“You don’t have to choke her, Mitch,” Kent spat.
Mitch eased off.
Kent swung back to S-Man, his face dark. “Don’t just stand there — roll it to the counter.”
S-Man did as he was told. He wanted Mitch’s hands off Leslie — the woman he loved with all his heart.
The woman who was leaving him in a couple of weeks.
If they survived.
In that inopportune moment — with the wood of the table under his hands and a crass comment from Brad hitting his ears — a giant movie screen of his and Leslie’s future unfurled in S-Man’s brain. The picture was so vivid, so right, he marveled that he’d not seen it before. Why wait while Leslie went off on her own, hoping she’d come back to him? Why not go with her? He’d convince her to marry him. Together they’d go wherever the reporting jobs took her. He was seeing his dreams come true; so was she. Why should they have to choose between those dreams and each other?
A novelist could write anywhere.
“Stop! Leave it there.” Kent’s voice drilled into his thoughts. “Go sit down.”
S-Man turned around, feeling almost light, a tiny smile on his lips. Kent gave him a suspicious look. “Move it.”
When S-Man reached the table, Mitch unwrapped his arm from Leslie’s throat and pushed her. She fell into her chair as S-Man lowered into his. He took her hand, squeezed it hard. Gave her a reassuring nod.
Leslie’s eyes misted, but she hefted her chin and blinked the tears away. Throwing a glance to kill at Kent, she muttered one word under her breath.
“Pig.”
SIXTY-ONE
Vince hunched at his desk, dragging a hand back and forth across his chin as he strained to hear the muted noises from within the café. When Kent slammed down his receiver, he’d left the line connected. Vince couldn’t make out what was happening.
With every passing minute, his tension ratcheted higher. Larry had left the office, but not before pointing to the word he’d written across the girls’ pictures. Vince reminded himself of that victory.
He heaved back in his chair, exchanged a frustrated look with Justin. Got up. Walked around. Sat down again.
Still no Wicksell.
Suddenly — a voice in his ear.
“Edwards!” Wicksell sounded no calmer. “I had Mr. Science Fiction Writer bring the TV in. And the door’s locked and bolted again, so don’t go getting any ideas.”
Ted Dawson — S-Man.
“Good.” Vince spoke easily, as if the last five minutes hadn’t made his gut churn. “As soon as you get it turned on, let me know. I’ll proceed with the reporters.”
“You’re gonna screw us on that too, ain’t ya?”
“No. They’re going to read the document on air. Just like I got you the TV.”
“Oh yeah, they’ll read it. But there’ll be something in the background goin’ on. Something I don’t know.”
“There’s no hidden agenda. But we agreed not to move on this until you’re ready.”
“Brad!” Wicksell yelled. “Get the TV turned on!”
Vince tried to picture the hostages in Java Joint. Were they still at tables as Brittany had told him? What condition were they in? All this shouting, the gunshots — they had to be terrified. Did they even know the girls hadn’t been hurt?
“Let me tell you something, Edwards — nobody’s comin’ near this place again. Hear me? Not for anything.”
“All right, if that’s the way you want it.”
Wicksell growled in his throat. “It’s not all right. Nothing’s all right. I come to your town, ready to deal, and all you can do is lie to me.”
“No, I asked you at the very beginning if you wanted me to lie or tell the truth. You picked the truth. That’s what you’re getting.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Kent, I need you to trust me —”
“I already told you I don’t trust you.”
“As long —”
“You want me to shoot someone else, huh?”
“You know I don’t.”
“I think you do! Or maybe it’s what you need to show you I mean business.”
“Kent, listen to me.” Vince spoke slowly. “You and I can’t move forward as long as you’re threatening hostages. I’d rather focus on what you want me to do for you.”
“I want you to shut up, that’s what.”
Vince focused on his desk. Maybe the arrival of the judge and attorneys would help. When Wicksell heard all three men were meeting to discuss T.J.’s case, maybe he’d calm down. Something had to work.
“Edwards!”
“I’m here.”
“Just letting you know the TV’s on.”
Good. Something else for Wicksell to think about. Watching the airing of T.J.’s story would give him time to settle down.
“All right. I’ll contact the reporters, tell them to go ahead.” “They’d better make it good, Edwards. I mean real good. They don’t do my son’s words justice, a few of your friends are going to be sorry.”
The threats chewed Vince’s ears. He wouldn’t hesitate to go tactical if he had to, but the thought twisted his stomach. If he sent CRT storming in there, people would die. Maybe some of the hostages.
“I’ll contact them, but I need to see that you’re going to calm down first.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Kent, I cannot proceed as long as you’re threatening anyone in there with you.”
Wicksell snorted. “Like you’re making the rules.”
“You and I agreed to work this out. I’m carrying out my part. I have the reporters standing by. You need to do your part. Can you do that?”
“I am doing it.”
“Doing your part includes making no more threats.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. Just get the reporters on TV.”
Vince and Justin exchanged a glance. “All right, Kent. Don’t hang up. I’ll have someone here make the phone calls, and as soon as that’s done, I’ll let you know.”
“Make it fast.”
“I’ll work as quickly as possible. I’m going to put the phone down just a minute.”
Vince set the receiver on the desk and hurried out of the office. As he strode down the hall, he erased all tension from his face. No need for the girls to be any more frightened.
He stuck his head in the second office’s door, motioning to Roger. Larry sat at a desk, writing in the log. Dr. Hughes was examining Ali’s left ankle. Brittany waited with shoulders pulled in, clasped hands at her mouth. She glanced at Vince.
“You all right?”
She nodded.
He threw her a quick smile, then looked to Roger. “I need you to call those reporters, tell them we’re ready. Find out how long it’ll be, then let me know. We’ll need to stagger the times so Wicksell can watch both channels.”
“Will do.”
When he returned to his office, Justin shook his head. “More yelling going on in there.”
Vince snatched up his receiver. “Kent?” Wicksell was shouting obscenities, not directly into the phone. “Kent.”
The cursing broke off. “Yeah!” Kent’s tone seethed. “What d’ya want?”
“Just want to let you know we’re calling the reporters. I’ll have an update for you in a minute. Who are you yelling at?”
“Anybody. Everybody. What’s it to ya?”
Kent was pacing. Vince could tell by the way he breathed, the sound of hard footsteps.
“Is everyone all right in there?”
“No one’s all right in here; who do you want to hear about first?” Kent’s words pulsed. “My son, Brad, who wasn’t even supposed to be here, keeps trying to tell me what to do. He has his way, there’ll be a body out on the street in the next minute. Then there’s Mitch, suddenly all paranoid about somebody outside the windows ready to bust in. Making me downright nervous.”
Paranoia — a symptom of meth. Not a good attitude with a gun in your hand…
; “I got all these people to keep under control, and it’s so stuffy in here you’d think we was in a closet.”
“It must seem like a long time you’ve been in there.”
“Way too long. This thing is taking way too long.”
“Sounds like it’s really getting to you.”
Wicksell snorted, then chewed out a few more curses. “You think we came this far to give up now, you got another thing coming. You and me got a lot left to work out yet.”
“We’re working with you as fast as we can, Kent. Next thing is to get T.J.’s story aired, and that’ll be soon. Past that I have an idea —” Vince cut off as Roger appeared in the doorway. “Hang on a minute. I may have word about the reporters.”
Roger gave him a thumbs-up. Vince placed his hand over the receiver’s mouthpiece. “How long?”
“They’re ready to go. By the way, we got a TV being delivered here along with the judge and attorneys so we can watch what’s going on. In about two minutes.”
“Thanks.” Vince checked the clock. Just after twelve. “Tell Channel 2 to air at 12:15 and Channel 4 to go at 12:30.”
“Right.” Roger swiveled on his heel and left.
Vince turned back to the phone. “Kent? All systems are go.” He gave the air times for each channel.
Wicksell grunted. “About time.” The phone line muffled, and he yelled at someone in the café. Vince couldn’t make out the words.
“Edwards?” Wicksell bit off the name. “Call you back after we’re done watching the news.”
“Wait, Kent, let’s stay on the —”
“No. I’m tired of talking to you.”
“Kent —”
The line went dead.
Justin let out a breath. He pushed back in his chair and slipped off the headphones.
Vince stared at the receiver, then slowly replaced it. Prick-les danced around the back of his neck. Lack of contact was not good, especially with Wicksell’s present state of mind. As long as the man stayed on the phone, he was less likely to hurt anyone.
Of course, there were always the two sons…
The station’s back door opened. Men’s voices. Footfalls.
The attorneys and judge had arrived.
SIXTY-TWO
Jared Moore clasped his bony hands, feeling the heavy drum of his heart. It had refused to slow since Kent Wicksell dragged him out of his chair. Jared did not doubt Kent was capable of carrying out his threat. Tension in the café vibrated like a live wire. These men were out for blood. Frank’s life had not been enough. They’d kill again without blinking an eye.
The television was turned on to Channel 2. Its picture wasn’t cable-sharp, but not bad. The hostages sat woodenly, watching a car commercial.
“They’d better make it good.” Kent’s words to Chief Edwards. Why had Jared ever opened his mouth? Why should he have believed these men were able to act logically?
At the time he’d suggested the emails to reporters, it had seemed like a smart idea. Give them a sought-after story, and they’d come through with the professionalism expected of their field. Now, thanks to Kent’s rage, Jared’s faith lay deflated, a pricked balloon on the dusty floor. No matter how professional the reporters, Kent would find something wrong with their performance.
On the TV, the commercial flipped to pictures of local houses for sale. Paid programming.
What a strange parody, all of them listening to a narrator sing the praises of a house in Coeur d’Alene with four bedrooms and large walk-in closets.
Jared shook his head, wishing he could clear it. His mind was a slough of thoughts. Fear, dread, shock, slushed with phrases of the article he would write were he merely reporter rather than participant. He couldn’t help the flow of words in his head. They were as natural to him as breathing. Now they kept him sane.
He blinked at the screen. A new property — a five-bedroom ranch house on three acres in Spirit Lake. Jared pictured couples in their homes right now, safe, watching the program. Seeking just the right house for their family of five and two dogs…
Amazing, how the world out there just… rolled on.
Java Joint hung thick with stale sweat. Some of that sourness surely was his own. Fear had a way of oozing out one’s pores. Without fresh air, the place seemed worse by the minute. The air-conditioning in this old building wasn’t keeping up. And Jared’s rear end had gone numb from sitting on the hard chair for so long. Being shoved around hadn’t helped.
Kent Wicksell perched on the first counter stool, rapping a knuckle against his weapon. A Freudian gesture? This works or I kill somebody.
Brad scoffed at the TV. “Who watches this stuff?”
“People with nothing better to do.” Mitch rocked from one foot to the other.
“Yeah, like us.”
“Won’t be long now.” Kent’s knuckle kept rapping, like a woodpecker against Jared’s temple.
Brad shook his head. “Like you can trust what that cop says.”
“I can trust this.” Kent slid a black look at his son. “Because he knows what’ll happen in here if he don’t come through.”
Brad’s eyelids flickered, but he said nothing.
Behind Jared, Wilbur coughed. Jared hoped he was holding himself together. Not an easy situation for a man who’d had triple bypass surgery two years ago.
Yet another house on TV. Then the screen flashed and reporter Jeremy Cole appeared. “Kanner Lake Breaking News” ran in red letters across the bottom of the picture.
“All right.” Kent leaned forward. Brad hissed through his teeth.
Cole stood at the edge of town on Lakeshore, the camera zooming out to show milling reporters and towns people, news trucks, police cars, and flashing lights.
Bev and Angie gasped.
What a strange feeling to know those people were a mere five, six blocks away. They may as well have been a planet apart.
Chairs creaked as every hostage leaned forward, straining to make out the face of a friend, a loved one. Jared scanned the TV screen, wanting, needing to see his wife, Tricia, but the camera was too far away to make out faces.
Still, he knew she was there, somewhere in that crowd. He could feel her.
“We interrupt normal programming once again with more breaking news from Kanner Lake.” Jeremy Cole’s face appeared solemn. “On Main Street this very minute, three desperate men are holding a remaining ten people hostage in the nationally known café Java Joint. Kent Wicksell and his two sons, Mitch and Brad…”
Scenes of his years with his wife trailed through Jared’s mind. Tricia, with a nervous smile and little white flowers in her hair, walking down the aisle toward him on the arm of her father. Tricia, after labor, exhausted and sweaty, but so anxious to hold their newborn son. Tricia in the backyard, fretting over rosebushes that wouldn’t grow. The way she hummed while stirring soup at the stove. Her tsking comments as they watched the news — “Jared, you’d have written that story so much better.” She’d gone from brown-haired to gray in their forty years of marriage, and somewhere along the way wrinkles had set in. But her walk was still quick-stepped, her hand in his still firm.
Tricia, I’ll get out of this, you’ll see. Our life together isn’t over yet.
“… in his own words, emailed by his father, Kent Wicksell,” the reporter continued. “The document is about three pages long. I will now read it in its entirety.”
Angie drew a loud breath. Jared could see the desperate curiosity in her face. He felt it too. Among the hostages, only Bailey knew what T.J. had written.
Let’s hope it’s enough to get us out of here.
Kent’s back went rigid, his shoulders hunched as he focused on the TV, as if daring the reporter to do him wrong.
SIXTY-THREE
As the “Breaking News” shot of Jeremy Cole filled the TV screen, everyone in the lobby of the Kanner Lake Police Station fell silent.
Here it comes. Vince stood with arms crossed, feet apart. Adrenaline tingled through him,
setting his stomach at a low tremble. On his right, defense attorney Lester Tranning towered over Vince, lanky arms on his narrow hips. Tranning was dressed in khakis and a blue knit shirt. He’d been pulled off the golf course to come to the station. On Vince’s left, prosecutor Mick Wiley had drawn up a chair. He perched forward, legs spread, one fat hand stroking his chin. To Mick’s left stood Judge Marcus Hadkin, a wiry, dry-witted man in his sixties who’d seen it all and had the hard face to show it. Hadkin had shown up in paint-splattered jeans and an old T-shirt.
“Your man Roger caught me shopping for paint in Spokane,” he’d told Vince with a shake of his gray head. “I got my family room half done. Promised my wife I’d finish today. When I told her why I had to come here, she thought I was making up the wildest excuse she ever heard.”
The two attorneys hadn’t been so talkative. Vince sensed the ancient feud between them, animosity an undercurrent in their voices and eyes.
Roger stood on the other side of Tranning, rocking on his heels, watching the TV out of the corner of his eye. Vince knew he was keeping one ear attuned to the doctor as she spoke to the girls in the second office. Justin and Larry stood beyond Roger.
Jeremy Cole’s lead-in to the story was fine. The basic facts. Nothing Vince saw that should upset Wicksell.
So far, so good.
The reporter raised the pages of the document and began. Tranning made a knowing sound in his throat, then shrugged as if to say, “Heard this before.”
Then why didn’t you use it in court?
Wiley sat like a stone through the entire reading. He would soak everything in, Vince knew, filtering it through his steel-trap mind before responding.
Cole finished reading and looked into the camera. “Kanner Lake Police Chief Vince Edwards continues to negotiate for the release of the remaining hostages. Kent Wicksell has not moved from his initial demand that T.J. be freed from prison. We will continue our coverage soon with further footage and information. For now, this is Jeremy Cole, Channel 2 News.”
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