Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold)

by Tee O'Fallon

  In rapid succession, all units confirmed his command.

  He shook his head. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “Seen what coming?” Jimmy asked.

  “Blue Honda.” He inclined his head to the car. “I pulled it over for speeding. I knew something was wrong with that kid. I’d lay odds he’s the one holding up the Nest. C’mon.” He grabbed a set of high-powered binoculars from behind the driver’s seat. “Let’s get a bead on what’s going on inside, then you can put that hostage negotiator training I sent you to last year to good use.”

  They slipped out of the Explorer and took up position behind the rear bumper. Mike held the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the interior of the Nest. His grip on the binoculars tightened. Tim Harding stood near the register, shaking like a street sign in a hurricane. The kid held a gun to Abby. Then Cassie came into view. She held out her hand as if she was talking to Harding.

  What the hell is she doing?

  He shoved the binoculars at Jimmy and gave him a quick rundown on the situation. “Give me two minutes, then make the call to the Nest.”

  Jimmy yanked a cell phone from his breast pocket. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’m going in through the back. From the look of him, Harding’s so high he might do anything. We need SWAT, but if shit goes down before they get here, I want to be inside.”

  Mike pounded the pavement at a dead run to the rear entrance of the Nest, keeping out of sight of the restaurant’s front windows. Sweat dripped down his temples as he ran into the Nest’s rear parking lot. As ordered, a third patrol car guarded the area from a distance. Mike pressed his back to the wall next to the Nest’s kitchen door and turned off the radio on his belt. He pulled out his Glock and eased open the screen door.

  Chuck, Leo, and Danny huddled near the opening to the dining room. “Chuck,” Mike whispered loud enough to get their attention. He indicated they should come to the back of the kitchen. When they did, he whispered, “Get out of here and don’t come back.”

  When the three of them had left through the screen door, Mike surveyed the kitchen. The heat was like an inferno. Something bubbled away furiously on the stove, spewing thick red blobs of sauce onto the floor.

  Crouching low, he inched forward, keeping out of sight of the dining room. Cassie’s voice filtered into the kitchen.

  “Tell me your name,” she coaxed.

  “Tim.” Harding’s voice trembled. “My name’s Tim.”

  “Mine’s Cassie.”

  Mike thought her voice eerily calm, given the dire circumstances.

  “Tim, I’ll get you some money. I’m going to help you, but I need your help, too. I can’t do this without you. You have to do something for me. That’s the only way this will work.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes. Cassie was using all the right words. Same as what they taught at hostage negotiator school. Harding wanted something, but he’d have to give something back. A negotiation. Which was how most hostage situations ended. Unless someone died before help arrived.

  Not this time.

  Mike crept closer. Keeping low to the floor, he eased out of the kitchen just enough to assess things in the dining room.

  Harding gripped Abby around her throat. Cassie stood a few feet away from them. Anger twisted his stomach into knots. Abby was a hostage and Cassie was in the line of fire. He needed better odds and fast, but from the way things were going down, the county SWAT team would never get here in time.

  “I know you’re scared, and I know you hurt real bad,” Cassie went on. “But if you don’t ease up on my friend’s neck, you’ll choke her to death. I know you don’t want that.”

  The kid actually responded and loosened his hold. Abby sagged with relief.

  “Please, Tim.” Cassie held out her hand. “Abby’s pregnant. She can’t take the stress. What I want you to do is let me take her place. That’s the deal if you want the money.”

  No! No fucking way!

  Mike didn’t want to see Abby hurt, but he sure as hell didn’t want Cassie to sacrifice herself, either. He’d gladly take Abby’s place if he could.

  “I know you don’t want to hurt Abby or her baby, but you might accidentally. If you let her go, I promise I’ll take her place and get you your money. Okay?”

  What money? What about the cash register?

  Cassie took a hesitant step closer to Harding. “Okay?” she repeated.

  Harding’s left leg twitched uncontrollably. The kid was about to lose it, but to Mike’s immense relief, Harding nodded. “Okay. Come ’ere, but slow.”

  When Cassie was a foot away, Harding shoved Abby from him and grabbed Cassie. Mike wanted to growl as Harding gripped her around the throat. The sight of Abby in his clutches had been bad enough, but when Harding laid his sweaty hands on Cassie it made him want to rip the kid’s heart out. When he pressed the gun to her head…

  …Mike wanted to kill him.

  Harding’s arms were covered with scratches. From itching, he’d bet. A sure sign the kid was a pill-head in withdrawal. Oxycontin, he’d guess. The drug of choice by teenagers these days. The high it gave was euphoric, similar to heroin, but when you came down it hurt like hell.

  Mike tensed. If he made his move too soon, it could mean Cassie’s life.

  Abby ran to Joey, pulling him into her arms. A collective sigh came from the dining room. Rose stayed behind the register while Sue slid into a booth off the aisle. With Cassie’s back against Harding’s chest, Mike could see the controlled fear. Her eyes were wide but not hysterical. She gripped the kid’s sweat-covered arm with both her hands. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but she was holding it together.

  Now to get her attention.

  He had to maneuver Harding into the kitchen. The kid was so confused and in need of a fix, Mike was certain he was oblivious to the fact there was a cop inside the Nest, ready to take him to the ground.

  The ugly, burning memory of his failure six years ago that ended with a woman being brutally stabbed blazed vividly in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday.

  He gripped his Glock tighter.

  “Where’s the money you promised?” Harding yelled in Cassie’s ear.

  The phone at the register rang. Jimmy. Right on time.

  Harding jerked his head around. “Don’t answer that!”

  “Okay.” Rose held her hands in the air while the phone rang and rang and rang.

  “Make it stop!” Harding screamed. “It’s driving me fuckin’ nuts.”

  Rose yanked out the phone line. So much for Jimmy’s negotiating skills. Harding squeezed his arm tighter around Cassie’s neck, and she gasped for air.

  Sonofabitch, if you hurt her…

  C’mon, Cassie. Look at me.

  He willed her to look at him. Movement caught his attention. A customer across the aisle had seen him. Mike put his index finger to his lips and shook his head. He glanced back to Cassie. Her eyes widened.

  She’d spotted him.

  Mike canted his head toward the doorway behind him, hoping she would understand his meaning: get Harding into the kitchen. He repeated the movement. Cassie tipped her head in assent.

  That’s my girl.

  “The money,” she gasped, locking eyes with Mike’s, “it’s—in my locker.”

  Harding put his quivering lips to Cassie’s ear. “Where’s your locker?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Quick thinking. Mike nodded to Cassie and inched backward toward the kitchen, crouching on the balls of his feet.

  “Show me,” Harding demanded in a shaky voice.

  Mike hid behind a solid butcher-block table, keeping an eye on the doorway. It seemed to take forever before he heard them shuffling toward him.

  Harding looked around the kitchen. His hand—the shaky one holding the gun—jerked. “Where’s your locker?” The gun was so close to Cassie’s head, Mike had no shot without putting her at risk. This would have to go down another way.

  Mike eased
his Glock back into his holster.

  “Over there.” Cassie lifted her arm and pointed in the direction away from where Mike crouched behind the table. Harding’s red, watery gaze followed her extended arm.

  Every muscle in Mike’s body coiled tight like a spring, waiting for an opening.

  Cassie clenched her outstretched fingers into a fist and drove her elbow backward into Harding’s ribs. Harding doubled over and released his grip around her neck.

  Mike launched and slammed into Harding’s upper body.

  The kid crumpled like an accordion. Harding grunted in pain but held fast to his gun. Mike grabbed Harding’s wrist and slammed it again and again on the floor until he heard the distinct sound of bone cracking. Harding screamed and released the gun.

  Cassie reached for the weapon just as Mike rammed his knee into the back of Harding’s neck, pinning him to the slick tile. The kid screamed again, writhing in pain. Mike wrenched Harding’s arms into the small of his back and cuffed him, broken wrist and all. He kept his knee planted solidly on the back of Harding’s neck.

  Breathing heavily, he glanced at Cassie. She gripped the gun comfortably, steadily in both hands, aiming it at Harding’s head. Her expression was unexpectedly cool. She lowered the weapon and stuffed it into her waistband.

  “Are you okay?” he asked between breaths.

  She nodded and gave him a relieved smile. “I am now.”

  Mike turned on his radio and clicked the microphone clipped to his shoulder. “Suspect apprehended. I’ll take him out the back door.”

  He spared another glance at Cassie and thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her face was flushed and her ponytail was skewed aside in a tangled mass of red waves. Her green eyes were nearly crystalline in their intensity. If he didn’t have Harding in a death grip, he would have kissed her right then and there.

  Sirens wailed and tires screeched outside the kitchen’s screen door. Two uniformed officers charged in with Jimmy in the lead. Two others stormed in through the dining area.

  “Mike, you good?” Jimmy bellowed.

  “Yeah.” He hauled Harding to his feet and handed him over to two of his junior officers. The kid could barely stand, his body was so limp. “His wrist’s broken and he’s in withdrawal,” Mike warned his men. “Take him to the hospital first. When he’s released, take him back to the station for processing.”

  The men jumped to obey his orders and dragged Harding outside to a squad car. The sound of running feet caught Mike’s attention, and Rose flew into Jimmy’s arms. She clung to him, gripping his uniform shirt in her clenched hands.

  “You’re safe now, Rosie. I’m here.” Jimmy kissed Rose’s forehead, then buried his face in her hair.

  Mike choked back a tight laugh. So much for Rose’s determination to stave off the affections of his deputy chief.

  When he turned back to Cassie, she gave him a weary smile. She’d been watching Jimmy and Rose. Her eyes glistened and a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a damp trickling trail on her smooth skin. Without a second thought, he reached out to cup the side of her face, gently rubbing away her tear with the pad of his thumb. Protective urges welled up hard and fast.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

  When Cassie shook her head, something inside him snapped and he clasped her shoulders. “That was the stupidest, most reckless stunt I’ve ever seen.” His voice rose as the gut-wrenching fear he’d kept tightly reined in exploded. “You could have been killed. What the hell possessed you to put yourself in danger like that? You should have waited for the police—for me, dammit—to get here.”

  Other officers in the kitchen discreetly busied themselves with crowd control and answering their squawking radios.

  “For you to get here?” She knocked his hands away and glared at him. “There was no time. I did what I had to, when I had to. If I hadn’t, Abby might have been killed. She could have miscarried from the stress. How dare you berate me as if I’m totally incapable?”

  Mike stared at the vision of fearless, irate beauty refusing to back down. “I never said you were incapable.” Fact was, she’d handled herself amazingly, all cool under pressure.

  She jabbed a graceful finger at him. “You think since you have a badge and a gun you have all the answers.”

  “I never said that, either.”

  “No, but you’re thinking it.”

  Mike invaded Cassie’s personal space so they stood almost chest to chest. “What I’m thinking is that I want to throttle you.” He moved in closer and lowered his voice. “Or kiss you senseless until you shut up.”

  Her narrowed eyes suddenly went soft, shimmering like emeralds. “Oh.”

  “I’ll take that.” He grasped the butt of Harding’s gun still hooked in Cassie’s waistband. She reached for it at the same time and their hands touched. Something strong stirred within his chest, battling with his duty and his steely determination to stay away from her. Mike stuck the gun inside his belt.

  To hell with decorum.

  He was about to pull Cassie into his arms and kiss her when a white flash lit the kitchen, reflecting in all directions off the stainless-steel refrigerators.

  The Hopewell Springs Gazette photographer snapped off shot after shot. Cassie held her hands in front of her face, trying to shield herself from the photographer. Was that…panic on her face? With his hand at the small of her back, Mike urged her out the back door. “Take her home,” he ordered one of his officers standing guard. To Cassie, he said softly, “I’ll come by later to take your statement.”

  As she was escorted out the door, she sent him a worried, grateful look over her shoulder.

  Rose and Jimmy still clung to each other while the photographer continued to snap away. Mike stepped in front of the man and covered the camera lens with his hand. “Outside. Now!” he ordered in a hard yet courteous tone. He’d learned long ago that news photographers were nothing but vultures hell-bent on documenting people’s misfortune for all the world to gawk at. When the photographer began to object, Mike scowled and shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  The photographer reluctantly complied, going back through the dining area and exiting the front door. Mike strode into the dining room and issued commands to his men to cordon off the restaurant and commence interviewing witnesses. He stared at the location where minutes before, Harding held a gun to Cassie’s head.

  Jesus, if the kid’s finger had slipped, she would have been killed before his eyes. Last time, it had been a woman whose name he hadn’t known until he’d woken up from a coma a month after she’d been buried. That had been bad enough. This time, it could have been Cassie.

  Mike’s heart wrenched. He should let her go.

  Her?

  Cassie and the woman whose death he had caused. Both refused to leave him in peace. The dead woman still came to him in his nightmares. Cassie, on the other hand, haunted his nights and his days. But his track record was lousy. Since Elaine, he’d never let a woman get close, and he inevitably ended up hurting all the ones who’d tried. He didn’t have it in him anymore to let one get under his skin. Or had that already happened?

  Mike drew his brows together. The pain of Elaine’s duplicity didn’t compare to what he’d felt when Cassie had been in danger. They hadn’t known each other for very long, but if he’d lost her today…

  Much as it killed him, his interest in Cassie was no longer strictly professional.

  Against his better judgment, now it was personal.

  Chapter Ten

  “So much for keeping a low profile.” Cassie shook her head as she recalled Dom’s warning over the phone the other day.

  Getting her picture snapped by the local news photographer hardly constituted keeping her head low. Maybe the photographer hadn’t gotten a clear shot, and even if he had, no one in the Big Apple would notice what happened in a backwater town this far north of the city, right?

  Maybe.

  She picked up a small branch that had fallen onto
the back porch and heaved it to the far end of the yard. Raven’s nails scrabbled on the porch as she darted off to chase after the stick.

  Suddenly exhausted, Cassie sank onto a green wooden rocking chair and watched Raven frolic in the yard. The uneasy feeling she may have just blown her cover simmered in her gut like an inflamed ulcer.

  Cassie turned up the volume of the boom box sitting on the wicker table and Shania Twain’s smooth, mellow voice filled the evening air. She picked up her wineglass and took another slug of freezing cold Chardonnay. The cool liquid trickled down her throat to her empty stomach, and from there went directly to work numbing her brain. Precisely what she needed, not to feel or worry about anything. At least for one night.

  Earlier, one of Mike’s men had ferried her Trail Blazer home, then Rose had called to check on her and assure her the Nest would be closed for the remainder of the day due to the ensuing police activity. Good thing, too. With no food in her stomach since breakfast, the alcohol was kicking in hard and fast.

  The old rocker creaked as she pushed her bare toes against the warm porch floor. Raven amused herself by flipping the stick into the air, then trying to catch it. Birds in the tall maple trees bordering the property twittered away. Hardly seemed like anything bad could happen in a quiet place like Hopewell Springs. But it had.

  Cassie grasped the bottle of wine, and it trembled in her hands while she poured. The clear golden liquid gushed out, some of it spilling onto the table. She set the bottle and glass down, but her hands still shook and she heaved a pathetic sigh.

  As a seasoned city detective, guns were a regular and necessary part of her world, but having one jammed into the side of her skull by a shaky drug addict was an entirely different matter. If Mike hadn’t been there today, she might very well be dead. And that hit man would have lost out on a hefty fee.

  A chill went through her. The hit man was still out there, searching for her.

  If Gray and Dom couldn’t find this guy soon…

  Hiding forever would be impossible, not to mention impractical. She had another life, another job deep in the bowels of New York City. Sooner or later, she had to face that reality. As the truth slammed into her, an unexpected lump rose in her throat. She didn’t want to leave Hopewell Springs. Ever.