”
When she loosened the screws on the grate covering the air duct, Trevor peered into the narrow opening. His throat clenched. He couldn’t go in there. The mere thought of that tightly enclosed space made him want to puke. “I’ve got another idea.”
She glanced up at him. Her dark eyes were bright and excited. “Tell me.”
“We can go through the corridors behind the stores. The shipping dock area.” His gaze fastened on the tiny air duct. It seemed to shrink before his eyes. He’d rather fight a hundred armed terrorists than enter that tight space. “We can reach the sporting goods store the same way the Militia did. Through the rear.”
“It would be a lot easier that way,” she said. “But I’m sure the SWAT guys are back there. Do you think they’ll let us through?”
“Worth a try.” He turned away from the shaft. “We’ll take a couple of puppies.”
