Capture the Night

by Cheryl Pierson

  As he crawled, he listened for any other noises in the rooms he passed by. There would be none. They were all dead.

  But just as he was closing in on the last three rooms of that floor, he heard a sound—faint, and faraway. He stopped abruptly, pressing his ear to the grate of the darkened room.

  A baby!

  At first, it made him angry that all these things should be happening at once. Wasn’t it enough to have to deal with the wounded police officer he was trying to help? Billings, the crooked one, he planned to go finish off after he tended to Taylor and got him somewhere safe.

  He began crawling again, the sound of the baby’s cries becoming a little louder as he approached the next grate. This was the room. He crawled on past it to the end of the vent and leveraged himself down, dropping the remaining three feet. There was a ladder, but he didn’t use it. Didn’t even think about it, because he never let himself out this way except in emergencies. He reached for the knob, turning it, easing the door open.

  The hallway was empty. He sprinted to the end of the short hall and looked left, toward the elevators. Taylor wasn’t there.

  Keeping to the wall, he hurried to the corner and leaned his head around, looking down the main corridor. Taylor stood halfway down, slumped against the wall.

  Daniel ran to him, looping the younger man’s arm around his neck and putting his own arm around Taylor’s waist in a stabilizing grip. They started toward the elevators and Daniel glanced over his shoulder. Billings was still out there.

  “You should’ve killed him,” he muttered.

  “He trained me… Couldn’t…do it.”

  “Don’t talk,” Daniel ordered. “You’re hit bad—losing blood.”

  “Thanks…for helping.”

  As they passed by the second room from the end, Taylor lifted his head, looking at Daniel. “Sounds…like a baby.”

  Reluctantly, Daniel nodded. “I know.”

  Taylor halted and started toward the door. “We have to…to get to it…”

  Daniel grabbed him, forcing him to keep walking toward the elevators. “Gotta see you patched up some first, pal. Just a quick fix for now.”

  “Then try…the baby?”

  Daniel didn’t look at him. “I don’t know,” he said finally as they reached the elevator. He felt Taylor tense, but figured the wounded man was just hurting too much by now to argue. He eased Taylor to the floor of the elevator, locking the door open button in place so that it couldn’t move.

  He began to strip away the layers of clothing, the bulletproof gear that hadn’t helped, after all, at such close range, and finally, he was able to peel the undershirt up far enough to see how bad the man was hurt.

  One glance told him everything. Taylor was a dead man. His intestines were coming out, practically jumping from his stomach area as Daniel removed the constricting shirt that had held them in place. Blood spurted like a fountain.

  Just like Nam. But he knew what to do. Hadn’t he done it a thousand times before?

  “I—I think—I’m dying,” Taylor murmured, and seemed surprised that he knew it.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  The smell was sickening, and familiar. Daniel eased back a small measure, pulling the shirt down over the wounded area.

  “What’s your name?” Taylor asked. “I need…need to know.”

  “Daniel.” He hadn’t had a need for a last name for a long time.

  “Daniel,” Taylor repeated. He reached out, and Daniel took his hand with a space of hesitation. Taylor squeezed it with a fierce hold, and Daniel knew the pain must be unbearable by the crushing grip. “You tried…” He broke off, his dark eyes looking at something beyond Daniel’s shoulder. Gasping, he tried to regain control, and carefully formed the words so there would be no mistake. “I see colors around you, Daniel…you were sent…to help…special—”

  “No,” Daniel said, not sure how to respond. “I ain’t nothin’ special. Just a man.” Finally. And now, there was no more wondering as he spoke it aloud.

  Taylor shook his head in stubborn denial, breathing in short rasps. “Special…don’t forget that…that kid back there…” His grip began to loosen.

  “I won’t,” Daniel reassured him. “Go on, now. It’s all right. I can take care of things.”

  Taylor’s eyes closed, his blood flooding the floor of the elevator, pooling around Daniel’s shoes. He squeezed Daniel’s hand in thanks, too weak to speak it.

  Daniel’s eyes blurred, and he squeezed back. “Go on home, now, buddy.”

  Taylor drew in a last, deep breath and let it out in a slow exhale. Daniel let go of his hand, wiping the stinging from his eyes. He felt like he oughtta say some words and whatnot, but he couldn’t remember what the right ones were. He reached for the automatic rifle, then stood, slinging it over his shoulder, and stepped out of the elevator. The baby’s wail broke through his consciousness and he started back down the hallway. He’d told Taylor he’d get the baby, and although he hadn’t actually promised him, he might as well have. The elevator floor had been the young man’s deathbed. Daniel had a duty to get the baby; although, in his gut, he knew that was suicidal. He needed quiet in order to help the others.

  The kid would be safer in that hotel room than with him. And how would he manage to climb through the vents if he needed to? Still, he had agreed…

  He opened the door with the pass key Ronnie had given him for emergencies and walked in. He flipped the light switch beside the door, following the weakening sounds of crying toward the back of the suite. A man and woman were sprawled across the floor, their blood drying in the carpet. Daniel stepped over them, going straight to the closet door and opening it.

  The baby lay partially wrapped in a blanket on the closet floor, kicking and screaming, red in the face.

  “Why’d they put you in here?” Daniel asked, bending to pick up the baby. He was hesitant as he reached to lift the child, being unfamiliar with babies, but he tried to be as careful as he could.

  A quick glance around the room told the story. The terrorists had made their way down the hallway starting their bloody path of death at the far end, in case anybody tried to run. They could shoot them as they came out of their rooms and headed for the elevators or stairwells. The parents must have heard what was happening and put the baby in the closet, hoping to save its life.

  Daniel held the child with one brawny arm as he started back down the corridor. He was filled with grim determination to finish Billings off. The baby had stopped crying, but he figured that wouldn’t last long. It was probably starving. Kid shouldn’t be here. It should be down at the Bobby’s Burgers with its parents.

  The rifle Daniel had taken from Taylor had plenty of ammo. It was a lot fancier than any weapon he’d ever used. It was lightweight enough to handle pretty easy, he thought, but powerful enough to deliver a jarring kick. He’d have to remember that, since he could only use one hand. His left one was as full of life as the right one was of death.

  As he neared the room where the hostages had been shot, he approached with caution. Billings would be a tough one, if he had come around. Daniel took a step closer to the door. There was nowhere to hide in this damn hallway. It was open and light. He kicked the door open, meeting with no resistance, only the smell of death all around.

  Billings was gone.

  Chapter 36

  “Time for an evening stroll,” McShane announced, his gaze raking over the small group. “I hope I can expect your full cooperation on this, at least, Officer Logan,” he said silkily, “so that no one gets hurt. I’d…hate that.” He smiled at Alexa. She watched him with stony defiance.

  Brendan Roberts began to get to his feet. At his full height, he towered over McShane. He extended a hand to Johnny.

  Johnny took it, and Alexa could see his reluctance to let McShane see how much he hurt. He rose stiffly. Glancing at Pete, he said, “He’s in no shape to walk anywhere.”

  McShane pulled his gun out, pointing it at Pete’
s head. “He comes, or he dies. It’s that simple. What’ll it be, gents?”

  Without deigning to look at the Irishman, the Prime Minister motioned two of his own men over.

  “Would you be so kind as to carry Officer Logan out onto the—uh—veranda?” He nodded toward the door. The men bent and lifted Pete, carrying him toward the door. Eileen Bannion stood ready, arching a dark brow at McShane.

  “I’ll handle it, Kier,” she said.

  He gave her a vague nod, turning back to the group of four.

  “Shall we?” he motioned with his gun.

  Traci’s eyes were wide as she scrambled up.

  Alexa hated the satisfied smile that flickered over McShane’s pitted face. She reached for her handbag.

  “You won’t be needing that, Ms. Bailey,” McShane assured her.

  She picked it up anyway, giving him a cool look. She hoped that her voice would not betray her by shaking as much as her insides were. “I have pictures of my children in my wallet that I carry with me—everywhere I go.”

  McShane studied her for several seconds. Finally, he nodded. “All right. This time, all right. But I warn you, Ms. Bailey, defiance doesn’t wear well with me.”

  Not answering, she moved closer to Johnny. He put his arm around her. “Seems nothing ‘wears well’ with you, McShane,” he said levelly.

  McShane shrugged. “Not at the moment, Officer Logan. Things have definitely—as you Yanks are so fond of saying—‘gone south’. Unfortunate, for the lot of you. But, at least I’ve spared you the insult of being forgotten when you die.” His lips curved upward in a secretive smile.

  Traci began to sob, and Alexa felt a mingling of sympathy and irritation for the younger woman. The four of them began to walk toward the door, Brendan Roberts relieving Alexa of Johnny’s weight as he had done earlier.

  The other men were motioned out first. Eileen Bannion waited, directing them to sit in one place or the other.

  As Johnny and Alexa came through the doorway onto the roof once more, she felt him draw a deep breath of the fresh, late afternoon air. In a quick moment, the Prime Minister had escorted Traci through and was at Johnny’s side again.

  Eileen nodded toward where Pete lay. Alexa was thankful that the terrorist had allowed them that small consolation. She and the Prime Minister started to lower themselves to the ground, and Johnny’s weight shifted from her completely.

  “Wait!” McShane ordered, striding over to them before they could sit. “Let go of him, Brendan,” he continued, his eyes holding Johnny’s. Roberts did as he was ordered, reluctantly releasing the steadying grip around Johnny’s side.

  Alexa held her breath. He was hurt too badly to stand alone for very long. She could only watch, her helpless hands balling into fists. McShane grabbed the material of Johnny’s shirt collar, pulling him close. “Assume the position, Officer Logan, and spread ’em.” McShane released him with a hard shove.

  Johnny turned, seemingly unsteady on his feet, raising his hands against the concrete wall, spreading his legs as ordered.

  He was giving her time, Alexa realized. He wasn’t sure where the other gun was. He must think I have it on me. I’m next.

  Would the search include her purse? And if it did, would she be able to shoot Kieran McShane before he shot her?

  She moistened her lips. McShane glanced down to where she sat, and she regarded him with frosty disdain. The smirk faded.

  He turned to frisk Johnny, his semi-automatic pistol pointing at Johnny’s spine. McShane pushed Johnny up next to the wall, yanking the cell phone from his shirt pocket with a triumphant snarl. He put it into his own pocket with a short bark of laughter. “Like that could do you any good now. What would you do, call 911?”

  Johnny didn’t answer.

  With deliberation, McShane drove his fist into the incision that Alexa had made in Johnny’s back. This time, he couldn’t hold back the cry of pain. His whole body trembled with it, and Alexa moved forward to protect him. Brendan Roberts started up from where he sat, and McShane turned the gun on him. Alexa laid a hand on his arm, remembering herself and who held the hammer, here.

  “Just give me one good reason to blow your ass to hell, Brendan,” McShane taunted. “You’ll get there soon enough. Don’t rush it.”

  With an icy stare, Roberts sank back down beside Alexa, and McShane muttered, “Ye’re good, Logan. Take a seat.” He shoved Johnny to the ground, the jolt bringing a groan to his lips.

  McShane looked at Alexa. “Ms. Bailey, if you please—same procedure.”

  Alexa glared up at him with unveiled loathing.

  He chuckled. “I hope I have time to fuck you before I die.”

  “I doubt you’ll have that long, Mr. McShane,” she replied cuttingly. She stood up and looked into his eyes once more, quelling the fear at the blatant inhumanity that stared back at her. “I don’t believe Ms. Bannion would appreciate your—infidelity—either.”

  “Eileen knows I do what I want. What I must. What great men have done since the beginning.” He pushed Alexa against the wall. “When I tell you to ‘spread ’em’, Ms. Bailey, it will have an entirely different meaning,” he leered next to her ear.

  Alexa closed her eyes. Johnny’s silence screamed the question. The gun. The gun. What did you do with it?

  She felt McShane’s fingers slide around the waistband of her pants, then his arm snaked upward over her breasts, the barrel of the gun he carried poking into her back. She shuddered as he rubbed his hand over her breasts, fighting the urge to turn around and land her elbow smashing into his mouth. Her leg touched Johnny’s arm, and she could feel the tension coursing through him. He was holding himself in check to keep from throttling the Irishman.

  “Nice teats, Alexa.” McShane gave a crude laugh. “Can’t wait to see the rest. I love older women.”

  She pushed away from the wall, turning from him to sit beside Johnny once more, her cheeks flaming. Her breath caught in her throat at his next words. “Now, let’s see that handbag—if you please.”

  “Kier!” Eileen called. She stood a few yards away, glaring at one of Roberts’s men. “Kier, I need you!”

  McShane snatched the purse from Alexa’s nerveless fingers and strode across the roof to where Eileen stood over the hostage.

  “Says you’re too chickenshit to finish this,” she clamored, pointing at the hostage. “To tell the truth,” she paused, giving him a questioning look, “I’m wonderin’ myself where it’s all headed. I mean—look. There’s no helicopters, they haven’t let our men go free—hell, they aren’t even talking to you anymore.” She reached to snag the purse from his hand. “I like this.” She glanced at Alexa. “Nice purse. Here!” She tossed it back the few feet that separated her from them, and Alexa caught it in mid-air.

  “Hey!” McShane yelled. “What the hell’s wrong with you!”

  “Nothing, Kieran, dear. It’s what’s right with me. Finally.”

  McShane’s incredulous anger turned to a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand, love.”

  Alexa stealthily unzipped her purse, her gaze still on Eileen and McShane. Johnny’s fingers covered her shaking ones, taking the automatic pistol from her. So close. They’d been so close to losing this weapon. She saw something cross the Irishwoman’s face, just for a moment, that gave her pause.

  “Did you see that?” she whispered, still unable to turn away.

  “Yeah,” Johnny responded tightly. “He’s fuckin’ wired.”

  “Damn it!” Roberts swore.

  “For the bomb we found?” Alexa asked.

  Johnny nodded. “Maybe. There’s more than one…Could be it’s not the main detonator. But I don’t believe Miss Bannion was aware until this moment.”

  “She isn’t stupid,” Alexa murmured. “So it seems like…maybe, she’s trying to help us.”

  “I think so too, Lex.”

  Eileen’s voice rose. “I’ve just been wonderin’ what’s goin’ t’happen. To us, I mean. I’ve been worried
sick!”

  “Eilly, you’re talkin’ crazy. We’re goin’ home. Back to Ireland. Those bastards’ll come through at the last minute. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  She gave McShane a shy look, and he patted her arm. At that physical contact, she became still, never even flinching when McShane clubbed the hapless hostage she’d accused of maligning him in the head with the butt of his gun.

  Roberts grunted, shaking his head, as his man went down where he sat.

  “Now, tell me, love, why so worried?” McShane nudged the man out of his way and pulled Eileen to him.

  “Because…I’ve a bit of news for ye, Kier,” she said, her voice breathless. “A surprise—and I hope ye like it.”

  “Somethin’ ye want—everyone—to know?” he asked, reminding her by his tone that they weren’t alone; that she might want to wait until they were.

  Seemingly heedless, she pushed on. “Yes! Oh, Kier, I want to shout it to the world! I’m pregnant, darling. I’m carrying your—our—child!”

  “Pregnant!” For a moment, he stood, suspended between disbelief and denial.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Johnny watched both of their reactions, their facial expressions—easy enough to read. He wondered if they knew each other as well as they thought. Eileen delivered the news with joy—at least, it seemed that way. There was even a spark of hope in her eyes that McShane would welcome the surprise—publicly, at least.

  McShane did just that, and more. From where Johnny sat, it was not a “show”. McShane broke his usual reserve to grin at Eileen and hug her. “Eilly…It’s no wonder ye’ve been actin’ so strange lately! A baby. When, lass?”

  “Near the end of October.” She smiled, with no hint of shadows at her eyes.

  “She means it!” Alexa said.

  “No, she doesn’t.” Pete’s voice was stronger than before.