Capture the Night

by Cheryl Pierson

  Finally, he spoke again. “I didn’t know.” Alexa clung to him, her fingers fisted in his shirt. He made no move to remove her hands. “I didn’t know they had a bomb. I just heard ’em talkin’ about a fail-safe plan. That one way or another “the Limey bastard” was gonna die. But I didn’t know about the bomb.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “Got any idea where my cell phone is, Daniel?” Johnny had shifted to look Daniel straight in the eyes, the votive candle providing enough light for them all to see each other clearly.

  Daniel started to reach for his pocket, then stopped himself. Something flashed across his face. He shook his head, slowly letting his hand fall to rest on his leg. “Huh-uh.”

  Johnny watched him a moment longer, then shut his eyes. He was about done in, but, at least now, he knew where his cell phone was. He needed to call the station… find out who was in charge down below. Let them know about the bomb, if they didn’t already. He sighed, realizing something he should’ve already known…something he would’ve thought of immediately had he been clear-headed. This bomb most likely wasn’t the only one. Chances were, they had at least two, maybe three more scattered at different places throughout the hotel. They would be placed to do the maximum damage structurally. Again, the thought that McShane could be monitoring phone calls came to him, and he wondered if Daniel had been making calls with his phone.

  Alexa turned to Johnny. “What do we do now? If you do manage to defuse the bomb, and they have a tracking device, we’re as good as dead.”

  “Not you, Alexa. Daniel can hide you somewhere. Let them find me—they’ll think I was up here alone. I’ll tell—tell ’em it was…my place.” Johnny breathed heavily, struggling to keep his thoughts together. He leaned back against the tubing, closing his eyes.

  Daniel shook his head. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere—not like ’at. You just ain’t strong enough yet.”

  “Then you—drag me, Daniel! Drag me down there so I can do what I—I need to do!”

  “No, you’re not gonna be able—”

  “Just do it!” Johnny snapped, frustrated. He turned to prop on his elbow, with no strength left to hold his head up. With a curse, he grimaced, and then lay flat again.

  They were all silent a moment. Alexa reached down to touch his sweat-damp hair. Instead of relaxing, his lips compressed and he rolled away from her, squelching a cry of agony as his wounded flesh made contact with the tubing.

  “What are you doing?” Alexa put her hands on his shoulders, but he shook her off, wrenching away from her. “Johnny—please! Stop this.”

  Daniel watched her. Johnny struggled to get to his hands and knees, falling back to the floor, unable to manage it. Alexa was crying, begging him to stop, to lie still.

  Finally, Daniel stood, moving to block his way. Johnny raised his eyes to meet Daniel’s implacable gray stare. “Move,” he gasped.

  Daniel shook his head. “No. Alexa’s right. Besides, you think that’s the only bomb they’ve got?”

  Daniel’s uncanny ability to reason surprised Johnny. His elbows dug into the ductwork just below one of the ridges of the tube. The venting rose up, humped like a damned mountain before him, the next section of it falling away like a valley on the other side of the ridge. His arm ached badly, and the bandage had fallen off, blood dripping from the re-opened wound. He felt it, warm and sticky at his side, as well. He pushed up onto his hands and knees again, somehow.

  He panted for air, trying to hold back the pain and his dizzying thoughts. Strange. He’d lost so much blood he couldn’t think straight. Yet, he was still being bombarded by ideas and plans that might not even be feasible. He shook his head. Blood loss notwithstanding, he decided, nothing might be workable—under these circumstances. What the hell difference did clear judgment make at this point?

  Daniel was speaking again, slowly, it seemed to Johnny. He shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing in it. Daniel began to recede into the blackness, as if he were only a dream, fading away as Johnny tried to focus on him. Then, he couldn’t watch any longer, because he couldn’t hold his head up. He felt Alexa’s fingers on his back.

  But it wasn’t her who caught him as his knees and elbows gave way. He expected to hit the hard metal beneath him, unable to cushion his fall. Yet, it was not the tube that caught him. It was flesh and bone and muscle. Daniel. Again.

  The blackness closed around him once more, and with it came guilty relief. The pain had been a heavier burden than he’d thought, only noticeable to him now that the dark stole over him, and the hurt began to leave him. He was floating, for an instant, somewhere between heaven and hell, and then he began to fall. Daniel’s big hands caught and held him, stopping his descent. Although it was only inches, in Johnny’s mind it felt like miles, and then he reluctantly gave himself up to the oblivion that came as Daniel lowered him back down to the hard contours of the tubing beneath them.

  Chapter 20

  The first group of hostages emerged from the hotel lobby at 9:00 a.m. At first, the five men walked into the sunlight, throwing cautious looks over their shoulders. Carter watched them, knowing they were thinking of the other man who’d been shot in the doorway, just inches from freedom, and the four that had subsequently been gunned down outside.

  The SWAT officers ran forward, grasping some of them by the arms, hustling the whole group toward the police barricade. Within seconds, they were safe. Waiting paramedics examined them hastily, then loaded them into nearby ambulances.

  Carter asked one of the freed hostages some quick questions. Pete Logan had been beaten as an example, he’d told Carter, but the officer seemed to be aware and was sitting up. The other hostages were physically unharmed. Yes, there were around thirty—just as McShane had said. And none of them fit the description of Johnny Logan.

  The bulk of the de-briefing would take place at Parkland Hospital. Carter had saved any further questions, allowing the paramedics to do their jobs.

  His cell phone rang and he grabbed it from its clip, knowing it had to be McShane.

  “Mornin’ Captain.” McShane paused, and Carter responded.

  “McShane.”

  “As you can see, I’m a man of my word.” He paused again.

  Carter nodded. He glanced at Holcomb, and the young communications officer gave him the thumbs up.

  “Yes,” Carter said, turning his full attention back to the Irishman. “What about the others?”

  McShane laughed. “Greedy. So…American.”

  Carter’s lips compressed.

  “You haven’t thanked me yet for the pathetic sots I just turned loose.”

  Carter took a deep breath. All eyes were upon him. He met Evan Sanders’s baleful stare, then looked away. “Thank you,” he gritted.

  “Better. Much better.” McShane’s smile was in his smug tone. “Now…as for those ‘others’, I’m wondering what you’ve managed to accomplish so far as to your end of our…bargain.”

  “I’m working on it,” Carter stated tightly.

  McShane was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You’d better be, boyo. The next group might make it out alive—or they might not—depending on what progress you’re makin’.”

  “McShane—”

  “Don’t be tellin’ me you haven’t been able to make inroads into freein’ my friends, Captain.”

  “I told you that wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Did you try?”

  Carter squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. “Yes. I’ve done all I can do. It’s out of my hands, McShane.”

  “Oh, Captain. You aren’t going to like what I’ve planned for the Grand Finale here, then.” McShane made a tsking noise. “Not at all.”

  Carter glanced at Sanders again. The FBI agent was not surprised. It made Carter angry all over again. Sanders’s indifference bothered him almost as much as McShane’s games.

  “What does that mean?” Carter turned his full attention back to McShane. He fought to keep the anger out of his tone, knowing i
t was seeping through anyway.

  McShane snickered. “Bombs are terrible things, aren’t they, Captain? They always do what they’re intended to do, but—they also seem to kill the innocent, as well. You Americans were so incensed after the Murrah Building, back in ’95. To hear one of your own had done it—well, it was almost too much, wasn’t it, Captain?”

  Carter’s brows drew together, as he struggled to understand the meaning behind McShane’s words. He remained silent.

  “Captain?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. It was a blow. What of it?”

  In his mind, Carter could see the Irishman shrug as he responded. “And then, as you said, there was Nine Eleven. Just sayin’…there may be a bit o’ that collateral damage here, too, before we can wind this up. That’s how it is, in war.”

  Carter’s blood turned to ice. “You set a bomb in there?”

  McShane chuckled. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Eileen watched as Kier, with whitened knuckles, pocketed the phone. He bowed his head for a moment, standing silent.

  He was upset. Eileen had been with him long enough to read the inevitable signs. She had been listening, of course, to the entire conversation. The smirk he wore was strained, and there was an edge to his laugh. Their demands were not going to be met. They’d be lucky to get out of here with a chopper, and nothing more.

  She needed to head off the anger—if she could—for all their sakes. She slid from the barstool and walked toward him. He looked up as she approached, and she smiled at him.

  “C’mon, love.” She hooked a finger in his collar, running her hand up and inside, molding her body close to his in a display of sexual innuendo she knew he would appreciate. “It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” Kier was all about showing his power. Her skin prickled in distaste as it always did when she was close to him. Especially this close.

  His hands cupped her ass and pulled her up flush to him, her sex to his, in a blatant statement to the world. Eileen forced herself to relax under his grip.

  “No worries, right?” she murmured next to his ear.

  He smiled, moving his hands to her breasts to fondle them. She thrust them forward as if she craved his touch, keeping her face from showing the revulsion she felt inside. Instead, she put her lips to his in what was intended to be a brief kiss.

  To her surprise, he pulled her close, his tongue invading her mouth. She quelled the instinct to push him away from her; forced herself to open her mouth for him. And she held the shudder inside her, not allowing it to shake her. She was strong; and at this moment it thrilled her to recognize the open need in his kiss.

  It was impossible to keep the smile from her own lips. She managed to hide the triumph in her eyes by looking down at the instant Kier lifted his mouth from hers.

  He rubbed his thumb across her chin, then pulled her head up. “You always make things right, Eileen. Somehow, you always do.”

  She took a deep breath, feigning desire as she prepared herself for the lie. “It’s easy—when you love someone.”

  He grinned. “Let’s get these units moved.” He nodded toward the hostages, and Eileen was blindsided by memories of Robin. Units.That’s what her brother had been. An expendable unit. Just like these people.

  McShane turned away, walking toward the hostages as he motioned for Latham and Farley.

  Eileen felt Pete Logan’s gaze on her. She half-turned to face him. As their eyes met, she knew that he understood. Everything. In that one brief glance, she knew the police officer had seen all she’d tried to hide from Kier.

  She lifted a brow quizzically. Would Logan keep that secret? Her life—and her own personal mission—depended upon it.

  Logan gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and she felt limp with relief. She didn’t look at him again as she turned to follow McShane.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “I’m so scared.”

  Pete slowly turned his attention back to the pretty brunette, Traci Meadows, sitting beside him. Her words penetrated seconds later, and he reached to touch her clasped hands.

  “You’re doing fine.” His mind was still on the odd message that had passed between him and Eileen Bannion. At first, he’d thought she was McShane’s paramour. Now, he wasn’t sure what she was to the Irishman. Despite giving herself to the terrorist, for just one instant he had seen her expression fill with revulsion before she’d quickly masked it.

  “Well, at least I’ve managed to stop crying,” Traci muttered.

  Pete started to smile, then winced as his bruised, split lips stretched. He closed his eyes, and Traci leaned forward to wipe a trickle of blood away.

  “Thank you…for helping me out over here,” he managed to tell her. His thoughts were still fragmented and he felt disoriented, but he knew one thing. He knew what he’d seen on Eileen Bannion’s face. And she had been desperate to hide it from McShane. It had shaken her to see Pete had recognized her true feelings about the Irishman.

  Pete tried to relax his shoulders. Every muscle throbbed with each beat of his heart. He closed his eyes.

  “You’re not going to sleep…are you?”

  There was desperation in the question, though he knew she was trying to be sure he didn’t sleep for his own good, as well. He knew the chances were likely that he had a concussion from his earlier beating. But Traci, he understood, did not want to be alone.

  He cracked one swollen eye open. “That would be pretty…rude…wouldn’t it?” he teased, and the young woman gave him a slight smile.

  “I think you may have a concussion,” she offered.

  Pete hadn’t let go of her fingers. He squeezed them gently. “You’ve been…really strong, Traci.”

  She shook her head and looked down. “No. I’ve been a terrible coward. And I don’t see that ending anytime soon.” She moistened her lips. “McShane—he scares me—just the way he looks at me; the things he says to me…”

  Pete didn’t ask what. He knew well enough the kinds of things McShane probably had been telling her. Things he planned to do to her…things he would expect her to do for him—or else.

  For a moment, the incessant pain was replaced by a burning sheet of white-hot anger tinged with the slightest galling bite of helplessness. There truly was nothing he could do to help her. More likely, anything he tried to do would be the thing that might earn her even worse treatment at McShane’s hands. Again, his mind turned to Eileen Bannion and the look she’d given him. Would she help them? Not likely, but what else could he read from that glance?

  “Pete?”

  “I’m still…here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Who else would keep me…awake?” He opened his eyes. The effort was draining. Traci smiled.

  “I really shouldn’t sleep anyway. Much as I’d like to.” He squeezed her hands again. “Think you’re right about…about that concussion. I feel like I may embarrass myself here in just a few minutes…” The nauseating feeling was taking a firm hold on his guts. It was familiar. He’d been hit hard like this twice before—and spent the night in the hospital under observation.

  Traci met his eyes. “I guess I’m being pretty selfish. I just don’t want to be—what I mean is—I need someone to talk to.”

  Pete gave a slight grin just before his eyes slid shut once more. “I understand. I’m just resting, okay? It takes a lot of effort to keep my eyes open.”

  Traci nodded. “Okay. Thanks for—just being here.” She was silent a moment, then she said, “We all know you didn’t have to come in here…that you did it for us. You’re taking a terrible risk. You know, if they need a hostage, you’ll be the one they take—at least, that’s what some of the Englishmen are saying—”

  This time, Pete couldn’t stop the grin, painful though it was. “They’re just whistlin’ past the graveyard, Traci. I’m not the agenda here. Brendan Roberts is.”

  She sighed, obviously
relieved at his words. “I’m glad,” she whispered. Then, in a rush she added, “I mean, I’m glad you’ll be safe.”

  Pete shook his head. “No guarantees on that, as you can see. But I’ll try to keep my head down, and maybe McShane’ll forget we’re here. Especially if everything starts jumpin’.” No need to tell her the truth. That the Brits were partially right, anyhow. Brendan Roberts was the main course, but Pete knew that his being a police officer added him to the menu, as well.

  Traci tensed, and Pete forced his eyes open again. She was watching the group of hostages across the room with wide-eyed intensity.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Pete asked. He could tell by the expression on her delicate features that something had changed.

  “He’s splitting them into groups.”

  Pete cursed, tried to turn, but didn’t get far before he fell back against the comfortable luxury of the couch. As a police officer, he understood this would make any kind of rescue virtually impossible. And now, McShane was watching them.

  Pete looked at Traci once more. She was staring at McShane like a zombie. “Don’t make eye contact, Traci. Here, look at me.”

  Distractedly, she looked down at him, the worry for their situation and his injuries clouding her features.

  “Now…tell me about something. Anything. Growing up…your family…how many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “Two sisters. One brother.” She spoke as if she were being interrogated as a criminal suspect.

  “Loosen up, Traci. He can feel that from you.”

  “Feel what?” Her voice cracked.

  “Your fear. Don’t let it through.”

  But it was too late. Pete saw it in her face as she raised her eyes past him and looked beyond. Satan once again approached, his lips quirked in a smug grin. He had not forgotten.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Daniel settled Johnny back against the pillow, then straightened, watching as Alexa covered him with the blanket once more.

  He shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead, a faint smile on his lips. “He’s somethin’ else, ain’t he? Thought he was gonna go do somethin’ to that bomb in the shape he’s in—Gonna get himself killed, that’s what.” He chuckled. “He’s got a lot of grit. That’s what my daddy always said about people who were determined.”