MIDNIGHT CHOICES

by Eileen Wilks

  This was his last chance. If the chief knew how badly he was shaking inside, he'd send him away – leaving Gwen and Zach at the mercy of a head case who'd already shot one man. Duncan heard himself say flatly, "I'm good. Whether I'm good enough remains to be seen."

  "All right, then. For the record, you've just been deputized. You'll need a rifle."

  Jeff spoke. "I sent someone to Duncan's house to get his rifle. He should be here any minute."

  "I can give you a Colt AR15."

  Duncan shook his head. "My Remington's a bolt action. More accurate, and I'm used to it." His eyes were busy, searching out possible positions. "He's on the west end of the store?" he asked the chief.

  "Yes. He's staying down, maintaining cover. We get a glimpse of him now and then – he's keeping track of us – but not enough for one of us to target him."

  "He's a nutcase," Jeff added, "but he's a helluva shooter. He's got a feel for line-of-sight."

  They'd need a head shot. It was the only way to be sure the gunman didn't kill any of the hostages. "You're in communication with him?"

  "One of the hostages has her cell phone with her. Detective Parker knows her slightly, so we were able to get the number and call him on it."

  Gwen's phone. Duncan felt sick, dizzy. He didn't glance at Jeff – who apparently hadn't told his chief that Duncan's nephew and the woman he was involved with were in there.

  So far, Duncan's take-charge brother hadn't said a word. The chief turned to him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  "Benjamin McClain," Ben snapped. "That's my—"

  "He's my brother," Duncan said quickly. "He has some medical training." First aid, anyway. "He won't interfere." If the chief knew Ben's son was in there, he'd figure out Duncan's connection to two of the hostages soon enough. Chances were, he'd undeputize him immediately. "How did your patrolman get hit? Where was he?"

  Ben must have realized what Duncan was doing, because he didn't say a word and stayed behind when Duncan moved away with the two cops. Duncan paced along the barricade, absorbing the details Jeff and the chief gave him, looking for his spot. A radio crackled inside one car. The officers were mostly silent, now and then making the kind of stupid jokes men did to ease the tension.

  The officer who'd been shot had had the right idea. The best angle on the aisle where the gunman was holed up was blocked by Gwen's rental car, parked in front of the store. The officer had tried to get behind it, but there was no cover between it and them.

  There was one other possibility. Duncan stopped when he found it.

  One of the patrol cars occupied the spot. He glanced at Jeff, who had the officers move out of his way, then climbed into the car.

  Yes. He saw movement – a sleeve. An elbow, covered in dark material. The gunman had to stay on one end of the aisle to keep an eye on them, and from here Duncan had a narrow slice of that space. Inches only – the checkout counter blocked most of it. He'd have to wait for the man to move into exactly the right spot.

  Duncan climbed back out of the car. "The best chance will be when he comes out. Even if he uses a hostage as a shield…" His voice flattened as his mind threw that image up at him: Gwen, pallid with fear, held tightly in front of a killer with a gun to her head. Or Zach, crying, terrified… He made himself go on. "He can't shield himself from all sides. With a clean head shot, there's a good chance he'd never be able to squeeze the trigger."

  The chief and Jeff exchanged glances. "We're working on drawing him out," the older man said. "But in my judgment he's unstable. He wants a helicopter set down in the parking lot. I'm making arrangements, but the bastards at—" His lips closed tightly on whatever he'd been about to say. "It will take some time to get a chopper here. He's growing impatient. He's threatened to shoot one of the hostages to prove he means business. If you have a chance at taking him out before the helicopter arrives, I want you to take it."

  There was a dry roaring in Duncan's ears. Six months ago he would have been confident he could make the shot – if the gunman moved into position. Now he didn't know. His palms were damp. His heart was pounding. He didn't understand how the others could miss seeing that he was in a terrified funk. "I need my rifle."

  * * *

  His name was Frank. He'd feared the father who had "whupped him good" for talking back and was delighted the man was dead now. He had two brothers, whom he hated, and a dog he was going to miss when he made it to Mexico.

  He seemed to believe that was possible – that the cops would really let him leave in the helicopter he'd demanded, and that it could take him to Mexico. If he was aware of the limitations imposed by fuel and distance, it didn't show.

  He was twenty-two and not very smart.

  Not entirely stupid, though – about ten minutes ago he'd made Gwen bring him a small mirror from another aisle. He used it to keep an eye on the front of the store without exposing himself as often.

  Gwen had fallen back on the oldest rule on the books. When in doubt about how to handle a man, get him to talk about himself. Frank liked talking about himself. Sometimes he even liked it better than hurting or terrorizing people.

  Zach was pressed tight against Gwen's side. He'd been silent ever since Frank made her leave him to get the mirror. Such stillness wasn't like Zach, and it worried her. So did the old man. He was unconscious. A dried trickle of blood on his forehead marked where the gunman had pistol-whipped him for speaking without permission, and his complexion was chalky. The clerk was moaning softly and hugging herself. Gwen didn't think she was aware of anything except her fear anymore.

  Gwen was keeping Frank talking. It was all she could think of to do. "You like hot weather?" she asked brightly. "Mexico has plenty of sunshine."

  "I like things hot." He leered at her, but it was perfunctory. He was antsy, shifting on his haunches, tilting the mirror this way and that. "You won't have to worry about cold toes in Mexico – me and the sunshine'll keep you plenty warm. If they ever get here…" His mood switched abruptly. He stuck his head around the corner of the shelves and pulled it back quickly. "Stupid sons of bitches. My copter should've been here by now. They're tryin' to mess with me. Won't let them get away with that, no sir."

  He pushed to his feet. "C'mere, bitch."

  It was chilly in the car, but a drop of sweat trickled down Duncan's temple. He ignored it. As long as it didn't get in his eyes, it wasn't a problem. His rifle was propped on the partially unrolled window. Lying prone would have been better, steadier, but the angle from the ground was wrong.

  He hadn't spoken, moved or shifted his gaze for twenty-three minutes.

  Twice he'd had the target's back in his sights. More often, it was his arm or his shoulder. The bastard had put his head out three times, but he was clever enough to use different spots. And he was quick, too quick. Duncan hadn't been able to site on him in time.

  Or maybe Duncan was too slow. Too unsure. So many lives depended on him. Gwen's life. Zach's. Duncan inhaled slowly, careful not to let it disturb his aim.

  Pat was back. Not the Pat with the ruined face who appeared in his dreams, but Pat the way Duncan remembered him.

  Not really, of course. Maybe because this felt like old times, though, it was easy to imagine his friend sitting in the front seat giving him a hard time. Maybe saying something like, Tensing up across the shoulders, ace.

  Duncan relaxed his muscles. Tense muscles made for jerky reactions. Sooner or later, the bastard inside that store would give him something to react to.

  At least he knew Gwen was alive. He'd seen her. About ten minutes ago she'd come to the front of the store and grabbed what looked like a mirror. She'd cast one quick, frightened look outside and hurried back to the aisle where the gunman waited.

  She hadn't looked hurt. For a few seconds his hands had trembled in the rush of relief.

  They were steady when a head, dark-haired, popped around the corner of the aisle. Duncan shifted his aim a fraction – and the head was gone.

  "Son o
f a bitch." Despair tasted like rusty iron.

  Give it a rest. You can't win every hand.

  If Pat had really been there, he would have said something like that. He was always comparing life to poker. You play the hand you're dealt, he used to say, and if it's a bust, fold if you can afford to, bluff if you can't.

  They'd damned near all gone bust that last time out, hadn't they? No bluff possible, and folding meant death. Pat had drawn the big losing hand that time. Pain rode Duncan, familiar yet still fresh.

  Give it a rest, will you? If I'd been the one down, you would've come for me. Hell, you'd done it before. You got lucky, didn't get your face blown off playing hero that time. I drew a bad hand. Duncan imagined Pat's shrug. So?

  It wasn't really Pat saying that, of course. But it felt so much like what he might say – he used to drive them all crazy singing that Kenny Rogers song over and over, the one about the gambler who broke even. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd been able to carry a tune. Duncan's lips twitched up ever so slightly.

  Movement. A hand, this time, a flash of light. The mirror Gwen had retrieved – the bastard was using it to keep an eye on them. Duncan's whole being focused on the inches of space in his sites.

  * * *

  "I said, git over here!"

  "No, Mom!" Zach clung to her, his breath hitching. "No, Mom, don't!"

  "Ditch the rugrat or I'll do it for you."

  His expression was ugly, and his eyes, those crawling, insect eyes… "We're going to be all right, honey. We have to do what the man says right now, but we'll be fine." She pressed a kiss to his forehead and passed him to the clerk. The young woman roused from her daze enough to take him, looking bewildered, but she held him, rocked him. "There, there, honey. There, there…"

  Zach was sniffling, but no longer sobbing. Gwen stood. Her knees were shaky.

  As soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her, making her crouch like he was. He smelled bad. The barrel of the gun touched her temple as his hand released her. She was faint with fear.

  "You tell them I mean business." She heard the beep-beep-beep of the auto-dial. He thrust her cell phone into her hand. "I already called 'em. Now get out there." He shoved her, hard.

  She half-staggered, half-fell into the center aisle near the checkout. The gun was trained on her. The eyes of the man holding it looked wild now, not dead at all.

  * * *

  Movement. An arm, down low – he was crouched down. Duncan lowered the tip of the barrel slightly. A flashing glimpse of part of the man's back—

  And Gwen tumbled across his line of sight.

  Duncan's head went light. The barrel of his rifle didn't move.

  All he could see was her leg. The rest of her was blocked by the counter. Then, slowly, she stood and he saw her shoulders, her face. He didn't, couldn't let himself focus on her. His attention stayed fixed on the arm, covered in a dark sleeve – part of the body now, too. A shoulder.

  He sited carefully a little less than a foot above that shoulder.

  Gwen was holding something to her face. A phone. Her cell phone.

  * * *

  "H-he says he means business," Gwen stammered. She stared at the shattered glass at the front of the store, where a bullet had passed. The edges of things had turned unnaturally sharp and clear. Her mouth felt fuzzy and her head seemed slightly distant from her body, the way it did when she had the flu.

  There were lights, so many flashing lights, across the street. So many officers there to help her and Zach get out of this. And none of them could do a thing.

  "Are you all right, Ms. Van Allen?" a man's voice asked urgently from the phone.

  "I – he hasn't hurt me. The old man – he knocked the old man out. But…" He's going to kill me. He's going to shoot me to prove he means business.

  "Ask him if he can see you, bitch!"

  "H-he wants to know if you can see me." Not in front of Zach. Please, God, please. If I have to die, don't let it happen in front of Zach.

  "We can see you. Ms. Van Allen, try to draw him out. We have a sharpshooter out here. If you can get the gunman to move even slightly, we can take it from there."

  "What did he say? Where's my damned copter?"

  Duncan. Duncan was out there. Numbly she looked at the gunman. "He says he sees me. I'll ask about the copter." As she did, hope hit – a huge tidal wave that almost took her down as her knees went soft.

  Duncan was out there. All she had to do was make the gunman move, just a little. Draw him out. Duncan would do the rest.

  "Tell him the copter's on its way."

  "Yes. Okay. Frank, it's on its way. I…" She looked right at the gunman and let her knees fold under her.

  * * *

  Gwen sank out of sight. Duncan's gun never wavered. His mouth was dust-dry and his heart pounded as if he'd been running for an hour. He didn't blink.

  This is it, Sarge.

  "What you doing, bitch?" the gunman screamed. "Stand up where they can see you!"

  "I – I can't. So dizzy…" She leaned on one am, holding the phone loosely in her other hand. Blinking, she let all the dazed terror she'd been repressing wash over her until she thought she really might faint. "Here. You … you better talk to him. I can't…"

  She tossed the phone at him – a weak toss. It landed just out of his reach.

  "Stupid bitch!" He leaned out, his arm extended.

  Now!

  A dark head, moving fast. Duncan tracked it. And squeezed the trigger.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  «^

  Duncan reached Gwen almost as quickly as she reached Zach. She was crouched on the floor, holding Zach and rocking him, keeping his head turned away from the body she'd had to step over to get to him. Gently Duncan pulled her to her feet, put an arm around her and led her with Zach in her arms away from the bloody mess that was all that was left of the man named Frank.

  Then his arms went around them both – tight, crushing tightly. And what seemed like the entire Highpoint Police Department came racing through the doors – and Ben was with them.

  Charlie showed up fifteen minutes later. The three McClain brothers stayed with her and Zach, shielding them when reporters shouted questions, helping her navigate the official maze – the police, the paramedics who wanted to transport them to the hospital. God knew why, since they had no injuries. But it helped, it helped enormously, to have Duncan's arm around her, his quiet presence steadying her.

  He'd saved her life. Probably Zach's, too. At the time, she didn't think of what kind of a toll it must have taken on him.

  Zach, thank God, hadn't seen the man killed. The clerk – her name was Lorna, Gwen learned later that night – had kept his head pressed to her shoulder, fearing that his mother was about to be shot.

  In the end, Ben took them all home. Home to his house, that is. Gwen didn't protest. Ben had been through a terrible ordeal, too, with his son held hostage. He didn't need to be shut out. But she'd been surprised and so glad when Duncan looked at Ben and said, "I'll be staying with Gwen tonight."

  Ben just nodded.

  So all night she had the warm comfort of Duncan's body curled protectively around her, with Zach cuddled close on the other side. She kept jerking awake, so it helped to have him there.

  She and Zach both slept late. When she woke up at nine, Duncan was gone. Not just gone from her bed, she discovered when she followed Zach downstairs. He'd left the house.

  At ten-thirty she pulled up in the unpaved parking area next to the cemetery at the west side of town.

  The sun was bright and, for once, truly warm. There were a few trees, all either in bud or with tiny new leaves unfurling. The cemetery boasted one ornate mausoleum, but most of the gravesites were marked by tombstones. Some of the older ones, near the blunt rise of a cliff that bordered the grounds to the west, had simple crosses.

  The landscaping was sparse, almost barren, compared to the last place like this she'd seen at Hillary's funeral. But th
e Rockies rose all around them, grand and enormous, and the sky rolled white puffs of cloud overhead. There was beauty here, too, she thought. And power.

  Duncan was on the north side, sitting on the ground. The grass was a mingling of winter brown and fresh green as spring forced itself on the land. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she took the path that led north. He saw her long before she reached him.

  His eyes were very pale in the sunlight. "I suppose Ben or Charlie told you where I'd gone."

  She nodded and stopped a few steps away from him. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding, but I've quit trying to do the right thing. Where people are concerned, anyway."

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You have?"

  "I had one of those lightbulb moments. If all the problems we make for ourselves and each other were put into a multiple-choice test, every one of the answers would be both 'none of the above' and 'all of the above.' There isn't one right answer, so I'm not going to waste time trying to find it anymore. All I can do is keep trying things and hope something works. That's why I'm here."

  "You're welcome here," he said quietly.

  She sat beside him on the ground beside a grave with a double headstone. The first line read, "Kelly McClain, beloved husband and father." Inscribed beneath that line was the next: "Mary Elizabeth Bright McClain, cherished wife and mother."

  Gwen licked her lips. Resolutions and revelations aside, it was hard to know where to start. "I called my mother this morning and told her about … about what happened. She'll be here tonight."

  "That's good. At least, I guess it is?"

  "It's good. Zach has been missing her. I have, too," she admitted. That had surprised her more than it should have. "She'll butt heads with Ben, I expect. They both like being in charge. But she'll be very polite about it."

  "That should be something to see."

  He sounded amused, but she couldn't tell what was going on behind those calm, pale eyes of his. "Duncan, are you all right? And be warned," she added, "if you say you're fine, I'll hit you."