“As long as they don’t have us, they won’t touch a hair on his head. He’s their leverage,” he replied.
“Oh my God, you’re not buying into what he’s been saying about police officers wanting to hurt his thirteen-year-old brother!” Caroline exclaimed. “Tell me that’s not what this is all about.”
“You don’t know shit about shit, Ms. Cop,” Holly said.
Reed pushed out air through his teeth. “Shut up, Holly. Drop it, Caroline. Right now we’ve got other fish to fry.”
“Reed, listen: whatever your plan is, it’s not going to work. You need to give yourself up to me.” Caroline’s tone was earnest.
She sat with her slender bare legs folded in front of her on the marble floor, and her upturned face looked pale in the moonlight. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, the classic oval shape of it was apparent. It was a pretty, delicate face, slimmer of cheek and higher of cheekbone than it had been at seventeen. Her eyes were maybe a shade less innocent, but just as wide and luminous, and her mouth was just as lushly tempting. God, he’d wanted her that summer ten years ago! In a way, it was both his good luck and his bad luck that the negotiator they’d called in tonight had been Caroline. He hadn’t foreseen it, and while it made things dicey in that he didn’t want to hurt her and she wasn’t as afraid of him as she should be, on the other hand if he’d been looking for the ideal bargaining chip, he couldn’t have found one more perfect.
She continued, “If you don’t you’re going to be killed. Him, too, probably. Surrendering to me, right now, is your only chance.”
“You ain’t gonna let her snow you with that, are you? We surrender and we’re dead,” Holly said at almost the same time as Reed told her, “Give it up, Caroline. Me surrendering isn’t going to happen.”
“You can’t get away,” she said urgently. “The house is surrounded. There are snipers. SWAT. The works.”
“She’s telling the truth about that.” Holly rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Oh, Jesus, what are we gonna do?”
Reed heard the lurking panic in Holly’s voice, but besides telling him, “I got this under control,” there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had to get a move on: at this point, every second counted. Every instinct he possessed told him that whatever was going to go down was going to go down soon. Even as Caroline said, “You don’t have much time,” Reed got on with implementing the plan he’d come up with when he’d heard that Holly had been taken. It had been modified on the fly a number of times already. Once he’d realized that Ant’s life was in all likelihood on the line, too, it had also, with the addition of Caroline, gotten way more complicated than he liked. Still, it was roughly workable. He hoped. Grabbing the backpack he’d brought down from the library with him, the one that he’d left waiting by the door, he pulled two windbreakers from it. They were standard black NOPD issue with SWAT emblazoned in big white letters across the front and back.
“Lose the hoodie. Put that on.” He tossed one to Holly. While the kid looked at it incredulously then made a face before he did as he was told, Reed stripped off his own tux jacket and bow tie. Dropping them into the big plastic garbage can he’d carried in earlier from the garage, he checked to make sure his 9mm was still secure but readily available in its shoulder holster, and shrugged into the second jacket himself.
“We gonna pretend to be SWAT? What’re we gonna do, try to blend into the crowd when they burst in to kill us?” Holly practically reeked of dismay even as Reed tossed him a black SWAT baseball cap with a terse, “That, too. Tuck your hair up under it.”
Caroline, watching, said, “Oh, wow,” in a less-than-impressed tone that could have been an echo of Holly’s.
“That’s your plan?” Holly continued as Reed took his hoodie from him and dropped it into the garbage can. “Ah, hell, this ain’t good.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU’LL GET KILLED,” Caroline warned. “Both of you. Nobody’s going to fall for that. Oh my God, really, truly, this is not going to work. You have to believe me: surrendering is your only chance.”
“They gonna drill us soon as they see us,” Holly moaned as he slapped the cap on his head and started tucking his hair up under it as instructed. He was pale with fright. “No way are they gonna think we’re SWAT.”
“Reed, are you hearing me?” Caroline’s voice rose perilously. “He’s right: no way is anyone going to fall for this. If you surrender to me right now, I can walk you out of here. Nobody will harm you if you’re with me. Either of you. I give you my word. Please.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Just because they were giving voice to some of his own doubts didn’t keep Reed from being fed up. “You need to trust me,” he told Holly as he pointed a monitory finger at him. “Are you out of jail? Who did that?” Then he pointed at Caroline. “And you don’t know a damned thing about it. So give me a break here, and lay off the surrender crap. Like I said, it’s not going to happen.”
He was busy taking one last size-it-up look at the garbage can, which was sturdy black plastic complete with lid, about forty-gallon size, and apparently new. Having come in through the garage, he’d noticed it in passing, thinking at the time that he might be able to use it to simulate the most terrifyingly big bomb ever, then accepted the fact that locating and isolating the people he needed to corral without attracting any undue attention might be a little difficult with a giant garbage can in tow. But then, when Holly had told him about Ant and he had realized that his plan needed to be adjusted to accommodate this new wrinkle, he’d remembered it. It was, he judged, perfect for the new use he had in mind for it. So he’d fetched it in the little bit of time he’d had after breaking off communications with Caroline, dumping out the miscellaneous sports equipment that had been stored within and lugging it into the hall.
“As long as you didn’t do something terrible to the hostages, we can even still—” Caroline was saying as he confirmed the location of the lid with a glance and then took the two strides that brought him to her side. She broke off, looking up at him wide-eyed as he bent over her to scoop her up in his arms. He got the job done quickly but a little awkwardly—she was heavier than she looked, and he wanted to take care not to put too much pressure on her bound hands. She didn’t struggle, but as he lifted her off her feet she sucked in air and her voice sharpened to a squeak: “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry about this, cher,” he told her as he dumped her, feet first and sputtering, into the garbage can. The top of the can reached a little above her waist. There was, he saw with relief, plenty—well, enough anyway—of room for her to fit all the way inside if she hunkered down. He was pleased to discover that he had calculated correctly. Despite the fact that speed was increasingly of the essence, the sudden impulse to try to keep her as safe as he could made him lean over and zip her body vest back up.
Never could tell when or where bullets might start to fly.
“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded as she watched his hands at work on her zipper. Why she was wearing a slinky silk top low-cut enough to show some very nice cleavage, along with a snug little skirt that ended a pretty fair distance north of her knees, was something that he would have liked to ask about, but he didn’t have the time. Just like he didn’t have time to think about, much less enjoy, the electric zing that he experienced as his knuckles brushed up the front of that slinky top. “This is a trash can. You just put me in a trash can. You have to be insane. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the answer. You are totally, certifiably insane.”
“Uh, Dick, I’m not seeing where you’re going with this,” Holly said uneasily while Reed, having finished with the zipper, tucked the reinforced front of her vest back in place and chucked Caroline under her chin by way of a reply.
She scowled at him.
“Look, Holly, just because he’s gone nuts doesn’t mean you can’t save yourself.” Caroline turned those big eyes of hers on Holly, who was breathing hard enough now that if Ree
d had been in possession of a brown paper bag, he would have passed it to him. “Even if he won’t, you can surrender to me.”
“Leave Holly alone, Caroline.” Reaching into the backpack again, Reed grabbed the roll of duct tape he’d stashed away in there, said to her, “I need you to scrunch on down inside there,” and tore off a strip.
“What?” She stared at him like he’d just grown a second head. “No. What is the point of—”
He couldn’t have her yelling her head off or he and Holly would be screwed, and he didn’t trust her enough just to order her to be silent and assume she’d obey. Sliding one hand behind her head, he did what he had to do and plastered the strip over her mouth.
“Mmm.” Jerking away from his hold, she made an inarticulate sound while her eyes blazed at him.
“Scrunch down,” he told her. She shook her head violently at him.
“Scrunch down,” he barked. It was the harshest tone he had used to her yet, but he was getting a bad feeling here. His skin crawled, and that meant, if he used past experience as a guide and coupled that with what he knew of the present situation, something he wasn’t going to like was heading his way.
He could almost feel that red dot on his forehead.
She shook her head at him again. The sudden jut of her jaw—he remembered that defiant jut of her jaw and what it signified the instant he saw it directed at him—told him that if he wanted her crouched inside that garbage can, he was going to have to put her there.
There was no way he was going to get physical with Caroline. But his other choices for getting her to do what he needed her to do were limited. In fact, they were almost nonexistent.
God, he hated pulling his gun on her. But needs must and all that, and he had Holly and now Ant, too, whose lives were on the line just as much as his. And it beat stuffing her down inside that can with his bare hands.
His one concern was that she wouldn’t believe he would actually shoot her—well, he wouldn’t, no matter how this played out, although it was best for both of them if she retained some doubt on that point—but he pointed his gun at her like he absolutely would.
And pretended not to notice Holly gulping in air like a fish out of water.
“Scrunch down,” he ordered menacingly.
Glaring at him, she—thank God!—scrunched.
“Holly, hand me the lid,” he said, not taking his eyes off Caroline. When Holly did, he restored his gun to his holster and stepped forward to seal her in.
She fit, barely, with her back against the plastic and her knees—slim pale knees on a pair of very nice legs, he noted once again in passing—wedged almost beneath her chin. Her face was tilted up to look at him. It was tight with anger. Her eyes shot sparks at him.
“Stay put and be quiet,” he told her.
Her glare intensified. So did the jut of her jaw.
Holly was beside him now, looking down at Caroline, too. His face was a study in alarm.
“I’ll get you out of there just as soon as I can,” Reed promised her, just because he couldn’t help himself. Her glare didn’t soften one bit. “Hang tight.”
Stifling his misgivings—if there was another way out, he hadn’t been able to come up with it—Reed put the lid, in which he’d previously stabbed holes for ventilation so at least he didn’t have to worry about her suffocating, on the trash can, fastened it in place, and tried not to think about Caroline shut up in there in the dark. Then he slung the backpack over his shoulder.
With Caroline secured, he needed to move fast.
“Help me pick it up,” he said to Holly. “Grab the handle. Come on.”
With Caroline inside, the can was heavy, but not so heavy that the two of them, one on each side, couldn’t move it with relative ease. They didn’t have far to go.
“Stay right here with her,” he ordered Holly as they set their burden down again. Except for a few thumps from inside the can, there had been no problems. He was breathing a little easier: this part of the plan, so far, was holding up. “Don’t open the lid no matter what she does, and don’t go anywhere. Got it?”
“Where are you going?” Holly asked, sounding and looking panicky.
“Do what I told you. I’ll be right back. And, oh yeah, there might be some explosions. Wait for me.”
He threw the words over his shoulder as he took off running toward the opposite side of the house. His objective was the utility room that was the smallest by far of about a dozen rooms that opened onto the pool area, where the helicopter and the money—and SWAT and a bunch of snipers and God knew what else—waited for him. As he ran, he pulled his Leatherman knife out of the backpack and stuck it into his jacket pocket. When he reached the utility room—it wasn’t as dark as he would have expected; moonlight poured through the glass insert in the outside door—he drew his gun and unlocked the big closet that from its contents he’d discovered was used to store pool chemicals. Warily, in case a surprise was waiting, he pulled the closet door open.
Five of his hostages—the ones who’d been on the floor, minus Ellen Tremaine, whom he had judged to be too difficult to control—were crammed in there, seated on the floor, wrists secured behind them and ankles bound with zip ties, strips of duct tape covering their mouths. He knew none of them: they would be part of The Big Easy’s high society, which meant they ran in radically different circles from him. There were four women and two men, both of whom were reasonably close to his size and build, both in black tuxes like the one he was wearing. In the dark, as the saying sort of went about cats, all men in tuxes looked alike, or at least alike enough to hopefully make for a few confusing moments.
The hostages glanced up at him almost as one, faces pale in the darkness, eyes fearful.
Their expressions didn’t bother him, or at least only a little: he had already come to terms with the fact that from their point of view, he was a dangerous criminal. He’d made peace with it knowing that tonight his first duty was to Holly and Ant, and to himself.
“This is your lucky day,” he told them as, knife in hand, he bent down to slash through the thin plastic strips securing their ankles one by one. “I’m going to let you go before I blow this house to kingdom come. On your feet. Get out of here. Hurry up.”
They clambered awkwardly upright and spilled out into the utility room. Gesturing with his gun, he lined them up against the wall.
“You see that door?” He pointed at the door to the outside. Though he dared not get too close to the glass—he was wary of the snipers he knew were out there—he was able to see the glinting metal of the helicopter’s body. The blades weren’t rotating, which meant that there was going to be no quick takeoff. That’ll fix me, was his sardonic inner response to what he recognized as his fellow officers’ attempt to keep him on the ground. Then he added, “That’s your way out. It’s locked. All you have to do is turn the knob and it’ll unlock. You turn the knob, pull the door open, and run like hell.” Having their hands secured behind them would slow them down a little, which he was counting on, but it shouldn’t present much of an obstacle. Just to be sure, just in case it was possible that he was dealing with a bunch of nitwits who couldn’t figure it out, he thrust the knife into his pocket so that he had a hand free. Still holding his gun, he turned so they could see his back and, one-handed, demonstrated reaching for and turning an imaginary knob in a way that mimicked his hand being secured behind him as theirs were, waggling his fingers for emphasis. “Like this. Got it?”
Several of them nodded hesitantly.
“Good enough,” he said as his gaze ran over them: they looked like they were ready to run for their lives. He decided to heap a little more fuel on the fire. “The house is set to blow in about one minute. If I were you, I’d head straight for that helicopter out there. That’s the best path if you want to avoid the explosives I have set up outside. Good luck.”
Then he left them, closing and locking the door to the utility room behind him just in case any of them should get it into their h
eads to try to take refuge in the house. He had no explosives outside, of course, the same as he’d had no bomb in the house. Just one more lie in a night full of them, this particular one designed to keep the hostages from running straight into the arms of the hidden battalion of law enforcement ringing the helicopter for as long as possible. Knowing that the moment of truth was at hand, that what he was about to do would cause all hell to break loose almost instantaneously and either get him and Holly out of there or get them killed, he took a deep breath, holstered his weapon, breathed a prayer, and grabbed two flash bangs from the dozen or so in his backpack. Then he set off at a dead run back the way he had come.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
By the time he reached Holly, he had tossed all the flash bangs he had with him and was basically deaf from the volume of the explosions, despite the twin facts that he had thrown the stun grenades as far away from himself as he could manage and had stuffed earplugs in his ears to boot. Even with what he could hear, it sounded like Armageddon. Explosions were still going off like popcorn, courtesy of the flash bang he’d lobbed onto the bag of M-800 firecrackers he’d left at the top of the stairs. The house was filled with acrid smoke. SWAT was no doubt at that very moment crashing its way inside, adding to the noise and mayhem, and the hostages he’d released should be hightailing it toward the helicopter as fast as they could go.
“Holy God, Dick, what the hell?” Holly was crouched beside the garbage can, Reed saw at a glance as he bolted back into the room, pulling out the earplugs as he came and dropping them into the now almost empty backpack, which he slung over one shoulder. To Reed’s traumatized ears, Holly’s exclamation was barely audible. The kid sprang to his feet as Reed ran toward him. Even in the dark, he could see how white Holly’s face was, how scared he looked. He understood completely: his own heart jackhammered and his pulse raced.
He could almost feel death breathing down his neck.
“We got to go. Grab the can,” he ordered Holly, skidding to a stop beside the garbage can and latching on to the handle on its side while ignoring the angry thumping coming from inside it. “We’re going to run outside holding this can between us. All you have to do is hang on to the can, keep your head down, and run like hell. I’ll do the rest. But we got to move.”
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