Editor's Choice Volume I - Slow summer Kisses, Kilts & kraken, Negotiating point

by Stacey Shannon, Spencer Pape Cindy, Giordano Adrienne

  “No one comes near the house but you. We’ll be watching all sides.”

  “Right. No problem. I’m on my way.”

  He punched the button and dropped the headset. Janet tore her headset off and bolted from her chair. “The son isn’t here yet.”

  That was a small issue, but he’d do a work-around. “The sooner I get in there, the sooner Roxann comes out. Once I’m in, you radio me when the son gets here. We’ll put the son in the driveway where he can see him.”

  “No.”

  Sorry, babe. “Yes.” He marched to the table where he’d dropped his tac vest and slid it on.

  Her hands went in the air. “Wait. Just hang on a second. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t think. That’s why. This is not the plan you gave me. You told me you’d wait for the son and they wouldn’t shoot with him around. Now you’re saying you’re going alone. It’s too half-cocked.”

  A scalding stab of disappointment plunged into him.

  Half. Cocked.

  Gavin backed up a step, folded his arms because all damn day he’d been battling. Joe, Vic, the tactical guys. All of them at one point or another had been a pain in the ass. Not her. She’d been battling alongside him, replenishing his reserves, helping him figure it all out. And she chose now to bail on him?

  Half. Cocked.

  He breathed in, stared down at the pixie of a woman who in one day had claimed his heart and then broken it. He had no time for this fucking emotional vacuum forcing him to second-guess his decisions. His worst nightmare would be to walk into that house with his head a raging mess. Perfect way to get a hostage killed. He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes to center himself. Get it together.

  A minute later he opened his eyes, stared down at Janet who fiddled with a rubber band, twisting it this way and that, working the kinks out. As if it were that easy. Not this time. He couldn’t worry about it now. Now, he had to forget this emotional crap and get Roxann Taylor and her unborn child out of that house. Carefully, he fastened the tac vest and checked the strap. “I have to go.”

  He spun and marched out of the barn.

  “Gavin!” Janet yelled, but he had already gotten halfway to the road while she scrambled to keep pace.

  Forget the emotional crap. Think about the assignment.

  “Janet, get back inside.”

  “Damn you!” she hollered. “You’re testing me to see how far I’ll take this.”

  A slippery slope right here. She’d been his partner, his ally, his supporter when the goddamned knuckle-dragger wanted to take over this operation. He did not need her doubting him. Not when he was about to walk into a situation that might get his head blown off. At this moment, she might not be grasping that though and he didn’t have time to explain it.

  Later.

  “I’m not testing you. I need you to let me do my job so no one gets hurt.”

  That stopped her, but he kept walking, needing to put space between them and the swirling negative energy.

  “Thank you,” he called over his shoulder. “Call me on the radio when the son gets here.” He held the radio to his mouth. “Jessup, I need you at the end of the driveway as you were before.”

  He glanced a hundred feet ahead of him, where Vic’s team, suited up in their combat gear, moved from various places into position at the end of the driveway where the giant SUV pulled up. Still tromping up the road, Gavin took a breath of the warm air and looked beyond the men to the setting sun that streaked the sky in a burst of burnt orange. Without the heat, the chirping birds and swaying trees would make this a fine evening. Instead, he was trying to bring a pregnant woman home to her husband.

  Gavin approached Jessup, who stood in front of him holding an MP5 9mm submachine gun. “Gavin, what’s up?”

  “I’m going in there.”

  Jessup threw the shield of his helmet up. “Come again?”

  “I’ve got this guy’s son on the way. I’m going in to talk him down. If it doesn’t work, you boys can have at him.”

  Billy Tripp and one of the other guys, Bobby, straightened up, clearly not happy with the “have at him” comment.

  “Does Vic know about this?”

  “He will when he gets here.”

  Billy Tripp snorted. “This should be good.”

  “Shut it.” Jessup turned back to Gavin. “What do you need?”

  No argument. Finally. “Look like badasses and cover me.”

  Jessup lowered his shield again. “We can do that.”

  The three men lined up behind the SUV and Gavin heard Jessup murmur something into his radio, putting the rest of the team on alert.

  Gavin marched up the driveway, his pulse raging, pounding under his skin, making him nauseous, but he concentrated on deep breaths. In and out. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. Step. Breath.

  Halfway up the drive, he raised his arms. Keep walking. In two minutes he’d be inside. If he could get an ounce of luck, Joe’s son wouldn’t be far behind and they’d wrap this up quick. He stepped onto the sagging wooden porch—it would be a pisser if he fell through—and the front door inched open.

  A blond guy, late twenties, khaki pants and a collared shirt stood in the tiny crack of the doorway. “Joe? I’m Gavin.”

  Joe nodded. “I recognize your voice.”

  Then he backed out of sight and pushed the door open.

  I’m in.

  Chapter Five

  Janet sat on her folding chair staring at the monitor as Gavin stepped into the house.

  “Well, just damn him.”

  She should have been stubborn and kept walking with him. Even with the battle of wills, she might have been able to talk him out of this. Instead, he’d thrown himself into a situation that he might not come out of.

  Slapping at the monitor, she said, “Damn you.”

  A car door from outside slammed—terrific—and she closed her eyes.

  Barely through the door, Vic jabbed a finger at her. “What. The. Fuck?”

  The fierce hardness in his eyes, all that anger barreling into her, set her back for a second and she breathed deep. Don’t panic. She stood to her full five feet—I’m small but I’m mighty—and shoved her hands in front of her. “What’s done is done.”

  “And what? You never heard of a goddamned phone?”

  “As if I had time to call you while Gavin was marching up the road?”

  “I should have been consulted. Mike should have been consulted.”

  She couldn’t necessarily disagree. “There was no time. If you’ll stop screaming at me, I’ll update you. Where’s Michael?”

  “I left him up the road. Waiting for his wife. She’d better walk out.”

  In the few years Janet had worked for this man, she’d seen every range of his emotions and this one was no exception. Vic was simply worried. Extremely so. Trying to calm him would be futile, but she never did shy away from a challenge.

  “We found the HT’s ex-girlfriend and she’s on her way here with their son. Gavin thinks he can use the son as leverage.”

  “He put himself in danger by walking into that house unarmed.”

  Janet jerked her head. “He did.”

  “Fucking imbecile head-shrinker.”

  “He wants Roxann to get out safely.”

  He waved his arms. “And I don’t?”

  “I didn’t say that. I know you do. You love her. We all love her. Gavin is close to getting this guy to break. He thinks by meeting face-to-face he can end this standoff.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work? Then he’s a hostage with Rox.”

  A definite possibility. “I don’t think that will happen. If this idea with the son doesn’t work, he knows you’ll breach.”

  “Damn straight. We’re ready to go. All tuned up.”

  “Give him a little while. He can do this. Please?”

  Come on, boss.

  Vic dropped his hands to his hips. “When will the son be here?”

 
; “In the next twenty minutes.”

  Come on, boss.

  “Does head-shrinker have a radio?”

  Janet didn’t dare smile. “He does. He said to feel free to yell at him through it.”

  “I might do that.”

  “I told him we’d alert him when the son got here.”

  Stepping over to the desk, Vic stared at the monitor showing the front of the house. “From the minute that kid shows up, Gavin has twenty minutes. Then we’re going in. No arguments. Tell him that.” He marched toward the door. “I gotta give Mike an update.”

  An update. Hopefully the last one. Janet dropped into her chair, her shoulders sagging with the weight of simply holding her head high. So tired. She stared at the monitor above and sighed. “Gavin, you’d better be talking fast.”

  * * *

  Gavin stepped through the front door where Joe huddled behind it, a .38 in hand. One weapon accounted for. He did a visual survey of uncarpeted wood stairs leading to the second floor. To his right was the small living room with a worn three-cushioned sofa and two upholstered wing-back chairs. A solid brass lamp—possible weapon—sat on an ancient side-table with curling legs.

  To his left, a doorway led to another room. He spotted the back of a chair and assumed the space was the dining room. Kitchen must be in the back.

  Two men stood near the door leading to the dining room. The big one held a shotgun, and the smaller one, maybe mid-forties, wore jeans and a stained T-shirt. Gavin couldn’t see a weapon on the smaller one. Didn’t mean anything though.

  Joe insisted on patting Gavin down and if it made them feel more comfortable, why not? He endured the search, keeping his mouth closed and his stance neutral. Why ignite the situation when he wasn’t carrying anyway?

  Upon completion of the search, Gavin refastened his tac vest.

  “Joe, I need to make sure Mrs. Taylor is okay.”

  “She’s fine. You don’t need to see her.”

  Gavin cut his eyes to the grunts by the door. Yes, I’m aware of you. “Actually, I do. Then I can radio my people and tell them all is well. Where is she?”

  After a ten-second hard stare—Joe’s useless attempt at posturing—he caved. “Bring her down here. I don’t want him going upstairs.”

  Even better. The closer Roxann got to the door, the faster he got her out of here. And where the hell was the son?

  Jeans-Grunt spun from the doorway and headed toward the back of the house. A second set of stairs? Gavin, bent on controlling the environment despite that shotgun, gestured to the chairs. “Let’s sit.”

  With slow, deliberate movements, he sat on the sofa and Joe dropped onto one of the chairs. “Where are we on Mr. Spelling’s release? I’m tired of waiting.”

  Let the only lie be the last. “My boss has a call in to the governor. We’re working on it.”

  One helluva lie because Mike hadn’t made any such call. If he had, the FBI would be swarming this place. The lie, at this point, didn’t matter. If he didn’t talk these people out of here, a breach was imminent. That was the deal.

  And Gavin would live with it. He’d go down talking though.

  The soft tap of shoes on hardwood sounded and Roxann walked through the doorway, her eyes red and puffy and her shorts wrinkled, but her blond hair was tied back and neat. The woman knew how to pull off composure. No doubt.

  She’s unharmed.

  He glanced at her sandaled feet. Flats. If they needed to run, heels wouldn’t be an issue.

  Despite the parade going on in his head, Gavin forced himself not to react. Out of habit, he moved to stand, but froze when Shotgun-Guy snapped to. Gavin held his hands out. “Take it easy. I’m just standing.”

  He rose, shoulders back, posture erect, making sure these guys knew he didn’t fear them. Plus, his small act of rebellion allowed him to assert control. How he thrived on psychological warfare.

  He did release a silent breath when Shotgun-Guy lowered his weapon.

  “Rox, you okay?”

  She cut her eyes to Jeans-Grunt. “I’m fine.”

  Gavin nodded. “Good.” He turned to Joe. “I’d like her to have a seat down here. She’s been locked up all day. Give her a break.”

  After a moment, Joe glanced at his cohorts. Shotgun-Guy gave an almost nonexistent shake of his head.

  Power struggle.

  Joe motioned Rox to the other end of the sofa, away from Gavin. “Sit there.”

  Success. Not only did Gavin win that round, he’d created a power play between Joe and Shotgun-Guy. Each victory got him closer to Roxann walking out of here.

  They both took their places on the sofa. His radio crackled and he lowered the volume, lifting it to his ear. “Cargo has arrived,” Jessup said.

  Cargo. The son. Now they were getting somewhere.

  Joe leaned forward. “What cargo?”

  “Put him on,” Gavin said into the radio.

  Keeping his focus on Joe, Gavin handed him the radio. “We talked about your son and how much you love him.”

  And then Joe’s eyes bugged out—wham—instant panic.

  Control him.

  “Sit tight. He’s fine. He’s outside and wants to talk to you.”

  Joe swung his head left and right. “I don’t believe you. It’s a trick.”

  “No trick. He’s in the barn. Knowing how much you love him, I thought if you talked to him, maybe we could end this standoff and everyone goes home. Okay? That sounds good, right?”

  Agree with me. Go ahead.

  He glanced at his cohorts and Shotgun-Guy once again shook his head no.

  Counter attack. “We can bring your son out front if you want to see him.”

  Realization must have hit that his beloved child had been brought to this disaster and Joe slammed his hands against his head. “You sons of bitches brought my son here?”

  “Not alone. His mother is with him.”

  The look on his face, that open-mouthed gawk, changed from dismay to mind-numbing horror in a split second, and Gavin wondered if he should have stuck to the playbook.

  Joe shook his head. “Her too? Jesus.”

  “I know you love your son, Joe. Make this right for him. Do you want me to get him out front?”

  “No! I’ll talk to him on the radio.”

  Gavin lifted the radio, drew a calming breath to ease his rapidly rising pulse. No turning back now. All he could hope was that he hadn’t royally screwed up by involving the kid. “Put Jason on.”

  A long minute later, he heard Janet’s voice, not directly in the radio but as if talking to someone else and just the sound, that soft whispering, made him more determined to get Roxann home.

  “He’s here,” Janet said. “Just push the button, buddy. Got it?”

  Then came a pause. “Dad?”

  Joe held the radio near his face, his finger tapping the side. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before dropping his hands.

  Atta boy. Think about how you’ll lay waste to this kid’s life by dying in here.

  After a minute, he lifted the radio again. “Hi, pal. Where are you?”

  “With Mom in this barn, but it’s not really a barn. There’s all this cool stuff. Computers and monitors and walkie-talkies. There’s a phone in a box! The lady said I could play with the phone. Can I come see you?”

  Textbook. Gavin ignored the surge of adrenaline nearly blowing his skull apart. The third HT left the room and Gavin kept an eye on him from his spot.

  “Not yet, pal,” Joe said to his son. “In a little while. Okay?”

  “Sure. Can you take me for ice cream like usual?”

  Joe slammed his free hand against his forehead, did it once more, then marched to the front window and peeked out the blinds.

  Think. About. It.

  “Yeah, buddy. Ice cream it is. I gotta go now.” He stopped, cleared his shattering voice. “I’ll call you back soon.”

  He tossed the radio the few feet to the coffee table and it clattered against the
cheap wood. Don’t give him time to think.

  “Joe, that’s what you’re risking. Ice cream with your son every night. Is Jackson Spelling worth it? Maybe he is, I don’t know, but from my perspective as a guy who lost his father at a young age, if something happens to you, your son won’t recover. Make this right, Joe. Let me walk out of here with Roxann and we’ll find another way to help you win the Jackson Spelling fight.”

  “No!” Shotgun-Guy yelled, swinging the barrel up.

  “Hey!” Joe yelled back. “Calm down. If that thing goes off you’ll screw this whole thing up.”

  “Yeah, Joe, he will. You don’t want that. Nobody gets hurt and we all go home to our families tonight. No harm, no foul.”

  But this scenario was turning to shit. Damned fast. Without a weapon, Gavin’s options were few and Shotgun-Guy’s unpredictability would hinder negotiations. Mentally, Gavin gauged the distance to Shotgun-Guy at roughly fifteen feet. A charging man could cover twenty-one feet in one second or less.

  One second of distraction.

  That was all he needed to be able to reach Shotgun-Guy. Except, Gavin was seated, not standing. He’d have to risk it.

  “Lower that weapon!” Joe hollered and Shotgun-Guy took his eyes from Gavin to Joe.

  Now.

  Gavin exploded off the couch, taking the seat cushion with him and hurling it at Shotgun-Guy. It wouldn’t do much, but it would absorb the impact of a bullet. A boom sounded and the shot tore through the cushion, pellets slamming into the Kevlar like tiny missiles. The vest kept the bullet from penetrating his right shoulder but the force knocked him back two steps. His breath caught at the raging pain ripping through his shoulder and chest. He glanced down, saw the outer portion of the vest shredded and knew he’d probably been hit with double-aught buck.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Gavin!” Roxann yelled and he swung his gaze to her, holding up his hand to keep her seated and out of the line of fire.

  Get the gun.

  Before Shotgun-Guy could get off another shot, Gavin charged. Grabbing the barrel with both hands, he wrenched it upward and, throwing all his weight into it, slowly forced the man backward. Gavin’s arms burned, his muscles straining until Shotgun-Guy reached his spine’s bending limit and dropped to the floor. Finally, he planted his foot on his chest, twisted the gun hard and jerked it free.