by J. D. Tyler
She drew a slow breath and focused. The red haze lifted.
Kelsey tapped Reed’s shoulder, and he shifted so he could see her as well as the corridor. Holding up one finger, she pointed to the position of the guy by the door. With four fingers, she indicated the direction of the dance floor.
* * * * *
Greg didn’t doubt her intel, but she hadn’t given him a report on Fee. He pantomimed that he would look, too.
Comprehension lit her eyes. She stepped back but patted his shoulder in silent sympathy. The contact sent a flash of heat through him. He set his jaw and ignored the feeling, but that was becoming tougher to do each time it happened.
Holding his breath, he looked through the scope. Please let Fee be okay.
He had a good view of the ballroom. Fee was tall enough that her head should be visible above many of the others.
Why wasn’t he spotting her? Was she keeping her head down? Or had the bastards moved her?
Maybe she was jammed into the middle of the knot of people. His heart twisted with fear, and he swallowed hard. No sign of her—or anyone sprawled on the floor, so that was good.
There were too many blonde heads in that cluster. Hell.
He bit down on a surge of rage. If he burst into this room, he could kill at least four HTs. Maybe give the hostages with military training a chance to strike back.
Or maybe get all of them killed.
To avoid accidentally killing an innocent, he’d have to put the AK on semiauto and aim every shot. Even then, a scared hostage might jump into his line of fire. And the HTs would, of course, shoot back.
Even if he succeeded, what would happen in the other ballrooms?
His fist clenched on the scope in silent frustration. Greg counted to three before he silently stepped back.
Kelsey’s blue eyes were soft wells of sympathy. But she didn’t offer hollow platitudes that wouldn’t comfort him.
If he was lucky, maybe Fee had gone to the bathroom when he had. Maybe she’d found someplace to hole up. Except she didn’t know the combinations to the closets, and she couldn’t get into the elevator shafts.
Damn it.
He set his jaw. The best thing he could do for her was get the intel for the Hostage Rescue Team and SWAT to end this.
“This whole thing,” he murmured to Kelsey as they cleared the area where they could be heard, “is beyond dicey. I hope my boss has an army ready to come in here.”
CHAPTER SIX
Arachnid agent Diana Travers strode toward the cluster of FBI vehicles in Farragut Square, near the Metro station. She was going to be about as welcome as athlete’s foot.
Good thing she was used to that.
As Arachnid’s liaison with the FBI, she’d learned to deal with being the odd woman out.
An icy wind blew between the buildings, whipping her dark brown hair into her eyes. Focused on the guy in FBI tactical gear at the barricade ahead, she didn’t bother to push it back. Girlie gestures were never a good idea when dealing with men in law enforcement.
When she was six feet from the barrier, the guy held up one hand. “This area is restricted, ma’am. You’ll have to go back.”
“I’m expected,” she told him. “I have ID around my neck.”
She waited for his nod before sticking two fingers into her coat collar. The lanyard she drew out held an ID for the National Security Strategy Group, Arachnid’s cover ID with law enforcement who didn’t need to know the truth.
A woman in tactical gear marked FBI stepped out from behind a truck, her weapon held loosely but with a finger by the trigger. She made no secret of watching the exchange at the barrier.
The man scrutinized Diana’s ID before he clicked the microphone at his shoulder. “Diana Travers from NSSG to see the boss.”
After a moment, he nodded. “Command post is two trucks back.”
The woman stepped forward. “I’ll take you.”
Leaving the guard to his duty, Diana followed the other woman. Her mind buzzed with questions. Who would attack an inaugural celebration? The Fierenze event wasn’t even an official inaugural ball. What could they hope to gain, and why hadn’t they issued any demands, aside from wanting this reporter to come interview them?
Probably because of the cold, agents were not milling around their trucks, perching on bumpers, or wandering the staging area. Only a few people holding lit cigarettes stood out in the wind. Everyone else must be huddled in their vehicles.
Diana’s guide led her around to the back of a big, black van and tapped on one side of the double door. A thin, gray-haired man opened the door, revealing four men and two women seated at consoles along the truck’s sides. At the far end, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair faced the windshield.
With a nod, the escort walked away.
The gray-haired man stepped back. “Come in, Ms.…?”
“Travers,” she said, offering her hand.
He pressed it firmly. “Walters. I’m the signals geek. Over there’s the boss, Supervisory Special Agent Maitland.”
The boss’s name sent an electric jolt through her. Maitland. It can’t be.
But it was. Dan Maitland turned to greet her, his gray eyes narrowing in his ruggedly handsome face.
Her stupid heart kicked hard when their eyes met, but she knew better than to listen to it.
Judging from his icy demeanor, athlete’s foot would be way more welcome than she was.
* * * * *
Of all the shitty luck. There were probably Arachnid operatives Dan would welcome less than Diana Travers. He just couldn’t think of any.
He set his jaw and gave the new arrival a curt nod. “Have you heard from your agent inside since Reed reported in?”
“No. I was hoping you had.”
Dan shook his head. “Walters and his crew are working on breaking through the jamming. Until they do, patching into the master telephone panel will be the only way our people inside can reach us.”
“What about Morse code with flashlights?” As his brows knitted, she hastily added, “I realize we don’t currently have a way to suggest that to those inside, and I’m aware the hotel isn’t visible from here. I’m willing to stand in a doorway and watch the windows if need be.”
“That’ll be a last resort,” he said. Just when he was irritated with her, she had to go and volunteer for unpleasant duty. The wind was nasty tonight.
Despite the cold weather, the electronics and body heat in the van had it more than warm enough for any normal person. Travers slid out of her coat and dumped it on the pile with everyone else’s. Dan kept his eyes resolutely away from her body. At least she had her dynamite legs concealed in loose, black slacks.
“Update me on status?” she asked, her brown eyes level. They were calm and focused now, clear of the irritation they usually held when he and she talked.
“Our agent and yours are still doing recon,” he told her. “At least, we hope they are. Meanwhile, we have three helos of SWAT agents on standby to come in from the roof if need be.”
“You’ve lined up a lot of resources very quickly.”
He shrugged away the compliment. “It’s inaugural night. Everybody’s on high alert anyway.”
A faint apple scent teased his nose. Her soap. It evoked memories—a candlelit terrace overlooking a white-sand beach…And the uneaten dinner they’d both walked away from.
Separately.
Dan bit back a curse. Get over it, idiot.
“So we’re in waiting mode,” Travers noted.
“That’s about the size of it.” He glanced at his watch. “They took out one guy in unmarked tactical gear who was carrying an AK. Sooner or later, somebody’s going to miss him. We need to roll before then.”
Understanding shadowed her eyes. If anyone knew their operatives had the hostage-taker’s radio, it would be ultimatum time, with innocent lives on the line.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kelsey and her partner checked the other two ballroom
s and came up with a total of 23 hostage takers. That didn’t mean there weren’t others, though.
With a jerk of his head, her favorite G-man drew Kelsey down the service corridor. “Haskell said they could see the main lobby with binoculars,” he said. “But they need us to check the one between the ballrooms.”
“There’s a door down on the end of this hall, between Donatello and the rest rooms.” She hesitated. “If we go down there, we could be trapped. If there are guards, they’re probably facing toward the stairs. They think this area is secure. But if somebody’s looking the right way at the wrong time…”
“I’ll do it,” he said.
Kelsey shook her head. As she opened her mouth, he pressed, “I’m the Fed. It’s my job.”
She blew out a gusty sigh that ruffled her bangs. Extending her Glock, their only suppressor-equipped weapon, she said, “Take this. And don’t be afraid to shoot first, G-man.”
“G-man? Seriously?”
“That’s what y’all are called, right?” Her eyebrows rose, an innocent expression suddenly on her face.
“Only in very old movies.” He holstered his handgun and swapped her Glock for the AK.
“So that makes you a classic.” She grinned at him, but the grin faded into concern as she added, “You know, I carry no government creds. I can shoot first and claim to be in reasonable fear for my life. Hell, I actually would be in danger. It’d be justified.”
She would take the heat for him along with the burden of a death and the risk of being spotted and shot. His heart softened.
With his free hand, he cupped her smooth, warm cheek.
Kelsey’s lush, pink lips trembled, and she brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips. His pulse kicked, and his body stirred.
Was that confusion in her eyes? Or welcome? Regardless, the mission had to come first. He dropped his hand, and the flicker of disappointment in her face felt damn good.
Around the possessiveness rushing through him, he said, “Thanks, but I’m not dumping my job off on you.”
He would rather take another bullet than live with knowing he’d done that.
He could handle this recon. He had to because his wasn’t the only neck on the line.
* * * * *
“So that’s the story,” Greg said into the phone. The ballroom lobby had been clear, and he and Kelsey had sneaked back down here without a problem. He was patched in with the van at Farragut Square via headquarters relay.
“We’re stalling on the news crew,” Ed Haskell informed him. “Do you know whether they have people floating in the hotel? Or what the approaches to the roof are?”
Behind him, Kelsey was monitoring the security office via her snake scope under the control room door.
Greg said, “We’ve had near misses with floating patrols, but we don’t know how many there are, or even if they’re constant. There are two men on the first guest-room floor in the stairwells. We can’t check higher without going through them.”
Reluctantly, he added, “Or climbing up an elevator shaft.”
“You’re onsite, so it’s up to you how you handle it.”
“So far they haven’t gotten bent out of shape about the guy we tied up. I’ve been expecting an ultimatum any minute.”
“If it comes, you ignore it,” Ed Haskell ordered. “For all those HTs know, you don’t have a radio.”
Fee’s face sprang into Greg’s mind. With a heavy heart, he replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Maitland here,” another voice said, this time from inside the van a few blocks away.
So near and yet so far.
Maitland noted, “Once the HTs realize someone is in the building and taking them down, that ultimatum will come. And these guys are just crazy enough to start shooting people whether they think you heard them or not.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Trying not to think about that, Greg continued, “The hotel has a rooftop lobby with an elevator, as well as one stairwell that goes to the roof. There are a couple of metal housings for ventilation or other equipment. I’m told they’re cubes, about six feet on a side and ten feet apart.”
“Roger. We’re getting a strike force ready,” Maitland told him. “First approach will be via the roof. We need you and your spook to secure it.”
“That’ll likely involve shooting some people,” Greg noted. “Considering the potential for ultimatums, we shouldn’t move on that until you’re ready to come in.”
“Agreed,” Maitland said. He had a rep for being solid in tense situations. Greg hoped it was accurate.
“While you were checking out the ballrooms,” Ed Haskell added, “we sent people onto neighboring rooftops. Infrared can’t reach the central stairwell but does penetrate the ones near the exterior walls. It shows two people in each stairwell at what appears to be the ballroom level and the same on the tenth floor. Near as they can tell, the auxiliary security office on the tenth floor is empty. That’s current as of ten minutes ago.”
That made for a lot of variables. If those guys moved around, Greg and Kelsey would have no way to know it.
“Here’s the really dicey part,” Haskell added.
What they’d discussed before wasn’t dicey?
Greg’s eyebrows rose as the watch commander continued, “There are six guys on the roof with two RPG launchers. We can provide distraction fire but can’t take them out with snipers. The surrounding buildings aren’t high enough to offer clear shots with the obstructions on the roof.”
Oh, great. Just fucking great.
“Got it.” Nothing else to say, really.
Haskell continued, “We need those RPGs gone ASAP. They have a sightline to the White House, and we have no guarantee they won’t use it once they realize how badly things are going south for them.”
Shit. “We’re on it.”
“Okay. We’re coordinating with the DC police and your friend Ms. Wilson’s bosses. Once you get to the roof, maybe your cell phones will work.”
“That would help. What’s our time frame?”
“We can launch anytime and be there in three minutes, so the sooner, the better. When you get there, one of you call this number if you can. If the phone doesn’t work, we’ll need a signal from you to know the roof is secure.”
“We have a flashlight. Let’s go with two short flashes, two long, and one short.”
The other men acknowledged.
“See you soon,” Maitland told him.
Greg disconnected. Silently, he walked over to Kelsey. “We need to get to the roof, but I have a spare mag and a suppressor for my Glock in my room. I’ll fill you in up there.”
“The only way around the guys in the stairwell is the elevator shaft. Are you up for a climb?”
“I can manage.” The growing stiffness in his right shoulder from the night’s activities wouldn’t make climbing the elevator shaft easy, but that simply couldn’t be allowed to matter.
“Then let’s go,” Kelsey said.
They made it back up the stairs to the kitchen and laundry level easily. As they headed for the service elevators, the radio crackled.
“We found Brother Jason Kinley’s body in a closet,” a man’s voice stated. “There’s somebody roaming around. Check every closet.”
* * * * *
As Kelsey climbed up the elevator shaft behind Reed, her cheek still held phantom warmth from his touch. Despite all the time that had passed since, and wasn’t that a kick in the gut? It was probably because he’d taken her by surprise. Maybe because he was sexy as hell.
But the touch meant nothing. It was only a comradely gesture. The tenderness she’d thought she saw in his face was probably a reaction to shared danger.
That was better than his earlier mistrust, anyway.
They reached the sixth floor, where he’d said his room was. She used a sheet from the laundry to rope Reed to the ladder while he balanced on the narrow ledge and forced the corridor door.
She hadn’t been able to resist giving him
a cocky grin and saying, “Bet you’re glad now that I have a drop key for the elevator.”
He’d given her a stern look spoiled by the twitch at the corners of his mouth. “It’ll be useful,” he said, “but don’t let that go to your head.”
He was such a rules guy. So why did she like him so much? Maybe it was the whole cool under pressure thing he had going on despite the flashbacks. He handled those, refusing to let them stop him.
She had to admire that. Along with the ripple of muscles under the snug shirt as he forced the door. Injury or no, the guy was strong. And competent.
She was a sucker for strong and competent. Even in guys who were totally wrong for her.
At last, he had the door open far enough for them to slip through. The hall was empty, so they hustled down it. He stopped at a door midway down. “This is me.”
He fished the key from the tactical vest and slid it into the lock. A faint whir, and then the light over the slot turned green. The Fed opened the door for her to go first.
He closed the door quietly and flipped the security locks. “There’s a bathroom if you want it, and water, of course.”
A king-sized bed, neatly made with one of the blue, maroon, and gold duvets that were the hotel’s pride, dominated the space. One suitcase sat on a rack by dresser, which held the TV. Guy clothes spilled out of it. So he wasn’t sharing a room with his date.
Not that it was her business or, even if it were, this was the time to get into it.
“I’m sure Fee will be okay,” Kelsey said. She managed to sound confident, which wasn’t easy in the circumstances. She didn’t even sound envious of the very-much-prettier-than-her woman he was involved with. “You can look back someday and laugh about this scary-awful date.”
He shook his head. “She’s not my date.”
Her confusion must’ve shown on her face because he continued, grinning, “Fee is my cousin. Her dad supports this PAC and got tickets, but he threw his back out. Her mom didn’t want to leave him, so Fee roped me into coming.”