Please be Remy, please be Remy…
The rattling sound of ice spilling from an icemaker made her jump. Not Remy. He wouldn’t have stopped to get a drink. He’d have hurried to the cabinet and helped her out. Remy was a gentleman.
Water ran in a sink. Funny she hadn’t noticed the cabinet or the icemaker or the sink before, but then her entire being had been focused on Remy’s arms surrounding her, pulling her back against his hard frame. Lord, she hoped she’d feel that again.
A foot scraped on the carpet near her. A shadow darkened the thin beam of light brightening her hiding place. She held her breath, sure whoever was out there was toying with her—rattling, scraping, just to get her heart to leap out of her throat. Because that was what terrorists did, right? Terrorize women hiding in the dark.
She pressed her eyes shut, waiting. Another shuffle sounded, this one farther away. She opened her eyes and saw light gleam then blink out altogether, followed by the whooshing sound of a closing door.
She opened the cupboard and crawled out of it on her hands and knees. No way was she suffering through that slow, painful wait like that again. She had to move. Had to do something. She’d watched while Remy had tried to call using his phone. Something had been wrong with his phone. Had the signal been jammed? She’d watched enough spy and cop thrillers to know about jammers. Or was it just his phone?
Why not try hers? And then it hit her. Her phone was in her purse, which she’d tossed away when Remy had urged her to hop up on his body. Whoever had just been inside the room hadn’t paused at the door, hadn’t searched it more thoroughly—because he hadn’t seen her purse. It had to have been behind the door when he’d opened it.
She pushed up from the floor, sped to the door, then went down and swept out her hands until she touched the quilted exterior. Quickly, she unlatched the purse and drew out her phone. She held her breath as she hit the little telephone on the screen and dialed the first number on her speed dial list.
“Hey, Stace. You’re interrupting my Agent Hotch time. Didn’t you take my advice and find that utility clo—”
“Emil, shhh!” she said, cupping her hand over her mouth as she whispered.
“Hey, somethin’ wrong?”
“I think the phones were jammed, might be again. We have armed men inside.”
“What’re you talking about? You got cops, bodyguards—”
“Masked men, Emil. Get out of the parking lot. Call the cops.”
“Baby girl, I’m not leavin’ you. Find a way out.”
“Call—” The line went dead, and she glanced quickly at the screen. Her signal was gone.
From down the hall, she heard shouting. She eased open the door.
“—had one job, asshole!”
“It was only for a minute, man. Ease up. ’Sides, ain’t no one movin’ in that ballroom.”
They’d taken the ballroom. Holy crap. Hugo was down there. A gazillion billionaires were down there. And Remy was likely headed that way, too. But what could she do?
Well, she was dressed like a clown. No one would think she was some secret agent-John McClane kamikaze dude there to wreck their plans. If she was caught… She swallowed hard. She couldn’t get caught. She had to bear witness to whatever was happening. Maybe, she’d get another chance to help, another chance to let someone know what was happening.
And even though she had a good memory, if something happened to her, someone needed to know what she’d seen, starting with Hans Gruber in the ballroom, because she had no doubt in her mind that he was somehow responsible for what was happening now.
She pushed open the door again and slipped into the corridor, heading in the opposite direction of the men still bitching at each other in the security office. As she moved, she pulled out her phone and began to speak quietly, describing what she’d seen, what had happened to her so far, so that if the worst-case scenario happened, her words would be heard.
Chapter 11
Remy slipped behind the nearest gunman and put the muzzle of his weapon against his temple while he slid his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed.
Thankfully, the other guy, who was busy tying up waiters, didn’t hear his buddy’s shuffling feet as Remy pulled him through the door and into the hallway.
After the man he restrained went limp, Remy quickly made use of the zip ties he found in his pockets to secure him, and then stuffed his own tie into the man’s mouth to keep him quiet when he woke. Then he snuck back into the kitchen, approached the man tying the last of his prisoners and did the same, wrestling a bit with this one as he tried to pull him backward. The man’s arms flailed, hitting pots and the counter. His feet kicked outward, but to no avail. And although his fingernails tore at Remy’s sleeves and hands, he was quickly dispatched. After he secured him, he took the extra weapons the men had and made his way quickly to Thibaut.
“Man, how’d those bozos manage to get the drop on a SEAL?” he whispered.
Thibaut’s lips stretched. “Bro, about damn time you came out of that utility closet with your girl.”
Remy took a knife from a counter and went to work slicing through the plastic ties at his brother’s wrists and feet. “Didn’t spend a minute inside a utility closet, but aren’t you glad I wasn’t there when whatever the hell just happened went down?”
Thibaut tore away his blindfold. “I was almost out of those ties anyway.” He found another knife, and while Remy freed his two team members, Thibaut moved to the first of the waitstaff and freed him.
Remy bent and removed the mask from the gunman he’d taken down and tossed it at one of his team members. “Watch the door leading to the ballroom,” he said. “Warn us if anyone’s coming.” Then he turned back to Thibaut.
“Get the ties off your buddies then find someplace to hide,” Thibaut said, handing the knife to the man he’d freed. Then he turned back to Remy.
Remy handed him one of the weapons he’d taken from the gunmen. “They take the ballroom?”
Thibaut nodded. “Blondie put a gun to Hugo’s head while his accomplices ringed the room to make sure no one could get out. Everyone’s sitting at tables. He has a tablet, and he’s having the rich guys empty their bank accounts.”
Remy nodded. “I couldn’t call out.”
Thibaut nodded. “First sign we were in trouble was when we realized our comms were jammed. Justin’s in the ballroom, too, along with most of the team and Conrad. He was in the middle of letting us know that the guy your girlfriend tagged is wanted in a dozen countries for extortion, kidnapping…you name it. He’s a highrollin’ thief. He had men among the waitstaff. Someone let the rest of his crew in through a side door. They were quick, professional.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Not so far,” Thibaut said, using a towel to clean off his cheek. “Just roughed up. Hugo told everyone to cooperate. The guy promised no one would come to harm if they did, but he and the men inside the ballroom have gas masks.”
“Must intend to drop some knockout gas when they leave.”
“That’s what I’d do. Clean getaway. No one awake to give a warning.” Thibaut raised an eyebrow. “What now?”
“If we move people out or send someone outside to get help, the men on the monitors will notify those in the ballroom.”
“We need to see inside the ballroom,” Thibaut said, “so we know how many we’re facing.”
“If we can take out the men in the control room without them notifying those inside the ballroom, we can cut the jammers. I’m assuming they’re there. Maybe we can get their comms, be on their frequencies…”
“Call for help from outside…” Thibaut said, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”
Remy looked toward the other two men. “Stick with the waitstaff. Get the other guy’s mask—he’s in the service hallway just outside the door. Put them both in the freezer if you have to. Don’t care. If their crew shows up, they might be moving too quick to notice you’re not their guys.”
The two me
n smiled. “Good luck, Remy, Thibaut,” one of them said and raised his hand to fist bump Remy.
Without another word, he and his brother headed out into the service hallway and to the unguarded stairs Remy had initially come down. Since no one had come after him, he assumed there weren’t cameras trained on it. He hoped that was true. They were outnumbered and outgunned.
Thank God, Stacia was safe for now.
Stacia crept on her hands and knees toward the rail at the edge of the mezzanine to have a look down inside the pavilion. She noted guards moving about, one man at the information desk, and another, leaning nonchalantly against a concierge desk near the main entrance. Beyond the glass, she saw the press corps outside. By their relaxed positions, she knew they didn’t have a clue what was going on.
Then she saw Emil approach the red carpet, bumping people out of the way behind the golden ropes, moving closer to the front door.
“Oh, Emil, what are you doing?” she whispered.
He moved closer to the door and raised his camera, taking pictures through the glass.
The man leaning against the concierge desk straightened and scowled. His lips moved, and Stacia figured he was likely notifying someone else on his crew about a pesky photographer who was getting too curious about what was going on inside.
Emil must have seen his expression, because he lowered his camera, gave him a big smile, and waved.
Stacia rolled her eyes. Not now, Emil. How did he think that was going to help? Then it hit her. He was causing a distraction. Which appeared to be working, because more men entered the pavilion and were moving toward the doors.
He was giving her a way out. If she’d take it.
Glancing around, she headed back the way she’d come. Maybe she could find a stairwell that wasn’t being guarded.
As she moved down a corridor, she fought not to run, not knowing whether any cameras could see her. She walked in a jagged pattern, holding out a hand when she bumped against a wall, pretending to be drunk.
When she found a stairwell, she pushed through the door and let it swing closed behind her, then leaned against it, drawing in deep breaths to calm herself while she considered her next steps.
Just then, she heard heavy footsteps coming up from the ground floor.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She shook her head. When her dead Aunt Mary’s voice played in her mind, she knew she needed to get a grip. But which way to go? Up to the next floor? To the roof? Or back into the hallway, which was where they were likely headed. She went up to the next landing and backed away into the corner.
When their footsteps told her they were nearing the door to the hallway below, she couldn’t stop herself; she bent to peek between the steps to see them. Their large frames and dark hair were very familiar.
Relief coursed through her, and she let out a shaky breath. Ready to call out to Remy and Thibaut, she caught herself. They were likely trying to save the day. Plus, Remy had asked her to stay in the stuffy cupboard. Would he be angry that she hadn’t? Would she get in the way? What were they planning to do, anyway?
When they exited the door, she swiftly moved down the steps again and pushed open the door a crack to watch them head back toward the hallway where the security room was and where he’d left her behind. Dammit. If he decided to check on her…
She moved into the hallway, but kept back, still undecided whether to bring attention to her presence.
When they passed the room where she’d been hidden, she moved forward, opened that door and slipped inside, but kept the door slightly ajar, because she was worried about them. Sure, they were armed, but so were the men watching the monitors.
As she watched, the men shared hand signals, and Thibaut moved swiftly past the open doorway. She marveled at how quickly someone as big as he was could move—like a big lion—fluid movements, sure steps. Then she remembered that Remy had said he was a SEAL.
Thibaut held up a hand with three fingers raised, then lowered one, then another…
She held her breath as they slipped inside, Remy going in first and crouching low, Thibaut following and standing tall. Both had their weapons raised and supported by their free hands.
Immediately, she heard muffled cries and the sounds of scuffling. Something crashed to the ground—something that shattered—then something softer fell followed by a deep oomph. As the fight continued, she pressed her fingers against her lips to keep from crying out herself, she was so frightened for them both.
Then, from the open area of the Mezzanine, she watched as two men raced toward the corridor, both with handguns raised, and moving like men in every military movie she’d ever been forced to watch by her brother—which was to say, they moved with precision, their heads lowered, their gazes steady, coming closer and closer...
Remy and Thibaut didn’t know they were about to be overtaken. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t call out because suddenly her jaws were locked tight in fear. But she wasn’t a wuss. She had her uncle’s blood in her veins. No way would he have cowered behind a door while someone else was in danger.
Drawing on every ounce of courage she could manage to gather, she pushed out of the room and began her zig-zaggy walk down the hallway, bumping against one wall, dragging a foot and wobbling her head—likely overdoing the act because she wasn’t a damn actress, but what could a woman do when her boyfriend was about to be killed?
She couldn’t keep her gaze focused on the men or she’d give herself away, so she mumbled a bit, and when she pretend-spotted them, she smiled widely and waved a hand. “You there! Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
While Remy and Thibaut had managed to surprise the two men seated in front of the monitors, the men had recovered quickly, and rather than firing their weapons at him and his brother, they battled hand-to-hand. Maybe they didn’t want a shot being overheard by anyone outside the building or by whomever was in charge in the ballroom. The reason didn’t matter. One of them did manage to speak into his radio before being cut off by Thibaut who kicked the man’s chair out from beneath him, cutting off the transmission.
The fight was surprisingly evenly matched, which meant the men had extensive training. The fact Remy had studied several martial arts and boxed stood him well, but Thibaut was in his milieu, dispatching his opponent quickly with a punch that cracked the man’s jaw and sent him crumpling to the floor. Then he grabbed the man Remy had been fighting from behind, locking his arms against his body while Remy delivered a punch which broke the man’s nose.
That’s when he heard a familiar voice from the hallway, “You there!...”
Thibaut shared a charged glance with him. Remy dove for the door, but his brother held him back and slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him from calling out to Stacia.
They listened as she giggled and bumped against the wall. She passed the open doorway.
“Get out the way, you stupid bitch!” a man bit out a second before she cried out and a crash sounded, followed by a masculine curse.
Thibaut released him, and Remy darted out of the doorway to see two men pushing up from the floor, Stacia on the ground, curled into a ball. He hurled himself at one of the men as he was raising his weapon, and took him back to the ground, rage fueling him as he landed a hail of punches.
A hand landed on his shoulder. “I think he’s not moving, bro.”
Remy drew a jagged breath and lowered his arm. Indeed, the man’s face was bloodied, and his eyes were closed. He glanced to the side and noted that the second man appeared to be in the same shape. He pushed up and hurried over to Stacia, who was coming up on an elbow and wincing as she did.
“What the hell, Stacia?” he whispered harshly.
“You’re welcome,” she said, her voice tight.
Thibaut passed him, dragging one of the men back into the security room. “Get the other guy. Spank her later.”
“Spank me?” Stacia said, her eyes bugging and her voice rising.
Remy gave her a hard stare then we
nt back to the man he’d beaten and dragged him into the room.
Chapter 12
Stacia sat quietly in a corner on a folding chair, watching the anticlimactic end of her greatest adventure.
After Remy and his brother had dragged the two bad guys back inside and secured them, they’d untied the two men who’d previously been watching the monitors then stood over something that looked a little larger than a radio.
Thibaut turned it off. Then Remy made a call—to his friends at the NOLA PD. He told them to come in quiet and out of sight of the main entrance. He also warned them that the crew in the ballroom had gas masks, so be prepared because they might use some kind of knockout gas if they stormed the ballroom.
Which was exactly what happened. Stacia watched the entire operation go down as PD and FBI agents using masks and night vision goggles cut the lights inside the ballroom and swept inside every doorway.
Of course, it being dark inside the ballroom, she couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but since Remy and Thibaut seemed content to watch from the security room, she didn’t worry whether the good guys had the upper hand. In the end, all of the blond man’s crew were taken into custody.
Yes, there had been shots fired, but there were no casualties among the PD and FBI men and women, or the “civilians” inside the ballroom. Afterward, when the lights came back on, the FBI confiscated the tablet the blond had used. They hoped to be able to return the money stolen from the dignitaries who, after the fact, seemed rather pleased with the night’s entertainment.
Throughout the evening, Remy never looked her way. Not once.
Which was fine with her. Really. So, she’d disobeyed his order. He should have known she wasn’t the kind of girl who stayed put when a man told her to. And she’d saved his damn ass. The thought of what she’d done because she’d been so scared he’d be hurt had finally settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. The longer their time in that small room dragged on, the madder she got about feeling that way.
One Hot Night: A New Orleans Nights Story Page 9