Van was the man who’d persuaded her terrified mother that the only way they’d get justice for her husband was by pretending little Emmeleia Stophodopolis was dead—until she turned up and testified in court. Emmeleia had her own white coffin and her name was engraved on her father’s tombstone. Van had talked her mom into changing their identities and entering the witness protection program. Considering it meant leaving behind her entire life, this was not a minor undertaking.
Ava’s mother was her hero. She’d sacrificed so much to keep her kids safe while still standing up to the bad guys.
Van had helped them when they’d moved. He’d suggested a small town just outside Portland, Oregon, where many of his relatives lived. The tight Greek community had helped hide them and also supported them by giving her mother a job and a place to live.
Then the court case had happened. DNA and ballistics evidence, combined with photographs of Emmeleia’s injuries, of her father’s brutally slain body, and her unshakable eye-witness testimony had been enough to convict Gino and one of his associates. That associate, a man who’d only recently been initiated into the crime family, had rolled on the others and enabled the Feds to dismantle the entire corrupt empire as well as landing most of the players in prison for life without parole. To say Ava’s real identity was unpopular with Cosa Nostra was an understatement. But no one knew who that girl was anymore. No one. Not even Dominic Sheridan.
Ava had joined the police force with the aim of never being powerless again. Being an FBI agent reinforced that need. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if her job was taken away from her.
And now Dominic was trying to negotiate with a man who’d decided a seven-year-old girl wasn’t even worth a bullet.
Did she tell Dominic the truth and risk him sending her away? The thought of losing her job made her feel physically ill. But she wanted to be braver. She wanted to trust…
Was he awake? She listened attentively for the sound of his breathing, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Slightly panicked that he’d left her here alone, she caught the bottom of the makeshift curtain and raised it high enough to see the man lying on his back, features softened in sleep.
She stared, taking in the straight nose, thick brows and stubborn jaw. The bruises from the accident looked like darker shadows in this dusky twilight. His lips were parted, and she found herself wondering what it might be like to kiss him.
He rolled onto the side facing her and suddenly opened his eyes.
Ava froze, then whispered slowly, “I thought you might have left me behind…” She tried to swallow her mortification at being caught staring at him. The words revealed more than she wanted.
He reached out and touched her cheek, which was more or less healed now. “Still here, Kanas. Go back to sleep. It’s four AM.”
Her heart pounded crazily as she held his gaze. She should tell him about Gino. Confide the truth. He’d understand and wouldn’t send her away. His palm was so hot against her skin it burned. She wanted to get closer to that heat. The craving was so overwhelming it terrified her, paralyzed her.
He removed his hand with a slight smile that she could get used to and sleepily closed his eyes. Murmured, “Go to sleep, Ava.”
She lay there staring up at the ceiling, until dawn flooded the room with light. She didn’t sleep another wink.
* * *
When Dominic woke at six, he discovered Ava had left a breakfast sandwich in the kitchenette along with a cup of coffee, which he assumed were for him. He got dressed and took his breakfast outside.
Where was she?
He found her talking to one of the HRT guys. She was dressed in another black pantsuit with the sleeves rolled up, blue, beaded bracelet adorning her wrist. Combined with the shoulder holster and long hair pinned up in a messy bun, the woman looked hot as hell.
Dominic was friendly with most of the team even if there was some residual institutionalized rivalry between these two sections of the Critical Incident Response Group (CIRG). HRT and SWAT guys were the tip of the spear when it came to the Federal Government’s toolbox, but at the end of the day everyone wanted to go home. Negotiators helped end standoffs nonviolently when at all possible and after the debacles of Ruby Ridge and Waco—thank you, ATF, for those fuck ups—the FBI had been authorized by Congress to use peaceful means to end sieges when at all possible.
Dominic walked over and nodded to the guy and recognized the male glint of interest in the agent’s eyes. The guy was hot for Kanas and probably trying to get her number.
Who wouldn’t?
Dominic remembered reaching out and touching Ava’s cheek in the small hours and mentally winced. The touch had settled something deep inside him. And she hadn’t flinched away like she had on the roof the day of Van’s funeral—he still didn’t know where she’d gotten that damn scar, but he’d find out eventually. Dominic had had to clamp down on the desire to draw her close and tuck her in beside him. Who knew what would have happened then. In his imagination some scorching hot sex where they both got off multiple times. She’d probably lain on the mattress terrified all night.
“Morning.” He greeted them both. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said to Ava, finishing off the sandwich and crumpling the wrapper with one hand.
“Any progress with the prisoners?” the HRT agent asked him.
“I got out of bed five minutes ago so you probably know more than me.” His voice came out a little sharp, which he did not need. “Ava, can I have a word?”
Her hazel eyes went wide. She thought she was in trouble. “Of course.”
A small smile twisted the HRT agent’s mouth, and he backed away out of earshot. He knew why Dominic was snarky. Fucker.
“So about last night—”
Her eyes went massive. “I am so sorry—”
“Why the hell are you sorry?”
“Because you must think I’m a freak to have been staring at you like that.”
Dominic blinked. He hadn’t even thought about it which was odd considering how rarely he slept so close to another person. “That’s not it. I was going to apologize for touching your face.”
“My face?” Ava touched her cheek in the same place he had last night. The graze had healed well with just a small, brown scab marking the spot.
“I realize I overstepped what is probably considered appropriate boundaries.” His face heated. He hadn’t been this humiliated since he’d woken up in bed with Suzanna after a drunken hookup he couldn’t even remember.
Lines appeared between her brows as her forehead crinkled. “I didn’t think you touching my face was inappropriate.” She sounded confused by the idea. “Maybe it depends on whether or not the other person wants to be touched?” Her cheeks filled with the same amount of color as his, and she went to take a step back, but there was a wall behind her.
Compelled by the need to know, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And did you? Want to be touched?”
She met his gaze then, hazel eyes warm, vulnerable, tentative. “Yes.”
He swallowed his shock at her honest admission and the hint she might have welcomed more. Yet it shouldn’t have surprised him. Ava Kanas was unflinchingly honest.
“Look, Dominic, there’s something I need to tell—”
“Sheridan!” Another member of HRT yelled at him from the corner of the prison building. “You’re needed in the command center ASAP.”
Dominic squeezed her arm briefly, keeping everything strictly professional to the casual observer even though his blood was pumping erratically through his veins. “Tell me later. I need to get back to the negotiation room.”
Ava pushed off the wall to follow.
He gave her a quizzical glance. “You don’t need to be trapped in there all day. Work in the trailer.”
“Charlotte and Eban need to rest.” Her mouth turned down. “Plus, it’s my job to watch your back, remember?”
Dominic’s mood plummeted. She was right and had reminded him of another reason wh
y even thinking of getting tangled up with Ava Kanas on a personal level was a terrible idea. It didn’t stop him imagining the taste of her mouth the entire way into the building. Or from seeing the smooth curve of her naked shoulders. As soon as he entered the prison doors, however, he shoved distraction to one side.
Charlotte and Eban were headed towards him down the corridor. Both looked strained with exhaustion.
“Any progress?”
Eban shook his head. “We kept them talking for most of the night, but the HTs are getting more and more strained. They’re tired. Milo still won’t talk to us. We suggested sending his medication in via the ductwork and they went for it. No idea if Milo actually took the drugs or faked it. He might fear they’re sedatives.”
“Were they?” Dominic asked.
“Not this time,” Eban smiled ruefully. “Figured we’d try and win a little trust first time around.”
“Go get some food and sleep.” Dominic checked his watch. “I’ll radio you if I need you.” Cell service was blocked, so they used small radios instead.
The two walked sleepily off into the sunshine, and Dominic headed down to the Command Center to find the Incident Commander.
“You better wait outside,” he told Ava when they reached the door. He didn’t want to draw attention to her or explain his own situation of being in danger. None of this was about him.
Inside he found the Incident Commander, SAC Hamner, talking to Kurt Montana, the tactical commander from HRT.
“Any progress?” the IC asked.
“I’m just heading back in there now. The overnight negotiators say the hostage-takers are getting tired. Hopefully we can wear them out further today.”
The Incident Commander rolled his shoulders. “How long is it going to take to talk them out?”
Dominic cocked his head. “How long?” he echoed.
“Yeah. This entire facility has been on lockdown and there are hundreds of prisoners who need to be taken care of.”
The prisoners were all fed and watered. The authorities had started transferring some of the lesser offenders to a minimum-security prison nearby. Ironically, this situation might hasten the release of some of the other prisoners while extending that of Gino, Frank and Milo—not that Milo was ever getting out into the general population again. He was lucky not to have been put on death row down in Florida where he’d committed some of his atrocious crimes.
Dominic knew the Incident Commander was stressed and worried about the fate of the hostages. Dominic was worried too, but rushing the process didn’t help. “I realize this must seem frustrating to you, but progress is being made. So far they haven’t harmed the hostages and they are talking to us—except Milo.” Dominic hoped to talk to the prison psychiatrist today. The guy had been on a European vacation. Now he wasn’t. “I think we need—”
“What about pumping gas into the kitchen area via the air ducts?” the IC shot out.
Dominic crossed his arms and shot Kurt Montana a cool look. “That hasn’t been used very successfully in the past. I’m thinking specifically of the 129 hostages who died during the Moscow theater siege, 126 of whom were believed to be killed by the anesthetic the authorities pumped into the theater prior to the rescue attempt.”
The Incident Commander pursed his lips worriedly. “I don’t want any hostages to die, but this is costing a fortune. Surely they don’t think they can get away with it and actually escape?”
“Waiting these guys out is the best way to achieve a peaceful outcome.” Dominic mirrored Hamner’s body language. Talking to the bosses was often a negotiation in itself.
“I suppose you’re right.” He sounded doubtful.
“Not to mention the millions of dollars in wrongful death suits that the families will bring if we don’t at least try to talk these guys out.”
The Incident Commander frowned at Kurt Montana who adjusted his thigh holster with a tight smile. Kurt was a man of action—a great guy, but not one who enjoyed the waiting part of the game.
“How long will it take you to get inside the kitchen if we need to stage an assault?” Dominic asked the tactical guy.
Kurt threw back his shoulders and pushed away from the wall. “With the hostages being kept next to the outside exit door we can only assault through the cafeteria. I have a team figuring out exactly how much C4 we need to unequivocally blow the hinges without killing everyone inside. Hopefully once we perfect that part of the assault the siege will be over in under a minute.”
It only took a few seconds to slice someone’s throat.
From the look Kurt threw him, he knew it too.
“Let’s continue to tire them out. If things deteriorate, we’ll do it your way,” Dominic agreed. “But we need to be very sure we have exhausted all peaceful avenues first.”
Kurt looked surprised by that. Surprised Dominic would consider an assault at all.
“I’m worried about Milo,” Dominic admitted. “He’s not communicating with the negotiators, and he’s incarcerated for horrific crimes. He has nothing to lose by killing everyone in that room.”
“Maybe he’ll do us a favor and off the other two hostage-takers first,” Kurt quipped.
“It’s my job to try and get everyone out without them coming to any harm.” Dominic stared the man down.
Kurt’s lip curled.
“Obviously we prioritize the hostages.”
“That’s good of you.” Kurt sneered.
Dominic didn’t drop the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry if this job is coming between you and your playtime back at Quantico but saving lives has always been CNU’s main goal.”
Kurt bristled.
“Even if we do stage an assault, I’d suggest waiting a few more days to prove we really did give negotiation time to be effective. Otherwise the senate oversight committee in DC will eat you alive.”
“Well, I’m sure daddy’s connections will allow you to sail right through that process.” Kurt got in Dominic’s face.
Dominic didn’t know what had crawled into Kurt’s craw, but they didn’t need it here. He kept his expression bland, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he took a step closer. “Following the code of conduct and doing everything we can to talk these hostage-takers out peacefully until such a time as the hostages are deemed to be in immediate danger is what will get me through any review. But you be sure to blame all your mistakes and fuck ups on me and not your inability to see past your dick. And remember, if any of your guys die when we decide to go in guns blazing if we haven’t exhausted all peaceful options, that will be on you. Now get the hell out of my way and let me get back to work.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fernando Chavez had done very well for himself over the years and was now a supervisor in the FBI’s Reno Field Office. One of his favorite pastimes was waterskiing on Lake Tahoe with his wife and their three young children.
Such a pity they all had to die.
Chavez’s ego had placed his family in danger. That and the desire to prove he wasn’t scared, or changing his routine just because of “some asshole.”
They were all so boringly predictable.
When Jamal Fidan had drowned, Bernie had spiked the man’s drink and when he was incapacitated, shoved him over the side of the boat, leaving him to flounder and flail until he finally sunk beneath the surface.
This was going to be a little different.
The “friend” accompanying the family on this beautiful Saturday morning was obviously some sort of undercover bodyguard.
The bodyguard glanced over to the other side of the parking lot and gave a nod.
Shit. A feeling of dread swept through blood and bone when the person in the driver’s seat of the white pick-up truck nodded in response. Bernie hadn’t noticed the backup.
With a shudder, Bernie put the 4X4 into gear and carefully reversed up the small gradient. No tire spins. No fast moves.
Watching the show would be a mistake. A foolish indulgence.
The eyes of the bodyguard on the boat followed the rented 4X4 as it traveled along the road beside the lake.
Fuck you, asshole.
Bernie hit dial on a pre-programmed number in the cell phone and sucked in a deep breath of anticipation.
Nothing happened.
Pulling over onto the side of the road Bernie tried again. The amount of plastic explosive in the cabin of that boat should be enough to incinerate everyone on board.
A third try had exactly the same results.
Goddammit!
Had they found the bomb? Was this whole scenario a trap? A setup? A cold sweat broke out over Bernie’s skin despite the heat of the day.
If it was a trap someone would be following, or maybe there was a surveillance plane high in the sky—or a drone. It would be virtually invisible. The pounding of blood through suddenly hot ears made it impossible the hear anything except for the erratic rush of panic.
Pulling back onto the highway, Bernie ignored the feeling of fear that wanted to consume. It was a glitch. A bad connection. Shitty cell service. Or they were blocking signals…
Bernie glanced up at the sky. The FBI was not following. The FBI was a bunch of incompetent fools. Bernie kept driving. For hours, going nowhere. In circles. Filling up with gas and taking in the sights. At the end of the day Bernie drove past the marina again but the Chavez family wasn’t there. The boat was though and the desire to go check why the bomb hadn’t gone off was almost overwhelming. But not being able to ignore stupid urges was why Peter was dead. The man could never resist a potential target and had picked up a female the Feds had planted.
Most people called it entrapment. Dominic Sheridan had shot Peter dead and gotten a fucking commendation.
Bernie’s fingers gripped the wheel so tight they felt welded on.
Cold & Deadly Page 18