Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  He had the woman he'd wanted, Erica Green—beautiful, blonde, perfect. They'd met at one of his baby brother's parties. Ramie had always been a wild one, as were his friends. But Jesse couldn't resist her.

  He should have realized something was wrong, should've realized it when Erica insisted on keeping her maiden name after they married. It was too much trouble, she'd said, getting everything changed over. Besides, she liked her name.

  He shifted, uncomfortable with the memory, and the merciless throbbing in his shoulder arced to a fierce stab of lightning-hot agony before receding again.

  Secretly, he'd been disappointed. He'd laughed it off, told her he understood. Nightwalker was a lot longer than Green. His mom had sure teased his dad about it enough through the years.

  She'd teased about it—but she'd loved it. Loved his dad. Taken his name and accepted his culture when she'd married him.

  Erica had done neither. She'd wanted no part of the Cherokee and Choctaw blood that mingled in his ancestry, clearly evident in everything about him. When they'd discussed naming their soon-to-be-born son, Jesse had stood firm.

  Erica had wanted to give the baby her last name rather than his and name the child after her father. She'd cried and thrown a tantrum, but this time, he hadn't budged. It was with her loss of that battle between them that, ironically, Jesse realized he had lost her. Sharing his last name with his son had been important to him. She hadn't loved him so much after all. She didn't love him enough to accept him for who he was. How could she ever truly love the part of him that lived in their son?

  "Name him whatever you want!" she'd screamed.

  He'd never forget that night. She'd outdone herself. Broke the entire set of fine china, a wedding gift from her parents. She wanted no part of him anymore, or of the baby, it seemed. She didn't even care what he named their son.

  He could still hear her. Name him whatever you want.

  So he had. He had taken perverse pleasure in selecting a name rich in the two cultures he was unafraid to claim. Nashoba, from the Choctaw language, meaning wolf, and Degataga, from the Cherokee people, meaning standing together. No matter what happened between Erica and him, he'd wanted his boy to know he would stand with him. God knew, his mother wouldn't.

  But he hadn't even been able to do that much. He gave a grim half-smile of self-derision, just thinking about it. Erica's death on the heels of Nash's birth, along with the demands of the lengthy undercover assignment he was in the middle of, had thrown him like nothing else ever had. When his older brother, Jake, and his wife, Melissa, had offered to take Nash for a while, he reluctantly agreed. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He consoled himself with the thought that in a few weeks, he'd bring Nash back home…but it never happened.

  Weeks turned into months, and finally, years. Nash's fifth birthday had happened just a few weeks ago. Now, Jake and Melissa were pressing him for legal custody. He couldn't bring himself to agree. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't bear the thought of the dream he still held disappearing completely. Yet, he knew refusing wasn't fair to his brother and Melissa, either, or to the most important one of all—his son. He deserved a real family.

  Jackson walked away from Hardin, coming toward the front of the deli. Jesse watched him move in the distorted reflection of the glass. Jackson rounded the corner with barely a glance at the row of hostages. He motioned to Macklin, throwing a chummy arm around his shoulder and speaking in a low voice as they headed toward the back storage area, then disappeared inside.

  Lindy looked up at him, a question in her dark eyes. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He would tell her what he surmised, but not right now. He glanced around at the other faces. They were scared, though trying not to show it. All except Lindy. The look she gave him was rock solid. He took a deep breath and relaxed back against the counter again. For the first time in a long, long while, he was scared, too. Maybe because now, he knew Lindy Oliver was depending on him.

  * * * * *

  "I want to know how four cops wound up dead trying to evacuate a daycare."

  The police commissioner's voice was steely and Ryan understood why. It had all been one huge fiasco and four of his men paid with their lives.

  He shut his eyes and held the telephone tightly, his knuckles white. "Jack, I understand. You need some answers, but they could be listening to everything we say if they have a monitor."

  "A chance we'll have to take this time, I'm afraid."

  Ryan took a deep breath before continuing. The silence was awkward and uncomfortable, but he'd known this call would be coming. He'd done his best to prepare for it, even if the answers weren't exactly what Commissioner Jack Rawlins wanted to hear. He didn't want to put department business on the street if Hardin did have monitoring equipment, but Jack was forcing the issue. His stomach cramped and sweat stood on his forehead.

  He began slowly, "From what I understand, car D-48 started the evacuation as ordered, but they weren't expecting the daycare to be the center of a second hostage situation. They walked right into Allan Rupert's hands."

  "Rupert!"

  "Yeah. He was released a little over a year ago and kept clean all that time, or so we thought. Looks like what he was really doing was preparing for this job." Although Ryan hadn't had any way of knowing what was happening, he couldn't rid himself of a stab of self-recrimination for not figuring out that Rupert was up to something. Here it was, blowing up right in their faces.

  "Dammit." Rawlins sighed. "Gimme everything you've got."

  "Fact or theory?" Ryan knew Rawlins. He'd want it all; the only thing in question was the presentation.

  "Start with fact." Rawlins was silent a moment, then added, "Then, I want to hear theory—every last piece of it."

  "Those first two cops, Brown and Dailey, were killed inside the daycare. Rupert killed them right in front of those kids. It's all on the 9-1-1 tape."

  "I'm not understanding something here."

  Ryan shook his head. "I know. It's screwy. My guess is somebody in Rupert's group got trigger happy and killed Brown and Dailey too soon. Knowing Rupert, he probably planned on capturing them rather than outright killing them." He waited. Rawlins was silent, so he went on.

  "I think the bank robbery that went south and our hostage situation in the deli are connected to the daycare. I'm not sure how, just yet."

  Ryan could hear Rawlins's thought processes all the way across town.

  "Ryan, Hardin, and Rupert were at McAlester together the last two years of Rupert's sentence."

  His chest tightened. "Were they on the same block?"

  "Worse than that. They were cellmates for the last six months of Rupert's time."

  Ryan took a deep breath, then let it out on a sigh. He'd been proven right, much as he wished otherwise.

  "Why do you suppose Rupert had the daycare administrator call 9-1-1? They'd already killed the first two officers—why call for two more?" Rawlins had gone quiet and thoughtful, after his earlier angry outburst.

  "I have a couple of theories about that, too, Jack. Could be for the attention, maybe. Cop-kill frenzy—"

  "No matter what, those last two officers shouldn't have treated it so lightly, Ryan. There's always a chance of walking into something. And today was their day." There was a pause before he went on. "Where was car D-48? Didn't they see it?"

  "No." Ryan sighed. "They had parked and were walking down the block, evacuating people. So the car wasn't visible to the second pair of officers."

  "A damned bloody mess..." Rawlins sighed heavily into the phone. "We'll need to use the pony express from here on out—as you said, Hardin may have monitoring equipment. Keep me posted, Ryan, but send a runner. And…Godspeed."

  "So long, Jack." Ryan shut the phone, glad to have that call out of the way. He thought of Jesse Nightwalker and wondered if he shouldn't notify dispatch to put a call through to his old friend, to warn him. He then thought better of it since it didn't matter now anyway, not as long as they knew wh
ere Hardin was.

  And Ryan didn't think he'd be going anywhere soon.

  Chapter Six

  Jesse awoke to the feel of satin under his fingers. Fine, soft satin that would slide across a body on a downy mattress…

  He moved to pull it to him and pain roared through the nerve endings of his back and ribs. He made a low, guttural sound in his throat, swallowing it back as he came fully aware and realized his fingers were wrapped in Lindy's hair.

  To make matters worse, he had somehow slipped all the way to the floor and cradled Lindy's body close to his own. He sat up, Lindy right beside him, as she quickly disengaged herself from him. Their eyes met and he gave her a slight rueful grin. "Too late now. The damage is done."

  "I don't feel so good," Jennifer mumbled from where she sat nearby.

  Jesse watched as she tried to ease a little closer to Tommy. He allowed it, grudgingly.

  She put a hand to her distended belly and squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing. "It's not time yet," she whispered.

  Tommy's eyes widened as he turned to look at her. "Shit, Jen. Now? You're—you're having it now?"

  Lindy leaned forward carefully. The movement made Jesse breathe hard with the increased pain. It was slow to subside. "When are you due?" he asked harshly.

  Jennifer clutched at her stomach, moaning. Jesse tried to put a hand on her arm, but was drawn up short by the agony in his shoulder. Lindy reached for the girl, squeezing her wrist.

  After a moment, Tommy said, "It's not due for three more weeks." He gave Jennifer a scathing glare.

  She slid to the floor, curling into a tight ball. Tears ran from her eyes as she squeezed them shut.

  Lindy patted her shoulder, then looked at Mary Silverman, expectation in her expression. "Mrs. Silverman? What should we do?"

  The older woman raised her unfocused gaze to Lindy. There was no recognition in her eyes and none of the habitual warmth. She didn't reply. Lindy glanced at Mr. Silverman and he shook his head sadly.

  "Ever since our Bobby was taken, she's had these spells." He lifted a gnarled hand and pulled his wife close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes far away.

  Jennifer gasped and clutched her belly, as if trying to hold the baby inside, a sharp cry escaping her compressed lips.

  "What's going on, here?" Hardin's voice cut through the noise as he strode to the counter, leaning against it.

  "She—she's having the baby!" Tommy stammered.

  Jesse noted the way Hardin's lip curled in distaste at the fact the young boy still seemed unable to admit he'd had anything to do with the baby's existence.

  "Open these cuffs, Hardin, for the love of God! Let me help her!" Caspar's gaze locked with Hardin's for an intense moment, then, grinning, Hardin looked away.

  His gray eyes settled on Jesse. "Bring back memories, Jesse? Hmm? Were you there when Erica…when she had your baby?"

  "No," Jesse answered. "I was working."

  "Worked a lot, didn't you?" Hardin's eyes locked with Jesse's. His lips curved in a secret smile. "You were working the night she…killed herself…weren't you?"

  How would he know that? Uncertainty clouded Jesse's eyes for a moment as his mind absorbed Hardin's words.

  How would Hardin know he was gone that night? Working? How…? He relaxed back against the counter, easing the pain in his shoulder a few degrees.

  "Please, mister," Tommy broke in. "Please let the officer go. If he knows what to do—"

  Hardin's knee came up viciously under the boy's chin, snapping his head back. His foot shot out, catching Tommy in the chest, pushing him into a heap beside his girlfriend. "Shut up. The officer is otherwise occupied."

  Tommy slowly raised his head and shook it, wiping blood from his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. In the instant Hardin's kick had been delivered, Jesse watched the boy become a man. He glared up murderously at Hardin, his fists clenching as he struggled to his knees.

  Jennifer's raw scream split the air as she fought against the birth.

  Jesse sat forward once again, his breath catching at the pain. "Tommy."

  Tommy's hard stare didn't leave Tabor Hardin. Hardin watched him with faint amusement, ready for him.

  "Tommy," Jesse murmured again, reaching to grasp his wrist. The kid was tense as a piano wire. Jesse tightened his grip slightly. Tommy slowly looked away from Hardin to Jesse, as if he were dazed.

  "He's not worth it," Jesse said, low.

  Tommy looked like he'd been pole-axed. "What about Jen? She's…something's wrong."

  "She's having the baby, that's normal enough." The words were meant to comfort, but in his heart, Jesse knew they were hollow. He was staring into a face as desperate as he had been that night a little over four years ago when Ryan had brought him the news. He'd taken Jesse's place on the stakeout so he could go home.

  They'd already put a sheet over Erica when he got there. Hell, even the coroner got there before him. Erica had killed herself, or so the coroner declared. They had all looked at him with a mixture of pity and loathing. Still, he'd had to ask the question—the one that haunted him, even now. Could it have been an accident?

  Tommy turned to look at John Caspar, his arm flexing under Jesse's grip as he met Hardin's hard gaze again.

  "Can't you—" He moistened his lips and looked at the floor. "Can't you let him go, so he can help her? Please…"

  Jesse's gut twisted at the humiliating way Hardin made the boy beg. He wasn't going to give in, no matter how many times Tommy asked. Jesse's lips compressed briefly, but he didn't say anything.

  "Mrs. Montgomery?" Lindy asked, turning quickly to the older woman for help.

  Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. "Never had one of my own, Lindy, but let's see what we can do." She crawled over to sit beside Lindy and Jennifer.

  Jennifer's screams pierced the air, drowning out everything else.

  "Whaddaya think, Jess?" Hardin gave Jesse a faint smile.

  "Please, Mr. Hardin," Tommy mumbled. "Please."

  Jesse remained silent, his expression carefully wiped clean of the revulsion he felt. Behind him, he heard the sound of Lindy's voice, soothing Jennifer's uncontrollable sobs. The bullet in his shoulder burned, but he would not reach for the wound. He kept his hand at his side, refusing to answer Hardin's sadistic taunting.

  "Hardin—take these damn cuffs off!" Caspar's voice was rough, ready to crack with anxiety. He pulled at the cuffs, rattling them against the metal pole of the barstool.

  "Jess?" Hardin grinned.

  At that moment, Jesse wanted nothing more than to smash that unperturbed look off his face. He flexed his fist, feeling a powerful urge rush through his hand. It would be suicide, and only a very brief moment of satisfaction. He could wait.

  He looked down, veiling his thoughts quickly, knowing he had to answer. Hardin was making a point of forcing it. As Jennifer screamed again, he raised his eyes to Hardin. "You'll do what you want—no doubt of that. You're the one playing God here."

  Lindy gasped behind him and he turned to see the look of absolute fear on her face. Something was wrong.

  "Get some towels, child!" Mrs. Montgomery ordered. There was no mistaking the rising note of panic in her voice.

  "Hardin!" Caspar's normally calm demeanor exploded.

  Tommy gave a cry of frustration and fear as he turned from his useless begging to crawl over to Jennifer and take her hand. His voice cracked as he spoke to his girlfriend; Lindy's soft tones overrode his, firm, but comforting.

  Jesse's gaze locked with Hardin's.

  "You ever wonder if Erica really did herself in…or maybe if she had help?" Hardin's lips spread in a grin.

  Jesse understood. This was all entertainment for Hardin. "You seem preoccupied with my late wife, Hardin." He spoke with a rationality he didn't feel. Hardin had planted doubt in Jesse's mind once more, but he couldn't show it. Hardin was goading him, wanting him to ask questions.

  Hardin winked knowingly. "It ain't easy for you; is it, J
ess? Watchin' all this come down all over again. Wondering…will she make it?" He walked forward and stood above Jennifer as Lindy and Althea Montgomery frantically worked. A pink-tinged liquid ran from the girl's body across the black and white tile floor.

  "Jen," Tommy muttered, holding her hand as she writhed on the hard surface. "Ah, God, Jen!" A lock of hair fell across his forehead, and a stab of pity for the boy went through Jesse, in spite of their earlier rough beginnings.

  "Jesse."

  He looked up at Caspar across the few feet that separated them.

  "She's not going to make it without help—maybe too late even with a good doctor."

  Jesse nodded. "Yeah. I figure it that way, too." The helpless feeling was nearly unbearable, rolling over him even more harshly than the physical pain he was dealing with.

  "Son of a bitch is going to let that girl die!" Johnson said under his breath, his eyes on Hardin.

  Rage boiled up inside Jesse, but he tamped it down and held the lid on it. God knew he'd had plenty of experience in that where Hardin was concerned. Hardin wanted them all begging, but he never intended to let Jennifer Riley have the medical attention she needed so desperately.

  Lindy turned to look over her shoulder at him. She caught her lower lip in her teeth momentarily, shouldering her hair back. She was afraid. It was evident in her eyes. They were losing Jennifer and possibly the baby, as well.

  Jesse leaned down, putting his palms on the floor. He couldn't have stood if he'd tried. He started forward on his hands and knees, crawling the short distance that separated him from Lindy. The embedded bullet shot fire through his body with every movement. From the look in Lindy's eyes, Jennifer was fading fast. He wouldn't have her shoulder the responsibility for the girl's death.

  It didn't take long for him to realize the full impact of Lindy's worry. He put his right hand down in a flow of sticky warmth that could only be blood.

  There was a river of it. Jennifer Riley was hemorrhaging to death, before their eyes. Mrs. Montgomery knelt beside Jennifer soaking up her blood with towels. Lindy leaned across her, a comforting palm on the girl's flushed cheek.