His hands clenched into tight fists at seeing them in danger, and the primal urge to tackle the gunman and beat him senseless almost overwhelmed reason. Almost. Instead, reason won out, and he unclenched his grip and assessed the scene, remaining as detached as possible, knowing it was the best way to help them.
So far, only one gunman was in view. Dark hair. Goatee. No visible scars. But the sound of drilling told him that the man wasn’t alone, which meant that he couldn’t pull his weapon without putting Gwyn and Connor at risk.
A flash of the gunman’s last victims flashed through Nick’s mind—bodies on the marble floor with their heads splattered all over the shiny glass cases that had once held diamonds.
He’d be damned if he was going to let that happen. He had to protect Gwyn. Protect Connor. This meant he had to join them, despite what the “Handbook” said about not being taken hostage.
Shaking his head and sure that if he lived he’d be demoted, Nick stepped into the doorway. The gunman’s eyes widened then narrowed. “You.” He waved his gun at Nick. “Santa. Get in here and shut the door, or I’ll give these two a present they won’t appreciate.”
Nick stepped inside, mentally smacking himself for allowing Gwyn to separate from him during the search. He knew better, but one glance at those desperate blue eyes and he’d caved.
He was an idiot.
As if on cue, Gwyn glanced at him over her shoulder. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her skin, making strands of her long blond hair stick to her cheek.
Nick shut the door. The room seemed to be a combination break room and jewelry repair shop. A half-empty coffeepot, creamer, sugar and cups sat on the far counter along with a plate of Christmas cookies.
On the other walls were machines, tools and cleaners. None of which was useful as a weapon unless he attacked them with a coffee mug à la Jackie Chan. To the right was a closed door. Storage? A way out? He filed the information away.
Another door on the left was wide-open and seemed to be a vault of some kind. Inside the small, tight space flashlights revealed two people trying to break into the safe. Another male dressed much as the armed man. Black clothes. Leather gloves. Long blond hair tied back. The woman next to him sported a short, trendy haircut. Loads of makeup. And street clothes.
Despite the gun in her hand pegging her for a criminal, he recognized her from watching the shop all day.
She was the salesgirl.
An inside job. He knew it. Hell, anyone on the case suspected as much. They just couldn’t prove it.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Nick said.
The gunman shifted his aim toward Nick. “I’m sure you know the routine. Hands up. Over there.” He nodded toward the back wall.
Raising his hands where the man could see them, Nick walked to the back wall and pressed his lower back against the cool cement. “What’s going on?”
The man took Gwyn’s purse, tossed it to the floor and then nudged her with his foot. “You, too.”
Nick watched as Gwyn walked toward him. Her blue eyes met his, and he saw fear in their depths. Deep, screaming fear. For him. For herself. And for the small boy who was having the most terrifying Christmas ever.
Then she took the spot next to him. “Try to stay calm,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, and he realized that while she might be terrified, there was no tremble in her voice and her hands didn’t shake as she squeezed his forearm before she took her place next to him on the wall.
“What now?” Gwyn asked, talking to the gunman.
“We do not need hostages,” the woman in the vault said as her companion drilled into the safe.
Hostages. That meant they weren’t going to be shot, at least not immediately. The tension in Nick’s gut eased a notch. He could use that to his advantage. “Of course you do,” he said.
“Shut up,” the gunman said, cocking his gun.
“He’s right,” Gwyn said. “We were only supposed to be gone for ten minutes. They’ll come looking for us soon, and when they don’t find us…”
“Who’s they,” the girl interrupted, stepping into the room. Now that she was closer, he saw she still wore her name tag. Marsha. If that was her real name.
“Cops,” Nick said. “Lots of cops. All looking for him,” he nodded at Connor. Up until now, the boy had reminded silent, the gunman’s hand still over his mouth.
“He came running in here,” the girl whined. “What were we supposed to do? Just let him go?” She glared at Connor. “This is your fault.”
Next to him, Gwyn tensed and Nick groaned. Connor might not be her child but she was reacting with a woman’s maternal instinct.
“His fault?” She pushed away from the wall. Nick grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. Oblivious to the guns and the danger, she marched across the room. She hesitated in front of Marsha, and for a moment, Nick thought she might go for a catfight.
Instead, she continued then stopped in front of the gunman. “He’s five years old. Let him go.”
“You want him?” The gunman tightened his hold.
“Yes, I do,” Gwyn said, hands on her hips.
Nick cringed at her tone but kept his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do to have them both pissing off the crooks. Let her be bad hostage. He’d be good hostage.
Until he wasn’t.
He took a deep breath at the thought, eager for a little payback.
“Take him.” The gunman uncovered Connor’s mouth and used his knee to shove the child toward Gwyn. “Happy now?”
“Thrilled,” Gwyn said, dropping to her knees and pulling Connor into her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Connor said, tears tracking down his cheeks.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Gwyn said as Connor wiped his runny nose on her shoulder, making Nick cringe. Gwyn didn’t flinch.
“I was scared,” Connor said. “And I saw the light.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Gwyn picked Connor up, her arms tight around him as she took her place back against the wall.
“You need to control your temper,” Nick whispered. She glared at him, her blue eyes wet with tears. He thumbed one away as it slid down her cheek. “You are a dumb ass,” he said, “But a brave one.”
Which was admirable as long as her bravery didn’t get her shot.
“Gee, thanks,” Gwyn said with a sniff. “I think.”
“Are you Santa?” Connor asked.
Nick shook his head. “I’m not the big guy. Just his number one helper. Santa and I are like this.” He crossed his fingers.
Connor’s eyes widened. “Will I be on the naughty list now, for running away?”
Nick smiled, despite the situation. “No, but they are,” he said, nodding at the three crooks. “They’re going to get coal in their stockings.”
And a nice long stay in prison, if he had anything to do with it.
The gunman frowned. “Hey, kid, there’s no such thing as Santa,” he said. “It’s a lie. Your parents give you the presents.”
“Tucker, don’t be a jerk,” the safecracker said. “He’s a kid, for Chrissakes. It’s Christmas.”
Tucker. Now that was useful information. Nick filed it away.
“Are you mental?” Tucker growled. “You said my name.”
The safecracker flinched. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, breaking a few strands free from the rubber band that held it back.
“Whatever. Just get back to work,” Tucker said, never taking his attention from the hostages. “Stick to the plan.”
“The plan? The plan is screwed. What the hell are we going to do with hostages?” the blond man argued.
Nick didn’t miss the sound of Gwyn’s breath catching. He touched her side, wishing he could do more. “You could let us go,” he said.
“Shut. Up,” Tucker replied.
“At least let them go,” Nick said, not shutting up. This was his opening, and he wasn’t going to let it go. Besides, he didn’t think Tuc
ker would shoot.
At least not until he had what he’d come for. Nick continued. “You can keep me. You only need one hostage, and keeping a woman and kid will just piss off the cops.”
“He has a point,” the blond man said. “No one likes the guys who hurt kids and women.”
“How much Oprah have you been watching?” Tucker rolled his eyes. “And shouldn’t you both be breaking into a safe? We’re wasting time.”
The safecracker and Marsha went back to work.
Hell. “Just let them go,” Nick said, focusing on Tucker. “I’ll be the perfect hostage. Even help you carry the loot.”
“Are you insane?” Gwyn broke in. “I am not leaving you here alone.”
“You’re right. You’re not,” Tucker replied. “But Stephan made a good point,” he grinned, obviously aware he’d said he the other man’s name and caring more for retaliation than secrecy. “Keeping a kid tends to make cops more trigger-happy than needed. He can go.”
The tension in Nick’s gut released yet another notch. One down. One more to go. Then they’d both be safe.
“I want to stay with you,” Connor whimpered, tightening his hold on Gwyn.
Gwyn’s eyes locked with Nick’s as she stroked Connor’s hair. Thank you, she mouthed. Then she kissed the top of Connor’s head. “You can’t stay here, sweetie. One of these people will show you which way to go, and I want you to run in that direction. Just run in a straight line until you see Glory and the policemen.”
Connor buried his head in Gwyn’s neck. “I can’t,” he sobbed. “It’s dark. There’re monsters.”
Nick squeezed Connor’s shoulder. The kid was right about one thing—there were monsters. But they were right here. “You can do this,” Nick said. “I’ll make sure that Santa leaves you a special present.”
“And it’s not dark,” Gwyn chimed in. “Not at all. There are pretty red lights to lead the way. All you have to do is run.”
Connor didn’t move.
“Tell you what,” Tucker said, “Since it’s Christmas, I’ll let the woman take the kid out of here.”
Nick sighed in relief. Thank God. With both of them gone, he’d be free to do what was needed without fear of hurting civilians.
Tucker continued, pointing his gun at Gwyn, “But I want you to come back.”
The tension in Nick’s gut returned, making him groan. “Just let them go.”
Tucker shook his head. “A single man makes a crap hostage. I need either the woman or the kid.” He grinned. “You choose. Who stays? The woman or the kid?”
Nick frowned. Later, he’d shoot Tucker. Somewhere non-lethal that would hurt for a good, long time.
“Connor goes,” Gwyn said.
“What she said,” Nick agreed, knowing it was the only way to get them both out.
Tucker nodded. “She drops the kid off and gets back here in five minutes or you get shot.”
Gwyn’s eyes widened. “You can’t kill him. Then you won’t have a hostage.”
“I never said kill.”
If nothing else, Tucker was to the point.
Next to him, Gwyn nodded. “Deal.”
Hearing her conviction, Nick wanted to shake her. Hell, she knew he was a cop. And she was savvy. Smart. She should know that he didn’t want her gone. He needed her gone.
“You better get moving,” Tucker said. “Countdown starts now.”
“Do not come back,” Nick said, not caring who heard him.
“I can’t do that,” Gwyn said. With Connor in her arms, she rushed toward the door, stopping long enough to flash one last look of desperation at Nick. “I’m sorry.” Then she was gone, leaving Nick alone with Tucker and his crew.
“You better hope she’s fast,” Tucker said, keeping his gun on Nick.
Nick didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t want her to be fast. He wanted her to run away and stay away.
He’d been shot before—his thigh ached with phantom pain at the memory—and he wasn’t eager to take another bullet, but it was better than watching Gwyn take one when this job was over and Tucker killed them both.
Chapter 5
F ive minutes.
Carrying Connor, Gwyn sprinted through the mall, feeling as if she were part of the most sadistic game show ever created.
Beat the clock and win fabulous prizes. Money. A car. Nick’s life.
Ahead of her, the hallway brightened as she grew closer to the south entrance and her sister. Not much farther. Her breath hitched in her chest as she passed a bookstore.
“Look, sweetie,” she huffed. “We’re almost there.”
Connor remained quiet, his face buried against her neck. She’d hoped that once they were closer to safety he’d relax because as bad as she felt for the little guy, she couldn’t go with him. Not the whole way. If she did, Nick’s men would never let her leave. And then Tucker would shoot Nick, and while he said it wouldn’t be a kill shot, she didn’t believe him. Tucker looked like the kind of man who enjoyed death.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she sped up. That wasn’t going to happen. She’d make sure of it.
Three storefronts later marked the end of her run. Carefully, she pried Connor’s arms away from her neck and set him on his feet.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, his hand in hers.
Squatting down, Gwyn touched his cheek. “They’re right around the corner, but you have to go on without me, sweetie.”
He pushed himself back into her arms. “I’m scared. Go with me.”
Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut. Hating Tucker. Hating herself. “No, sweetie. You have to go,” Gwyn said, prying him off of her and feeling like the cruelest person ever born. “I have to go help Nick.”
“The number one helper?” His tone perked up.
“Yes.” She wished she had more time to explain. To talk Connor into doing what she needed. But she only had two minutes to get back to Tucker and the store. Turning the boy, she guided him around the corner. “Run,” she said, and headed back into the dark, ignoring the cries echoing behind her.
Her heart pounding with both effort and fear, Gwyn pushed herself and arrived at the jewelry store in record time. She pelted through the door into the back room.
Tucker’s gun remained pointed at Nick. “Welcome back.”
“My pleasure,” Gwyn snapped, trying to catch her breath.
His back against the wall, Nick frowned at her. She shrugged. She knew he was pissed that she’d come back, but he’d do the same for her. Besides, only cowards left someone else to pay for their mistakes. She might suck at a lot of things—love, work and cooking—but she wasn’t a coward and didn’t plan to start now.
Tucker opened the heavy door on the right. “Both of you. In here.”
Gwyn glanced at Nick. He nodded, and she walked into the room with him and Tucker following.
As big as the outer room, file cabinets lined the far wall. Otherwise, it was empty.
“The light stays on or the next time I walk in, I’ll be shooting,” Tucker said, shutting the door and locking them in.
Behind her, she heard Nick close the distance between them, fury in his footsteps. She forced herself to remain still. Even if he wasn’t a cop, she suspected he was the kind of man who was used to others doing what he said.
But she wasn’t the kind of person who obeyed directives that got people shot. Still, she dreaded the lecture, even as she knew it was coming from the moment she left with Connor.
“Gwyn.” He said her name like a sigh, his breath warm against her neck.
Determined to remain stoic, she allowed herself to shut her eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Gwyn’s eyes popped open. “What?”
He sighed again, but this time there was nothing but pure exasperation in the sound. “Are you really going to make me say it twice?”
Curiosity drove her to turn and meet his eyes. “I don’t get it. I thought you’d be pissed.”
H
is right brow arched upward. “Oh, I am.”
Then she saw the fury in his gaze. Nope, he wasn’t lying about that. He was totally pissed. But beneath the fury was something else. What, she wasn’t sure, but it was quieter than the anger, and the fact she couldn’t read it scared the hell out of her. Hell, if she had to admit it, Nick scared her. He was the unknown and unexpected, and in her line of work, those two factors rarely added up to a good thing.
He continued, “You’re a hindrance here. You know it. I know it.”
“I’ve never been known for playing well with others,” she said, sounding more glib than she intended. She didn’t feel a whit of remorse for doing the right thing instead of the smart thing.
Nick rolled his eyes. “But I also know that coming back to be a hostage wasn’t easy, and when it comes down to it, I don’t like the thought of being shot.” He smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek, shaking his head. “Besides, I can’t do much about it, can I?”
Gwyn shrugged, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch. “Not unless you have a gun tucked in your pocket.”
He tensed. The reaction lasted for less than a second but that was all she needed to know that he was armed, even if he didn’t want to admit it. She might be trained as a P.I., but it was her innate skill to read people that made her a good P.I.
Well, read people that weren’t family or lovers. Once she added emotions to the mix, her skills tanked.
Nick relaxed, his hand lingering by her ear. “I need you to make me a promise.”
Here it came. “Let me guess,” Gwyn said, flashing him a smile that she knew was anything but sincere. “Stay out of trouble. Play the damsel in distress? Let you do all the rescuing?”
Once again he tensed, but this time she knew it was because she’d struck a nerve.
“I’m not asking you to play the damsel in distress. I’m asking you to let me handle this.”
“Because you’re the professional?”
He ran both hands through his hair, gripping the short strands. “Of course, because I’m the professional.”
Santa Under Cover Page 3
