At last, near a gourmet eatery shaped like a glass spaceship, she spotted the commotion.
A snarled mass of cars blocked a gated parking entrance. A line of police were trying to keep nosy pedestrians and TV camera crews at bay, while more cops cordoned off the sidewalk with crime scene tape. Uniforms were everywhere.
With a loud screech, Parker pulled the Lamborghini along the curb. They retrieved their weapons from the glove compartment and hopped out.
A jangle of shouts and groans from the pedestrians, the cops, and the reporters greeted her ears. The smell of charbroiled steak in her nose and the cool autumn wind whistling through her hair, Miranda raced up the walkway with Parker, pushing her way through the crowd.
Up ahead she saw a row of police cruisers parked crossway on a brick-lined sidewalk, about fifty feet away from the gleaming glass entrance of South Exchange Bank.
She recognized the man in charge, Lieutenant Hosea Erskine, who was leaning over the hood of one of the cars, commanding his people.
Off to the side a SWAT truck sat, lights flashing. Several members of the team were cautiously moving in. Dressed in army green, complete with vests, goggles, helmets, and submachine guns, they took cover behind the cylindrical concrete columns that decorated the entrance and waited for instruction.
“Easy,” Erskine said through his radio. “Slow. Nice and slow. Hold your positions. Don’t let the suspect see you.”
Back from the team, creeping along the concrete wall of the next building, someone with a TV camera appeared.
“Get those news people out of here,” Erskine barked to one of his men. “Don’t they know there are lives at stake?”
Two uniforms hurried off to take care of the reporter.
“Hosea,” Parker murmured as he reached the Lieutenant.
Erskine turned to glance at Parker. He looked at Miranda, his dark marble eyes boring into her the way they did during her initial encounter with him when she’d first come to Atlanta.
He gave a short nod. “Glad to see you, Parker. You, too, Ms. Steele.”
That was different. But Erskine had acted differently toward her ever since the incident in Jasper County a month and a half ago. And he and Parker had a love-hate relationship that went way back. She was glad he was being sociable right now.
“Where’s Chambers?” Miranda asked. She assumed the officer who was now a sergeant and tentatively an ally of hers would have been called to this scene.
“On vacation,” Erskine said.
She wondered if he’d be sorry to miss all the hubbub.
“Grab a vest and join in the fun,” the Lieutenant told them.
An officer handed Parker and Miranda Kevlar vests, and they pulled them on.
“What’s the situation?” Parker said.
Erskine shook his head. “Don’t know much. There’s a shooter and a lot of hostages. A bank clerk was shot. The shooter let someone look at the clerk, and the hostage set off the alarm to call us. We don’t know the clerk’s status or if there was retaliation. We haven’t made contact yet.”
Someone had been shot? Not good. They could be bleeding to death in there.
A dispatcher squawked through the speaker in the car, reporting the position of various units.
Suddenly a shot rang out from inside the bank. It hit the glass about twenty feet up, making a huge spider web. But the glass didn’t break. It was blast resistant. Still, Miranda could hear the muffled screams of the people inside. Her heart went out to them. They had to do something.
“Hold your positions,” Erskine commanded. “Do not enter. I repeat. Do not enter.”
He was right. If the robber saw police coming through the front door, there’d be carnage.
One of the SWAT officers scurried behind a column closer to the entrance and peered inside. “I have eyes on the shooter. Female. Blonde. Red top, jeans.”
Female?
Miranda watched the beads of sweat forming on Erskine’s forehead. “You have that screen ready?” he barked to an officer working with an electronic device.
“Just about, sir.”
As if he needed someone to talk to, Erskine turned to Parker. “We’ve got executives and staff stranded on the second floor. Luckily, an IT guy is one of them. He’s trying to hook up a feed to the video cameras on the bank floor.”
“Good move,” Parker said.
She thought so, too.
“I think we’ve got it, sir.” The police tech held up the tablet and dark grainy shadows appeared.
Someone handed Erskine a megaphone.
He took it and spoke loudly through the mouthpiece. “This is Lieutenant Hosea Erskine of the Atlanta Police. You don’t have to do this. We want to help you. What is it you want?”
There was no response. All around was silence.
“Tell me what you want. You can call my cell.” Erskine gave the number.
The tech did something to the tablet and the picture cleared.
Miranda could see the woman now with her red top and jeans. She looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was highlighted and styled in a breezy shoulder-length cut that gave her a Jennifer Aniston look.
She stood near an empty counter. At her feet sat a crowd of people—the customers who had been in the bank when she’d gone ballistic. A man with long hair in a suit. A couple clinging to each other’s hands. A young woman who looked lost and afraid. A bunch more. Maybe two dozen or more. This was bad.
The woman held a small handgun out with both hands, sweeping it back and forth. She looked scared, unsure of herself. No telling what she might do.
Someone from the floor handed her a cell phone. Erskine’s started to ring. He answered it.
“Hello,” he said with a gentleness Miranda didn’t know he possessed.
The woman’s voice came through Erskine’s cell speaker. “Are you a cop?” She sounded nervous. Really nervous.
“I’m a police lieutenant, yes. What is it you want?”
“I want to talk to my husband.”
Husband? Was this a domestic thing?
“And who would that be?” Erskine asked.
Suddenly there were people closing in behind them.
“I told you, sir,” Miranda heard someone say behind her. “I can’t let you in here. You’re going to have to leave.”
She turned her head in time to see her lanky colleague limping up the walkway, a female police officer snatching at his arm. He’d lost his cane, but his leg still bothered him from an injury he’d gotten on a case a few weeks ago—when he’d disobeyed her orders.
Dressed in his usual monochrome look, Holloway’s tan jacket and tie were blowing in the wind and his short brown hair was sticking straight up. His face was filled with alarm.
Anger bubbled up inside her. “What are you doing here, Holloway?” she hissed at him. “You know this is a touchy situation. If you set off the robber, your ex could be killed.”
Too late Erskine had already turned around. His eyes were on fire, he spoke under his breath. “What the hell is going on, officer?”
“This gentleman says he’s with the Parker Agency.”
Holloway ignored what Miranda had told him and stepped toward Erskine. He took one look at the image on the tablet and his face went pale.
“That’s my wife.”
“What?” Miranda said. “I thought you said she was a hostage.”
Erskine glared at Holloway.
Parker took his employee by the arm. “Explain yourself, Detective.”
Holloway pointed at the tablet. “I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s her. The one holding the gun. That’s my ex-wife, Audrey.”
Chapter Four
Miranda couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and shuddered with dismay.
This couldn’t be happening. But it was. Holloway’s ex wasn’t an innocent victim in this incident. She was the bank robber. Was he behind on his alimony payments or something?
“I want to talk to my husband
,” the woman on the screen said again.
Holloway wedged in between Erskine and the officer next him. “Let me speak to her.”
Erskine put his phone on mute. “Do you know how to handle a hostage situation?”
“I’ve had training.”
Miranda wasn’t so sure. They had done some exercises when they were IITs, but they’d never had to put them into practice.
Not like this.
Parker put a hand on Holloway’s shoulder. “Do you think you can do this, Detective?”
Holloway’s face went grim. “I know I can, sir. I know her.”
Parker glanced her way. “Miranda?”
Miranda’s gut was in a knot. Parker wanted her to make the call? She couldn’t guarantee things wouldn’t go badly. But that was true whether Holloway talked to his ex or not.
The things Wesson had confided to her a few weeks ago about Holloway’s marriage ran through her mind. She’d cheated on him when he was in the service. She’d tried to push him around. Then she’d left him. To say the least, things hadn’t ended well between them. This could get ugly.
Still, the woman was asking for him. Maybe talking to Holloway would placate her enough to take her down. What else could they do at this point?
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Just don’t say anything to set her off.”
“I won’t.”
Erskine un-muted the phone and handed it to Holloway.
Miranda watched Holloway clear his throat as he peered at the screen. “Hey, Audrey honey.”
Honey, huh? The woman seemed startled at the sound of his voice.
She looked around, waving the gun at the frozen crowd on the floor. “Curt, sweetie? Is that you?”
Miranda heard Holloway take an audible breath.
“Yeah, it’s me. It’s good to talk to you.”
“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. It’s been so long.”
“It has, hasn’t it?” Holloway licked his lips and looked around the square as if searching for the right words. “What have you been up to?”
That’s right, Miranda thought. Open-ended questions. Just like we learned in training.
The woman grinned. “Oh, Curt. I got a job in a movie.”
Holloway blinked in surprise. “Did you?”
She got a job in a movie and suddenly decided to rob a bank? That didn’t make much sense.
“I did. That’s why I’m here in Atlanta.”
Holloway nodded and forced a smile. “That’s good, honey. Great.”
He was doing well. Establishing empathy, rapport.
“Do you really think so, Curt?”
He nodded his head. “Sure, sure I do, Audrey honey.”
Miranda couldn’t tell if Holloway was using standard hostage negotiation techniques or he really meant it.
Holloway paused, waited as long as he could before he asked the inevitable question. “What do you want, baby?”
“Want?”
“You know. What are you doing in there?” He made it sound like he was asking about the weather.
“In here?” Audrey looked around as if she didn’t know where she was. Then her gaze focused on someone on the floor beside her.
She nodded. “I want you, Curt. Why did we ever break up?”
“I don’t know, honey. We need to talk about it. Why don’t you come out here so I can see you?’
Suddenly her face went hard and her voice shrill. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“I want fifty thousand dollars. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Holloway put his hand to his forehead. He was starting to sweat. He looked to Erskine for approval.
Erskine nodded.
“No, baby. It’s not too much. We’ll get it for you. We’ll get you anything you want. But—but don’t you want to come out here and see me?”
“Out there?”
“I’m right outside.”
Again she seemed confused until she focused on the same person on the floor. It was as if she was getting her cues from them. “No. I’m not coming out. I want you to come in here. I want to talk to you.”
“Aw, honey. It’s kind of crowded in there. Don’t you want to be alone?”
Suddenly Audrey’s voice became a growl. “I said, get in here, dammit. You’ve got fifteen minutes, Curt. Or somebody else dies.” She clicked off.
“Damn,” Holloway grunted as he handed the phone back to Erskine.
“You did good, Holloway,” Miranda told him. She meant it.
He gave her a sideways glance and shook his head. “She’s going to hurt someone. I know she is.”
Erskine’s face went hard. “Then we have to do something. And fast.”
Holloway turned to the lieutenant. “Let me do what she wants.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me go in there.”
“No.” Miranda grabbed Holloway’s arm and pulled him away from Erskine.
Holloway broke out of her grip and glared at her. “Why not?”
She lowered her voice. “Because I’m not going to be responsible for what that crazy lady might do to you.”
Holloway waved his hands in the air. “I didn’t ask you to be responsible. I didn’t ask you to be here at all.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. She’d wanted to keep their conversation private for Holloway’s sake.
Parker stepped between them, and Miranda hoped his steady demeanor would calm Holloway down. “Curt. Let’s think this through. Why do you think your ex-wife is asking for you?”
“I have no idea.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“A little over three years.”
“Has she contacted you before?”
Holloway’s mouth twisted. “No. Not really.”
“So why would she ask for you now?”
He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Maybe she’s thought things through and changed her mind.”
Was that hope in his voice? Didn’t Holloway realize he was talking to Gen’s father? The woman he was dating now?
Enough analysis. “Whatever her reason, it’s clear she isn’t thinking rationally,” Miranda said.
Holloway’s eyes bore through her. “I don’t care. I have to go in there.”
Erskine came over to them. “I hate to break up this Parker Agency meeting, but we have someone upstairs who can access the vault for the fifty grand. We have to get the money to her in a way that makes her vulnerable. Or at least draws her away from those hostages.”
“We can use the police robot,” the technician suggested.
Holloway shook his head. “You can’t do that. It’ll spook her for sure. I’m your man.”
“No, Holloway.” He was driving Miranda nuts.
“I’m the one she wants to talk to. I’m the one she’s asking for. I’m the only one she trusts.”
Miranda looked at Parker. His face told her he was as frustrated as she was.
She folded her arms. “The only way you’re going in there is if we go with you.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way.”
Erskine caught the gist of their conversation. “No civilians are going in there. I’m sending SWAT in.”
Holloway put a hand to his head. “You can’t do that, Lieutenant. She doesn’t like uniforms. She hated it when I was in the Marines.”
“We’ll have to take that chance.”
“You’ll set her off. She’s got a real bad temper. She’s already shot that teller.”
Erskine’s jaw went tight as he scanned the crowd of spectators and news people gathered behind the police tape. Miranda could see the images of the evening news playing through his mind. Would they be reporting a success? Or that several people had been killed today?
“All right,” he said finally. “But my men will be going in with you.”
Chapter Five
They got a map of the bank’s interior from the IT guy upstairs. In addition to
the tall glass front doors, there were two side entrances and a back exit that lead to an alley. All were equipped with security cameras.
The plan was that Holloway would enter through the entrance on the right, nearer the bank teller counter, in hopes of drawing Audrey’s attention away from the hostages on the floor. The shields on the counter would give him some protection if she started shooting.
A SWAT officer would come in behind Holloway, keeping out of sight. Meanwhile, Miranda and Parker, accompanied by another SWAT officer named Jerry, would enter through the left exit and try to get the hostages out while Holloway distracted his ex-wife.
It sounded like it would work. But it was risky.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Parker asked as they donned helmets and checked their weapons outside the entrance.
She smirked up at him. “What better end to our vacation?”
He gave her a smile that said he’d known she would say something like that.
Erskine’s voice squawked through the SWAT officer’s radio. “Are you in position?”
Jerry spoke into the device on his shoulder. “Affirmative, sir.”
“Go ahead as planned.”
They opened the door and found themselves in a bland colored passage with beige walls and beige industrial carpet. Quickly and silently they moved down the hall, weapons drawn. Following its thirty degree bends and passing fake potted plants and tall fake-oak doors that had to be storage rooms, Miranda felt as if she were in a time warp. This hall would never end.
But at last it opened onto the mother lode—the lobby where the shooter was holding her hostages.
Miranda stopped short and pressed her back against the wall. She looked across the enclosure at Parker, who had done the same. Beside him, Jerry followed suit.
She heard a cough. Weapon at her ear, she dared a peek into the lobby.
A whole crowd of people sat on a dark blue carpet scattered among golden poles of the rope dividers, encircling the woman with the gun.
Audrey. Holloway’s ex-wife.
She looked so normal. Casually dressed, sneakers on her feet, a small bag draped over her shoulder. Just a normal woman come to do some banking—and to pickup fifty thousand dollars by threatening to kill everyone in the place.
Mind Bender Page 2