Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  "Maybe Hardin'll let him go."

  "I don't think so, but do what you can do. And Lindy, don't get your hopes up. Hardin's tough, but he seems to have a soft spot for the kids. That'll be your only trump—if it's enough."

  Lindy started to move away, laying a hand to Jesse's forehead. The heat surprised her. He was burning with fever. A ripple of fear shuddered through her. His request for her to remove the bullet was more than the pain he was experiencing. The fever meant an added worry, weakening his body to the point where, eventually, he would be under Hardin's complete control.

  "Jesse," she whispered.

  He shook his head. "I'm okay—for now."

  She rose and walked to the two police officers, kneeling between them. The gash over John Caspar's left eye was bleeding again. Tony Johnson's hand was swollen, but from what she could see, the cuts had stopped bleeding. She put some of the salve on them and wrapped his hand again, this time, with the bandages Ryan had brought. Then, she scooted next to Mr. Silverman.

  "Got a plan?" Ryan asked, smiling as if he were greeting her.

  She bent to look at the gnarled mass of blood, bone, and flesh that had been Abe Silverman's kneecap. She turned to glance at the container of sugar behind her. "Not so much mine as Jesse's." Glancing up into the deli owner's agonized expression, her breath caught. Tabor Hardin's cruelty was shocking. Yet, Jesse had offered himself to the madman. How could any kind of plan work? She forced herself to speak, her voice sounding strained. "Sugar or real salve, Mr. Silverman?"

  "Both," he croaked from parched lips.

  She leaned over his wounded knee and squeezed the salve into the hole made by Hardin's bullet. Automatically, she reached to spread the salve across the torn edges of flesh.

  Ryan caught her wrist gently. She looked up into his blue eyes, realizing belatedly that any touch would have been too painful for the old man, who sat with his head back, jaws clenched together, wet with sweat.

  Ryan released her wrist as she nodded her understanding and picked up the sugar. "He says the bullet's in the bone."

  "And?"

  Lindy smiled wryly. "He wants me to take it out—if Hardin'll go for it."

  Ryan gave a low whistle. "Not asking much, is he?"

  Lindy shook her head. "You know that old saying…'be careful what you wish for, you may get it.' I can assure you, I'm no doctor." She gently sprinkled some of the fine white grains across the open wound, noting that the salve had dissolved and mingled with the blood inside the open hole. The sugar would, as well. She stood up, unwilling to make Hardin suspicious.

  "That's a tall order, for sure," Ryan murmured.

  "Lindy?" Mr. Silverman's voice was weak as he raised a hand to her.

  Lindy took his fingers in hers. He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her. "Honey…thank you." She knelt beside him again. "You…goin' to get me some water?"

  She smiled, appalled at the weak strain in his voice. He'd always been boisterously alive, loud and confident. She patted his hand with a surety she didn't feel. "Sure am. A cold glass of water and a cool cloth for your face."

  She noted the taut worry lines in Ryan's features as well. Mr. Silverman was declining rapidly, yet he was refusing the meager dose of medicine the police captain offered him. When she returned with the ice water and damp cloth, she picked up the bottle of ibuprofen. Kneeling beside the older man, she handed the water to Ryan. He got an arm behind his shoulders, helping him to lean up slowly and take a few sips.

  "Here, Mr. Silverman," Lindy murmured. "Here's some pain medication for you—"

  "Nah. I don't need that stuff. I already told him—"

  "It's just over-the-counter painkiller, Mr. Silverman," Ryan said. "Nothing too strong."

  "I don't need it," he muttered through clenched teeth.

  "Mr. Silverman—please!" Why did he have to be so determined?

  The desperate note in her voice forced his attention to her once again. He gave her a faint smile. "Honey, I've had worse than this. In the Big War, I got shot up at Normandy so's they thought…I wasn't gonna make it. But…I did. That bastard Hardin…thinks this'll stop Abe Silverman…why, he's got another think comin'!"

  Lindy ran the damp cloth across the old man's forehead and neck. She couldn't help but smile at his words, his grit. "I believe you, but I know it hurts, too. It would make me feel better to know you'd taken the medicine, maybe help it ease up a little, you know?"

  "It ain't that bad," he blustered.

  For the first time, it occurred to Lindy that Abe might put a crimp in Jesse's plan by his obstinacy.

  Quickly, she summarized what her intentions were, watching the storm gathering in the old man's expression.

  "I'm not gonna run from him, Lindy…no sir. I—"

  Ryan turned to look into Abe Silverman's face. "You need a hospital, Mr. Silverman," he said bluntly. "And getting civilians out of here alive is my job. You leave that duty to us now—Caspar, Johnson, and me."

  Lindy glanced at him. By what he'd said, she thought he must be unsure how much the old man knew about what Jesse did.

  "Aren't you forgetting someone, Captain?" His features twisted in bitter disgust. "We could probably all walk out of here as long as he…keeps a-hold of Jesse. He's the one Hardin's gunnin' for." He nodded his head sagely. "I know all about him and his vendetta. And I know what Jesse stands to lose. Everything. His life, included."

  Ryan looked down for a moment. "Then, help me. I need your cooperation."

  Mr. Silverman finally nodded. "Yeah," he grunted. "You'll have it—to a point. Just remember, this is my place we're talking about…my life…my customers…I won't let 'em down." He looked pointedly at Jesse. "And I won't leave a man behind. Not any of 'em. Not to scum like Tabor Hardin."

  Lindy patted his arm and rose, a lump in her throat. "Let's see what we can do to get the kids safe." She started toward where Mrs. Montgomery sat teaching the children the old game of 'Paper, Rock, Scissors.'

  Across the room, she saw Brindle McAdoo's gun leveled at her, following her trek. She ignored the cold tension in her belly, smiling as she approached the older woman.

  "Everything okay, Mrs. Montgomery?" She sat down close beside her.

  "Everything's just fine, my dear." Mrs. Montgomery glanced down the double rows of laughing faces before turning back to Lindy. "I've explained everything to young Nash."

  Lindy nodded. "Jesse was hoping that was the case."

  "And he explained some things to me—something I'm sure Jesse is unaware of."

  "What?"

  Mrs. Montgomery's ominous pronouncement worried Lindy. The older woman smiled, and Lindy could see the loveliness in her features which, at one time, surely had set her apart from the other young women.

  "So serious, child. No, this will be somewhat of a relief to your young man, I'm sure—"

  "Oh, but he's not—"

  "Yes, Lindy," she said firmly. "He is now. Maybe not this morning, as we queued up for our pastries, but who is to say when and how love comes to us?"

  Her features softened. "I say 'your young man' because he is. You two belong to each other. It's in every look stolen and given; every touch, real and imagined; every dream—past, present, and future—between the two of you." She patted Lindy's hand. "Only remember, dear, no one—not even that man, can take any of this away from you and Jesse."

  Lindy swallowed hard. It was all true. When Lindy thought of Tabor Hardin, and the icy way he watched Jesse, her stomach churned. She was sure Mrs. Montgomery was wrong. Hardin could take it all away—quite easily. "He'll try."

  "Oh, yes. He will try. But, I think if you two don't fight these feelings, just go with them and trust your instincts and your heart, Tabor Hardin won't get anywhere at all with what he plans to do. Love is stronger than anything."

  Lindy didn't reply. She wasn't at all sure love could vanquish the thirst for revenge she'd seen in Hardin's face.

  "What about Jesse and Nash?"

  "Ano
ther story, entirely." Althea leaned forward. "Tell Jesse Nash knows—"

  "Break it up over here." Footsteps sounded behind them as Rod Macklin circled and came to stand in front of the two women. "I think you were told to see to those other hostages—sweetheart." He leaned down close to Lindy with a leer, his teeth black at the gums from years of dipping snuff.

  Her eyes went to the semiautomatic weapon he handled so cavalierly.

  "I'll be glad to show you my…gun. Anytime you want." His grin widened.

  Lindy suppressed a shudder, turning on a saccharine smile as she stood up. "Which would be right about—never."

  "Don't matter. I'm not so sure I want to dip my wick where a damned Indian's been—"

  Her resolve burst like a weakened dam inside her, giving way to the rush of anger and frustration she'd tried to contain. The hard slap she gave Macklin echoed in the sudden quiet of the deli. He shouted with rage as he lurched back, his hand to his cheek as if holding the print of her palm close to his skin. His eyes burned like two hot coals, and he started for her.

  "Rod! Knock it off." Hardin's voice drew him up short, like a dog on a leash.

  But Macklin took another step toward Lindy, his face contorted in anger. She didn't flinch, although they were almost nose to nose.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, but not from fear. Oh, no. Right now, she felt as if she could tear Macklin apart with her bare hands.

  "How dare you say such a thing!" Her voice shook with indignant anger.

  Macklin was breathing hard and fast, his teeth gritted. "You little bitch!"

  "Rod! I said leave her be!" In the next instant, Tabor Hardin's hand spanned Macklin's shoulder. "C'mon, now. Back off." He nodded to the place where he'd been standing, watching the street. "Go have a look-see, and let me deal with Miss Oliver, hmm?"

  With a growl, Macklin pivoted stiffly and walked away.

  Hardin watched him a moment, then turned back to give Lindy a speculative look. "My, my, Miss Oliver. You surely do have a temper where that half-breed's concerned. I thought you didn't know each other all that well."

  Lindy didn't falter. Her anger still ran hot, but her voice, thankfully, had steadied again. She couldn't allow Hardin to think the reason for her flare of rage was in protection of Jesse. "Mr. Macklin seems to have a certain disregard for mixed company—and for children." She looked down.

  "Hmm." Hardin rubbed his chin and chuckled. "And that's what got his face slapped, huh? That disregard for women and children?"

  Her gaze snapped up to his. "Not so much the women, Mr. Hardin. Mrs. Montgomery and I are, after all, adults and have run into all types of trash in our lives. But why should these children be subjected to that kind of filth?"

  Hardin nodded, his lips curving in faint amusement. "You got a point."

  Lindy bit her lip, then rushed on, eager to change the subject. "Do you think it might be possible to let them go? The children, I mean."

  Instantly, he shook his head in denial, but Lindy pressed. "Okay, not all of them, but how about half of them? And Mr. Silverman?"

  Hardin laughed and scratched his head. "Why? Why the old man?"

  "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, he's missing a kneecap—thanks to you." She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her tone, but Hardin didn't take offense. He just chuckled again.

  "I didn't expect that from you. I thought you'd be begging me to let Jesse walk. He's hurt, too. How come you're asking me to let the old man go instead?"

  Lindy lifted her chin. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Hardin. You're not going to let Jesse go."

  "You didn't ask me. Maybe if you ask real nice." He reached to finger her hair. "And maybe if you did what I told you to do." He smiled. "I might just let him get to the hospital, too."

  Lindy's eyes locked with his. She tried not to cringe at his touch.

  * * * * *

  Across the room, Jesse tensed beside Ryan.

  "Easy," Ryan whispered, laying a hand on Jesse's good shoulder. "She's doing fine, handling Hardin like a pro."

  "Don't let her…" What? Don't let her bargain herself for his sake? Jesse could hardly bear the thought, much less put it into words. He was torn between raising up against the front of the wooden counter to watch what Ryan saw or keeping down so Nash wouldn't get a look at his face. Again, the thought of Nash's eyes looking past him earlier, with deliberate intent, made him wonder just what Mrs. Montgomery had told him back in that bedroom. Everything? Or just enough to keep him safe? Or, had he truly not recognized Jesse, as badly beaten as he was?

  "She won't, Jess. She's too smart for that." Ryan looked thoughtfully at Lindy, watching the interplay with Hardin. "Although," he added slowly, "I believe she would sacrifice herself, if it meant getting you out of here as part of the deal."

  Jesse thought so, too. To hear Ryan voice it, though, made it more than a thought. Now, Jesse had to look at it as a very real possibility. He didn't understand it, only hoped her selflessness would be kept in check as long as possible.

  "No. You wouldn't do that," Lindy responded, after an interminable, tense moment. "You wouldn't pass up the chance to see him hurt even more than he is now. You know I'll have to remove the bullet in his shoulder. And you also know, with my being a novice at this, it's not going to go smoothly." She shook her head. "No. Sending him out to the hospital for real medical care isn't in you."

  "She's playing him like a drum," Caspar said softly.

  "Well, you're right about these kids," Hardin answered, evading the issue of Jesse Nightwalker. "Let's see, Miss Oliver. Which of these little brats shall we send through that door? We'll want to keep four of them, at least." He cast a glance over his shoulder at Ryan, still watching in silence. Raising his voice, he called, "Tell me, Captain, who shall I send out? Not the Anderson kids, of course—"

  Ryan shook his head. "You'll send the ones you pick, Hardin. Don't look to me for that decision."

  "Which ones are on scholarship? Their parents will be useless when it comes to getting the money up, and I don't need the sympathy factor from the public, either."

  Jesse let go a curse under his breath. Now, it wouldn't matter that Nash had played his part so well. Hardin would want to know last names. Probably had a record book of some kind.

  "Why don't you let all of them go, Hardin? You've got enough hostages without dealing with kids," Ryan replied. "The sympathy factor isn't going away. They're all five years old."

  Hardin gave a short laugh. "I was born at night, Captain, but not last night. People will do all kinds of things for children that they won't do for adults. You know that as well as I do. Besides, these little rich kids are our meal ticket—it's why we're here." He looked around for Leon Jackson, motioning to him when he caught the other man's eye. "Bring up that book, Leon. I think Miss Oliver's got a point about getting rid of some of this deadweight we're carrying."

  * * * * *

  Lindy stole a quick glance at Jesse. His expression was one of grim acceptance. Nothing to be done; the other children couldn't be sacrificed for one.

  Leon Jackson picked up the black book from where it lay beside the communications equipment and strode toward Hardin.

  Lindy swallowed hard.

  Hardin took the record book and opened it, searching for the correct page. "Anderson, Anderson—here we are. Five-year-old kindergarten class. Mrs. Morgan's class. Yep, here we all are—all except one. Nine names—eight kids."

  "That's because Zach Tyler had to move," an informative little boy piped up.

  Immediately, Hardin gave him a wide, Cheshire cat grin. "Well, what's your name, my man?" Hardin approached the boy and squatted in front of him. He stuck out a hand; the youngster took it and shook.

  Lindy began to feel sick. Even if they could come up with something, some kind of plan, to confuse Hardin enough to get Nash to safety, this boy would be more than willing to volunteer the correct information.

  "Jeremy Tate."

  "Well, Jeremy, suppose you tell me all the name
s of your friends here, and I'll check them off as you introduce us, eh?"

  Jeremy seemed more than glad to oblige. "This is Dillon Anderson and this is Destiny. Did you know they're twins?"

  Hardin feigned surprise at this revelation, to the grinning delight of his cronies. He made a big show of checking off their names in the book, as if he were taking roll for the day.

  "This is Tina Crawford; she likes Nash an awful lot—"

  "I do not, Jeremy Tate! You hush!"

  The vehement protest on Tina's part brought more laughter from some of the men, and Hardin squelched his smile. "Whoa, buddy—better be careful, there! Don't want to make the pretty ladies mad."

  Jeremy nodded, only half listening, ready for his next introduction. "This is Amanda Delaney." The little redhead didn't look up from her crying. Jeremy moved on, in his newfound importance.

  "This is Bailey Finch. She's my girlfriend."

  "Pretty woman, young 'un. Good taste."

  Lindy couldn't help but notice that Hardin seemed to intuitively know what Jeremy needed. The boy beamed at the offhand compliment.

  "Now who's this pretty lady?" Hardin asked, nodding at the auburn-haired girl beside Bailey.

  "That's Jessica Lewis. She's new this year."

  Lindy's throat tightened. She couldn't imagine how Jesse felt at this moment, and the worst was yet to come.

  Hardin's eyes rested on Nash, who sat looking up at him, his face devoid of expression. "And who have we here? Nash Who?"

  "You met him before, remember? It's Nash. He's my best friend. He's an Indian, and his name is really Nashoba. That means 'wolf' in Choctaw, but we call him Nash for short."

  Hardin nodded. "Nashoba. That's a long name for such a little guy." He knelt in front of Nash, a flicker of remembrance in his expression, as if he recognized something about the boy. "What's your last name, Nash?"

  Lindy held her breath, not daring to meet Jesse's eyes across the room.

  There was a pause, the silence roaring and swirling like a river current, until finally Nash stopped it with his quiet answer. When he spoke, there was no doubt he was Jesse's son.