Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  At the communications officer's nod, Ryan spoke. "Captain Ryan Lucas, Oklahoma City P.D."

  "I know who you are, Captain."

  Hadn't he known? He'd never forget the graveled voice from the past. He closed his eyes for a moment—shutting out the sun gleaming on the roofs of the cars around him, the noises of the men a few feet away as they spoke in low tones, the sound of city traffic at least four blocks away.

  "Hello, Hardin."

  Hardin chuckled. "Very good, Captain."

  "What're you doing here?"

  "All business, aren't you, Ryan? You haven't asked after my health, or how these hostages are doing." His tone was smug. "I would think they'd be your top priority rather than how I…ah, put an early end to my incarceration, hmm?"

  Ryan gritted his teeth. "How many people do you have in there?"

  "Six people," Hardin sneered. "And three pigs. You know what we do to pigs, don't you, Ryan? Or at least, what I did to that last pig…and his wife… Remember that dear, sweet woman?"

  He clamped his jaw together. "I remember."

  "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Silverman send their regards, Ryan."

  "Are they all right?" He had to keep emotion out of this and try not to let the sickness get a grip on him again. His voice sounded steady to his own ears. Good enough to fool Hardin.

  "Of course!" Hardin's exclamation was edged in laughter. "I had to shoot the old bastard in the kneecap. He was going for his gun. But other than that…"

  Ryan could almost see Hardin's dismissive shrug through the telephone line.

  The son of a bitch held every card in the deck and he knew it. He forced his tone not to betray the encompassing hopelessness he was beginning to feel. "Hardin, why don't you release the women and the Silvermans? We'll talk, I promise…but let the women and Mr. Silverman come out."

  For a long minute, Hardin seemed to be considering it. Then, he laughed softly. "Ryan, who says I want to talk?"

  * * * * *

  "Are you all right, Mrs. Montgomery?" Lindy clasped her frail, outstretched hand. The older woman seemed lost in thought. Lindy hated Hardin for the way he had demoralized them.

  Mrs. Montgomery seemed to be all right as she gave Lindy a smile, reaching to grasp her fingers and giving them a shake. "Oh, posh! I'm fine. Save your worry, child." She looked up at Lindy through aged blue eyes behind coke-bottle lenses. "By the way, did you ever read To Kill a Mockingbird?"

  Lindy gave a bewildered nod, not understanding why she'd ask.

  Mrs. Montgomery went on. "Atticus told his children time and again, 'It's not time to worry yet.' Remember?"

  Lindy smiled. It had always been one of her favorite books. "Yes. I remember."

  "Well, it's not time for us to worry, either. Not yet." Mrs. Montgomery inclined her head imperiously, peering across the top of her glasses at Lindy.

  She didn't contradict the old woman, although she wanted to, badly. She glanced at Jesse and he gave her a faint, understanding grin. If it wasn't time yet, when would it be? How much worse could things get before it would be deemed 'time to worry'?

  She moved toward him, glancing at the Silvermans before she took her place beside him again. Mary Silverman's eyes were bleak as she stared into space. Abe absently patted his wife's hand.

  * * * * *

  Jesse winced, moving to settle Lindy against him. Soft. Warm. Alive.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured. Her words barely registered, overshadowed by the physical comfort he drew from her as she sat beside him. The weariness dragged at him as though this morning had been a week long. Lindy's eyes held his. She was reading him easily enough.

  "Lean on me," she whispered, just before he did, anyway.

  He couldn't hold himself upright any longer. He'd lean, just for a few seconds, then he'd be okay. He shouldn't, but…he needed her.

  Hardin hung up the phone with his last, cryptic words, leaving Jesse no doubt about what he intended. If he wasn't interested in any kind of negotiations, it could only mean one thing. Jesse closed his eyes, giving Lindy part of his weight. The relief rushed through him, tempered with the knowledge that it wouldn't last long. Hardin planned to kill them, no matter what. He was too sure of himself about getting out of this jam, too cocky to be in this position—seemingly, with no way out other than his hostages. And not interested in talking.

  "He's going to kill us all, isn't he?" Lindy's voice was low and soft. Jesse cracked one eye open, then the other.

  He started to deny it, but couldn't. She trusted him to be truthful with her above all else. He studied her, noticing for the first time a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, like pixie dust. He stopped the smile, not wanting to hurt her. She was so serious. Falling silent a moment, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His lungs were suddenly starved for oxygen. "Yeah. I think…that's what he's got in mind."

  Lindy nodded and looked down. Jesse couldn't tolerate the thought of her being caught up in this.

  He squeezed her wrist. "Hey. It hasn't happened yet. There's still hope as long as they're out there." He nodded toward the street. "Ryan Lucas is in charge. He's the best, Lindy. He'll get us out of here…if there's a way."

  "You know him, then?"

  The smile came this time. He couldn't help himself. So serious… Like she was getting references for a job applicant or something. "Yeah. I know him. He used to be my partner, when I first joined the force. Then he went management and I went undercover." He brushed his hair back. "Right about now, I'm thinking he was a helluva lot smarter than I was."

  Lindy shook her head. "No. Not smarter. Just…different, Jesse." She leaned into his body, as if she took comfort from his warmth. "I hope…I hope he figures out something." She'd started to say something else, stopping abruptly. When she'd uttered those two words, I hope, Jesse figured she could have listed many things that she hoped.

  "That man cut Tony's hand like it was no more than a piece of steak." Her voice trembled, a shiver going through her. He moved to accommodate her shift to get closer to him. Resting his chin on the top of her head for a moment, he figured he knew where her thoughts had gone, how they must be tumbling over one another with every horrific imagining she might entertain. All of them could be pretty close to actuality.

  This feeling of helplessness was odd, yet somehow familiar. Maddening. The last time he'd felt this way was four years ago, when Erica had killed herself, and he'd had to give up the baby.

  Or, thought he'd had to. He leaned back, settling Lindy close to him as he supported his back against the bar. That was another decision he sorely regretted, giving up his child. Yet, it might be the best thing that could have happened, especially with the way things were going down today. At least, his son would have two parents rather than none. Thinking of it like that only made him more determined to put Hardin down—for good. Before he could hurt anyone else.

  He could smell the sweet scent of Lindy's shampoo. Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to recreate the error in judgment he'd already made once today washed over him. He wanted to feel her lips under his, taste their fullness, and experience the sweetness of her yielding to him.

  "I want you to know something."

  Lindy looked up into his eyes, their lips only a breath away from one another. Jesse fought the hot desire to kiss her again. There was no doubt she wanted it as much as he did; it showed in her expression, in every taut line of her body. But he wouldn't close the distance. He held himself in check with an iron will. What he could promise her was very limited.

  He moistened his lips. "I'll do what I can…to protect you. It may not be much, but whatever I can do, I will." A pitiful excuse for the comfort he wanted to offer, but there wasn't any point in lying about it. She knew the score, as well as he did. This was as good as it got, under these conditions.

  She closed her eyes, and for a minute, he thought she was going to cry. Her throat worked, as she squeezed her eyelids shut tightly. She was strong—now. But she didn't understand. Tabor
Hardin and his men had ways to rid a person of their defiance, their strength, their humanity—very quickly.

  She opened her eyes again and looked into his. The connection between them was solid now. The words he'd spoken echoed in his own ears like a solemn vow. Lindy's expression both melted his heart and struck a terrible fear there. Without a word, she was making a promise to him, too. A promise to do whatever she could to protect him.

  But Lindy didn't know Tabor Hardin. Not like he did.

  * * * * *

  "We could shoot in some gas—" Jim Rogers broke off as a couple of the other officers looked to their captain, then back at him again.

  Ryan gave him a grim smile. He'd expected this practicality from Jim. "Normally—yes. But Tabor Hardin has an uncommonly strong constitution, it seems." He paced a few steps away, fighting the returning dizziness. "There've been two previous situations where tear gas has been used. Everyone but Hardin came out. Law enforcement couldn't go in after him until they put on masks. Man's a piece of work."

  "But, there's got to be something—"

  He shook his head. "Well, it won't be gas. My fear is that either he would shoot the hostages in anger, or kill as many as he could in the chaos as they tried to escape the building."

  Rogers' broad shoulders slumped; Ryan knew exactly how he felt. "Won't talk. Won't bargain. And we can't even make him cry and give up."

  He smiled, hiding his anxiety. He was worried, but keeping his cool. Holding onto a level head right now was more important. Tony Johnson and John Caspar had to be two of the three policemen Hardin had alluded to. But who else? Who could the third one be?

  Johnson had radioed a 10-7, out of the car briefly, at approximately eight-forty. GPS showed their cruiser parked in a lot a block away. Aside from them and the Silvermans, the identities of the other hostages remained a mystery.

  "He's not going to let them go," Ryan muttered to himself.

  "Beg your pardon, Cap?"

  He shook his head. "I was just thinking out loud. It would help us to know who those hostages are, but I don't think it matters—not to Hardin. He doesn't seem to want anything."

  "No." Rogers agreed thoughtfully. "It's almost like he's waiting for something…waiting for us to make a move, or for something else to happen."

  "But I made the move. I called him," Ryan mused.

  "Captain!"

  He turned quickly at the stricken tone in the young officer's voice behind him at the comm center. "What is it, Hollowell?"

  "Captain, 9-1-1 call states that Happy Times Daycare has been taken over by gunmen. Three teachers there shot and killed—"

  "Where is it?"

  "Backs up to the deli, sir."

  "I ordered those buildings evacuated!"

  "Yeah. They tried. Two officers killed in the line of duty, Captain. Brown and Dailey."

  He sighed heavily, resting his hands on the table that held Hollowell's equipment. "Anything else?"

  "None of the kids were hurt, but they forced one of the teachers to make the 9-1-1 call, then shot her. The operator reports hearing children crying in the background."

  Ryan slapped a hand against the table, then pointed at one of the other comm officers. "I want a list of the kids in that daycare. I want to know who's enrolled, who's there, and who's out sick today—and I want to know why, even if it's a hangnail." He turned back to Hollowell. "I want a direct open line to emergency services so we can hear everything first-hand, and I want the recording of that daycare call ASAP. There may be something on it that can help us."

  "My guess is we just found out what Hardin is waiting for," Rogers said quietly. "That's a pretty ritzy daycare from what I hear. Could be some kid in there whose parents can afford a ransom."

  "Yeah, and plenty who can't," Ryan muttered, running his hand through his hair quickly. "They're the ones I'm worried about, Jim. Hardin and his men aren't the kind to get hung up on the little things. They'll gun those kids down in the interest of expediency."

  Rogers nodded grimly. "Or just for the hell of it."

  Chapter Five

  Leon Jackson dropped back onto the deli kitchen floor from the open ceiling tile, light on his feet. Hardin raised a brow in question, not liking Jackson's perturbed expression.

  "Something wrong, Leon?"

  "Hell, yeah, somethin's wrong!" The short, thin man nodded toward the back of the deli in agitation. "What I got to say ain't for anyone else to hear."

  Hardin followed Jackson to the back of the restaurant, waiting for him to explain what had him so upset. Jackson paced a few steps, then stopped and turned to look at Hardin.

  "Thought you knew Allan Rupert."

  Hardin's eyes narrowed. Jackson had always been a loose cannon, but he'd never been insubordinate. "I do. I met him in prison. He was released a year ago, but we'd made our plans for this job beforehand. Why?"

  "He suckered you, Tay. Suckered you good."

  By God, he wouldn't tolerate it! Jackson had overstepped his bounds.

  He took two angry steps toward him, but the box knife was already in Jackson's hand.

  "Back off, Hardin."

  Hardin stopped, forcing himself to calmness. He couldn't afford problems with his own crew. Not now. "What are you talking about?"

  Jackson relaxed a small measure, clicked the knife shut, and pocketed it. He drew the back of his hand across his mouth nervously. "Rupert. I heard him talkin' to the others while I was in the ceilin'. Heard him tellin' how you were payin' the ultimate price this go-round. You…and the rest of us."

  That just figured. And it explained a lot of things. "What the hell—"

  "He said they don't need us; they can finish up on their own. He says we botched it, 'cause they shoulda had time to get into the daycare and snatch those twins and be gone, before all the cops got here. But it didn't happen that way. Somebody over there pushed the alarm and the cops got there way too soon. Idiots thought it was an accidental call—thought somebody sounded the alarm by mistake. So they just walked in and Rupert's men killed them."

  "Son of a bitch." Hardin stared past Jackson. This hadn't happened the way any of them had planned. Not one damn thing had gone right.

  Jackson continued, "From what I could hear…that part…them cops thinking it was an accident, pissed Rupert off and that's when he made one of the teachers call 9-1-1. Once she did, he made her tell what was happening, and then he shot her while she was on the phone."

  "Just so they'd know this was real?"

  Jackson nodded. "I heard him say, 'They'll know who they're dealing with now!'"

  Hardin gave a snort of contempt. "Yeah. A damned moron." His thoughts were running crazy. He should've known. Should've known! Rupert had gone beyond the pale, but there was a way to fix this. "I have an idea. You think you and Macklin could get over there and take Rupert's men by surprise?"

  Jackson grinned. Nothing made him happier than having the upper hand.

  "Sure. Then what?"

  "Kill 'em, Leon," he said without hesitation. "Then bring those kids back through the roof. We're going to consolidate our operations."

  * * * * *

  Jesse couldn't see Hardin and Jackson, not clearly anyway. He watched them go around the corner, studying their reflections in the one corner piece of glass left in the storefront. Leon Jackson seemed to be delivering some very unwanted news to his boss; so unwelcome, in fact, that Hardin was going after Jackson. Jackson's right hand was instantly fitted with a blade, the one he'd used so casually earlier on Johnson. It appeared at least one of Hardin's men wasn't afraid to take him on. Jesse glanced away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring.

  Something has happened. Whatever had caused this discord was bad enough that Leon Jackson had pulled a weapon on Hardin. Knowing Hardin like he did, Jesse knew he wouldn't stand for that. Jackson was dead when this all ended.

  Another question plagued him. Earlier, when Jackson left, Jesse had heard one of the large sections of ceiling being moved. What had he bee
n looking for? An uneasy thought occurred to him. There was a daycare; his gaze strayed to the dividing wall. It would've been standard operating procedure to evacuate the children and teachers as soon as the Oklahoma City P.D. knew about the mess going down on this side of the block. Still, the prickly feeling in his gut wouldn't disappear, and he knew better than to ignore it.

  Kids would make perfect hostages. The brass was always more willing to negotiate if a child was involved. Jesse forced a calming breath, hoping the daycare had long since been emptied. He wasn't sure about the other children who attended that facility, but he sure as hell knew about one kid—his own.

  He slumped back, closing his eyes, remembering. Sometimes, he just couldn't hold it back. After Erica died, he hadn't known which way was up. Most mornings, the only reason he got out of bed was because his new son, Nash, was hungry, depending on him. But what did he know about babies? Nothing. For that matter, it seemed he knew nothing about women, either—seeing as how Erica had killed herself to get away from him.

  His throat tightened at the memory of the pain. He had loved Erica—at least, in the beginning.

  During those weeks of self-doubt and sorrow following her suicidal drug overdose, he'd visited hell on a daily basis. The emotional roller coaster he'd been on for the first year of their marriage had taken its toll. There had been plenty of ups and downs during her pregnancy. He should have seen the warning signs. He'd never forgive himself. Never.

  He hadn't wanted to see the problems, so he'd ignored them. She cried a lot, but he'd thought it was just the pregnancy. Lindy Oliver would never have acted that way. He'd bet money on it. As if she sensed his dark thoughts, her fingers tightened briefly against his thigh. He relaxed at her touch, but couldn't turn his thoughts off. He opened his eyes to watch Jackson and Hardin again.

  Nash had come along, right on time. The birth had been easy, and Erica had seemed to bounce back remarkably well. Too well. He'd wanted everything to be all right so badly. He had the job he wanted, being a cop. He'd never wanted to do anything else. Couldn't wait to go through his training and get started.