"That's what I'm here to determine."
"Well, I'd say it's a helluva time! What took you so damn long?"
Rawlins leaned close to Oliver, ignoring Norton and Anderson. The rest of the entourage stood a few feet behind them. Ryan came to join the circle and made his greetings all around.
"Ryan Lucas is still in charge here," Rawlins said. "I know he's capable."
Oliver's expression was grim. "Ryan, I'd have no quarrel with. But look at him, Jack." He gestured with a nod. "He's sick as a dog, barely able to hold his head up. He's been in the ambulance, trying to hold his own and get enough where-with-all to negotiate with Hardin again. He should be in the hospital!"
Ryan could see that for Ken Oliver worry had taken a backseat. Anger was foremost—alongside the incredulity he couldn't keep from expressing.
"Are you wanting this thing to escalate past the point of no return?"
Rawlins took a step closer, his powerful fists clenching. "What the hell are you saying?"
Oliver regarded him unflinchingly. At a towering six-feet-five inches, Rawlins had him by at least four inches and a good fifty pounds. Inconsequential, from the set of Oliver's jaw. Right now, he could take on Bigfoot and win.
"I'm sayin' you better back off, ol' pal," Oliver murmured. "You know we need the best, Jack. Nothing personal, Ryan." He cast a glance in Ryan's direction. "We need a negotiator, and frankly, I'm not sure Ryan's up to it right now."
Anderson glanced from Oliver back to Rawlins. The tension eased in Rawlins, and after a moment, Oliver turned to look at the governor.
"Jim Rogers took over for me," Ryan said. "He briefed me after he talked with Hardin."
"So, what's the plan, Ryan?" Oliver asked with a brittle laugh. "Hopefully, you have a better one than what's been brought to the table so far."
Ryan hid a smile, looking down. "I hope so, too. Seems everyone's got something at stake here. I have an ex-partner in there, Jesse Nightwalker." He glanced up at Oliver. "You remember him, don't you, sir?" There had been some trouble years ago between Jesse and Oliver, but this was bigger than that. Bigger than any differences any of them had with one another.
Oliver nodded, wordlessly.
"Rogers has been negotiating with Hardin, until I could take over again. He and I, along with some of the others, will be going down below shortly to try to find a way into the deli. Before Abe Silverman was taken to the hospital, he told us about some tunnels that exist below the city."
Charles Norton asked, "Is it true? What Silverman said?"
Oliver nodded. "It's very much true."
"But are they passable?" Anderson asked impatiently. "And will you all be able to negotiate them?"
"We've had a lot of rain," Rawlins mused, turning to eye the nearest grate. A bare trickle of water still ran beside the curb and into the opening near the corner.
Oliver sighed, his hands on his hips. He looked down at the wet pavement. "Gentlemen, we better hope to hell they are better than 'passable.' It looks like our men are the only hope for those hostages. Hardin's not in a talking mood, and the only thing he asked for, you didn't bring." He gave Rawlins another harsh glare.
The commissioner met Oliver's look for a moment, then glanced at the governor. "We can't negotiate, Royce. To do so would—"
Anderson cut him off curtly. "I'm frankly tired of hearing what we can't do, Commissioner. I've got two children in there, and I'd give every penny he asked for to have them back…safe."
"And what of the next time—and the next?" Rawlins' voice rose, his bushy eyebrows drawn close over his thick-rimmed glasses. "You make them a mark if you deal, Royce."
"I make them dead if I don't!" Anderson flared.
"What about just talking to the man?" Charles Norton's tone was laced with sarcasm, but it stopped the conversation. "I mean, Oliver, aren't you known as somewhat of a negotiator? Couldn't you pull a miracle out of your hat, here, somehow?"
Oliver shook his head. "No. I'm…not able to do that," he answered curtly. "Not this time."
Ryan was the only other man there who understood Ken Oliver's reticence. But it wasn't his to explain. It was up to his old boss.
"Why not?" Norton was beside himself, and, true to his reputation, made no effort to hide his feelings. "You saying you can't lower yourself to talk to this sonofabitch and get him to release my boy? And the others?" he added belatedly.
Ryan put a staying hand on his old boss's shoulder. Oliver's revulsion at Norton's contemptible attitude fired an anger that threatened to ignite his temper past the point of no return.
He looked squarely into the stocky mayor's florid face. "Not at all, Mayor," he answered coolly. "I'm saying I cannot do what you ask in this particular case."
"Why not, dammit?" Norton looked like a petulant child.
Oliver kept his voice steady and low. "Because, Mayor, my youngest daughter is a hostage in there, as well. If Tabor Hardin realizes that, I might as well put a bullet in her head myself."
Shock settled on them like a pall. Finally, Norton looked away. "I had no idea."
"But," the governor interjected, "Hardin doesn't have to know who you are, Ken. He wouldn't know your voice."
"And you are the best negotiator in the field," Rawlins added.
Oliver gave a testy smile. "You forget, Jack. I'm not 'in the field.' I'm retired."
Rawlins shook his head. "I don't think so, Ken. Not anymore. You could be the only hope these hostages have, including Lindy. Are you turning your back on her?"
* * * * *
Despite the paramedics' warnings, Ryan knew he had to join the others going into the tunnels below. There was nothing else he could do, no other way he could ever sleep again if he didn't. Jesse would do it for him. It took the better part of two tension-fraught hours for the water to recede enough to be navigable, but Ryan knew he needed that time to regain some of his strength.
They'd made their way past the grates, through the unknown murky waters below the city streets. Cold damp walls and obsidian blackness engulfed them. Still, the tunnels churned and bubbled with the run-off, and the aura of desperation among the men was palpable.
Jim trained his flashlight toward the direction that led to the deli, as did Bill Wallace. Ryan slogged between them, glad for their physical and moral support, wondering if he'd last until the meds wore off. They would have an easier time of it going toward the deli than coming back, depending on the depth of the water. At least, the way they headed now went with the current.
Ryan gripped Wallace's arm momentarily to get his attention above the noise. "What do you think?" The water was waist-high—still too high to open the door.
Wallace grimaced. "Looks like it's down a couple of feet, maybe a little more."
That had been over three hours ago—closer to four. Ryan nodded grimly. "A couple of feet in the last three hours."
At this rate, they wouldn't be able to get that door open for another couple of hours—time they just didn't have to spare. His lips compressed in a thin line. Tabor Hardin and his crew could have a field day. And they could start up any minute now. Hardin had said midnight. But he'd also turned Leon Jackson loose with his damned box cutter earlier, too.
Ryan wondered if they'd be able to do anything for Jesse and the others before hell truly broke loose again in the deli. They still had a long way to go before they even got to the immovable door. He shook his head, then led on quickly, aware of Bill Wallace's steadfast presence close beside him and Brett Lanham to Wallace's right. There had been no more communication from Hardin. Jim had bought the others some time, but that wouldn't save Jesse.
"Ryan, have you given any thought to that steel door?" Wallace's voice was close in the wet darkness.
He turned to face Bill, the beam of Wallace's flashlight casting a glow upward, to their faces. "Plenty. That's why I brought Tim Yancey. He's got a way with stubborn locks."
Wallace grimaced. "I know, but there's a lot riding on this particular door being opene
d. Got a backup plan?"
Ryan shook his head. "I told him what to expect…the way you described it. He's got some tricks up his sleeve, Bill. I've seen him at work. It's a family skill. His dad was the best." He didn't mention that the elder Yancey had worked his skills on the opposite side of the law and spent five years in jail for it.
Wallace shrugged fatalistically. "I hope he's good enough for this. I don't expect to let three of our men die up there without a fight."
Jim threw Wallace a sidelong glance. He was making his intentions known, loud and clear. If they couldn't get in through the trap door, they damn well better be ready with some kind of "Plan B." Before Ryan could respond, Wallace stopped, nodding toward the turn they needed to make where the tunnel intersected with the original labyrinth. "This is it. We're here."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jesse stood, watching Hardin slowly approach him. He could take him—easily—and he was itching to try. But Macklin filled the doorway, grinning like a damn ape, holding a gun in one hand and his son in the other. He couldn't risk it.
"You're thinking about how you'd like to beat the living hell out of me, aren't you, Jesse?" Hardin's gray eyes glinted with amusement. He glanced over his shoulder at Macklin.
"You know it, Hardin."
"But you won't. You won't, because you made the offer and I think you'll stick by it. You gave yourself to me, earlier—in exchange for releasing the hostages."
A light shone in Hardin's eyes that Jesse didn't recognize, at first. Almost as if he wondered if the bargain still stood, as if he couldn't bear to be disappointed if it didn't. But Jesse figured it for what it was in the next instant—the gleam of anticipation. As much as Hardin would love to fight, assured he would win in the end, he would forego that pleasure to have Jesse totally at his mercy.
He spoke carefully. "I haven't seen any sign of that happening."
"Rod," Hardin said, licking his lips, "let the kids go—all but young Nash."
"Tay! No—we can't do that!"
Hardin swung around to face him. "I gave you an order!"
But Macklin shook his head, mulishly. "No. Huh-uh. Them kids is our ticket outta here." He let go of Nash, reaching for his weapon.
"Nash, get down!" Jesse yelled. Nash instinctively dropped to a crouch as Althea Montgomery came down beside him swiftly, gathering him to her.
"You son of a bitch." Hardin pulled the trigger of his semi-automatic, cutting Macklin's words off as a spray of bullets ripped through his chest. He was pushed back as if by an unseen hand, through the open door behind him. He hit the opposite wall and slid to a bloody lump in the hallway floor.
As the sound of the shots faded, Hardin muttered, "They're not your ticket out, Rod. You just bought yourself a seat on the Hellbound Express."
Jesse's hands tingled as adrenaline surged through him. Nash's dark eyes were wide, but he was unharmed. Jesse breathed deep.
Hurried footsteps sounded across the deli floor. "Tay!" Brindle McAdoo stood peering around the doorframe, his gun drawn. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Brin. Drag that bastard into the back, willya?" He flicked a glance at Macklin's crumpled form. "He's bleedin' all over Hell's half acre, and it's gonna scare those kids senseless."
McAdoo grasped Macklin's arms, tugging him toward the back room.
As if they had heard Hardin's words, a piteous wailing came from where the children had been sleeping. Hardin gave Mrs. Montgomery a nod. "Go see 'bout what's goin' on out there." She rose and started to pull Nash with her, but Hardin shook his head. "No. Leave the boy. You go on and see to the others."
Jesse noticed his son's fingers convulsively clutched at her hand. She knelt quickly, eye-level with Nash. "I'll see you in a little while, okay? You lie down on that nice, soft bed and rest." Slowly, she released his hand, and Jesse's heart almost stopped at the look he gave her. The betrayal Nash felt was overshadowed by the resignation. With Hardin turning on Macklin, his son understood that everything was out of control. Anything could happen, now.
Nash turned away from her and walked to the bed. From the main part of the deli, the children's crying became full blown, and by Hardin's expression, he was losing patience.
"I'm coming," Mrs. Montgomery called as she took a step backward, then turned and hurried out the entryway. The sound of her voice carried back to the bedroom, calm and reassuring, the words indistinguishable.
Hardin watched her go, then shook his head.
"Tell you what," he said, glancing at Jesse. "If she wasn't so good at keepin' those kids quiet, I'd've killed her a long time ago. She just rubs me the wrong way…all high and mighty." He turned slowly to face Lindy. "Not like you at all, sweet Linden." He pulled the silver handcuffs from his back pocket, dangling them in front of her, his gun aimed at Jesse's midsection.
* * * * *
"You do the honors." Hardin's voice was low.
For a moment, Lindy wasn't sure what he meant.
"Take them, Lindy."
Mesmerized, she reached for them, and Hardin let go with a grin. "Now, put them on lover boy, here."
They were bloody. Tony Johnson's blood. Lindy looked up quickly into Hardin's smug expression. "Don't do this."
Hardin clucked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Now, sweet Linden, you know I must. There's no help for it. Jesse Nightwalker must pay."
"No!" She made a concerted effort to control herself. The panic she felt was sharp and crushing at the same time. "No," she repeated more calmly. "He didn't do anything to 'pay' for. You killed a cop."
"Yes. Yes, I did." He smiled at the fond memory of it. "And I enjoyed every minute of it. Just like I will enjoy finishing what must be done here."
Lindy moistened her lips, her knees shaking. Her voice was steadier than she'd anticipated. "What do you want? Pleasure? Do you like women?"
Hardin's face darkened at her changeable tactic, puzzlement in the quicksilver gray of his eyes.
Lindy clenched the sticky cuffs in her hands. "I will do anything you want, if you just—"
"Lindy, no!" Jesse shouted. He made a move to reach for her, but Hardin gave him a quick glance of warning, motioning with his gun.
"If you just leave Jesse alone," she continued. "Let him go. I will go with you—be your hostage." She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Hardin's. He rocked back on his heels and cocked his head.
"Dammit, Lindy!" Jesse swore through clenched teeth. "Stop this! This is business between Hardin and me. I made the deal already—to set you and the kids free—and Althea Montgomery."
Lindy didn't look at him. Her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. She held Tabor Hardin's gaze with her own. "Anything…you…want."
"Lindy—" Jesse growled.
Hardin's lips curved up slowly, his eyes riveted on Lindy. "Well, now, Jesse, you are in a bit of a conundrum here, aren't you? Looks like you're both so crazy in love you can't wait to die for each other." His stare dropped to the cuffs in Lindy's hand. "Put those on him, then we'll talk."
"But—"
"Linden, rule number one is I make all the rules." His manner became curt as he said, "Put them on him. Now."
Lindy swallowed hard and nodded. She finally turned to look at Jesse, seeing past the sharp frustration and worry for her to the love she knew she'd find. Her world…there, in Jesse's eyes.
Jesse wordlessly held out his arms, and she slowly snapped the left metal bracelet closed around his strong wrist. His muscles flexed, then tightened. His fist clenched. As she started to fasten the other one around his right wrist, Hardin said, "No. That one goes around the bars in the window casement."
Jesse gave him a murderous glare. "I'm not going anywhere, Hardin. Not as long as you have my son—and my woman."
Hardin chuckled. "Wondered when you'd get around to facing the music, Jess. Now, the boy, I can understand, being as how he didn't know who you really were—or so you thought. But Miss Linden here…I don't understand that at all. Yet, I do believe you�
��I surely do. It's just crazy enough to be like you claim. Maybe you didn't realize what was right under your nose all this time, maybe you just looked at her all wrong…like she's no more than a 'friend'." A dubious smile touched his lips. "But I wonder…has all that changed, now?"
His mouth tightened briefly. "You say she means nothing to you. I wonder if that still holds true—if you're really that stupid, or just think you're that much smarter than me." He shook his head. "You've wasted some valuable time, Jess. That is a real pity. But it's your misfortune." He glanced at Lindy. "You better convince him to let you cuff him to that bar. Whatever it takes."
Lindy took Jesse's hand, gently squeezing his fingers. Her eyes held his just as tenderly as her fingers caressed his flesh. She held his manacled wrist for a moment, with no words spoken. His midnight gaze smoldered, burning her with its intensity. "I told you not to do this."
"I know." She guided his hand up to the bars. Strong. But so gentle. The way he touched her cheek, her hair. She looked up, meeting his eyes. The same thoughts were mirrored there. His fingers wrapped around the cold steel and held tightly, his knuckles going white for an instant.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, "remember I love you, Jesse."
The cuffs snapped shut with a click.
"Come to me, sweet Linden," Hardin smirked. "Come and convince me why I should release Jesse Nightwalker and little junior over there."
Lindy walked toward Hardin, coming to a stop between him and Jesse. She deliberately blocked his view of Jesse, giving Nash a quick glance. The boy lay on the bed, apparently asleep. She found herself praying she could pull this off; that Jesse knew for certain Tabor Hardin would keep his word. At the same time, she tried to block out the earlier conversation between Tommy Norton and John Caspar. "Whatever you think you're worth, they'll figure it about ten times more," Caspar had told him. "You'll be the last hostage they release."
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