by J. D. Robb
“Well, we’re not the only bank in town, you know,” she said optimistically. “I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth, but it’s true. Did you try anywhere else?”
It was time to move to the other side of the room again, so he nodded when he went by and said, “Three. Three other places. Same answer, same reason. What kills me is that if I weren’t around, my brother could do it on his own, easy.”
She felt miserable for him. “I’m sorry, Cal. I really am. It doesn’t seem fair to me either.”
“Don’t. You don’t have to say things like that just because you’re scared. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I didn’t. I meant it. I am sorry everything turned out badly for you. And I’m sorry that what you’re doing now isn’t going to help matters,” she said, matter-of-factly. “But as much as I’d like to change things for you, I can’t.” She frowned. “Which makes me wonder why you picked me? Why not someone from Loans and Acquisitions?”
“What was the better idea you had before we came in here?” He smoothly changed the subject.
“Oh. It wasn’t important. I just remembered that Gil Hopkins’s office is empty for a while. He’s out having a couple hernias fixed. He’s a pretty big man and hernias can be dangerous if they’re not taken care of surgically.” He was looking at her with tolerance, like he might his chatty mother. “He’s in Accounting? There’s a computer in his office and a water machine and it’s just across the hall from a bathroom and there’s no street window, but it’s not as big as this. Do you get claustrophobic?”
“Seven years in prison and you get used to small places.”
“Seven years?” For some reason she’d been thinking a year for forging checks or hacking computers or jaywalking, maybe. “Can I…?”
“What?”
“Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“What was I locked up for?”
“Yes, but don’t tell me. I’m just being nosy.”
“I got three years for taking a beat-up piece of shit truck when I was eighteen.” He wagged his head. “And I deserved that one, I guess. I thought I was real big stuff in high school…Someone your mother would have told you to steer clear of, I bet.” His smile was small and rueful. “If they hadn’t gotten me for the truck, they’d have caught me doing something else. Eventually. I was long overdue. But the second time, and this is seven years later when I’m about…twenty-five, I guess, I was almost completely innocent.”
“Almost completely?” She caught herself enjoying his story and tried to stop. It was bad enough that she liked looking at him so much.
“I resisted arrest. But you would, too, under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
He glanced out the window in the door and crossed over to the street side, saying, “It was winter, right? So it was cold out but not freezing cold, you know what I mean?”
“I think so. When you can go without a hat but not without a coat.”
“Right.” He turned to look at her and she was struck by how peculiar it was to imagine him, with his open expression and easy manner, in jail, and it was flat-out weird to have to keep reminding herself that he was robbing the bank…and that she should be terrified. “That’s exactly what I did, too. I took off my hat, one of those knit caps, and stuffed it in the pocket of my coat. Everyone was wearing those big, green army coats back then, remember?” She shrugged, not really. “Anyway, I went to a buddy’s house to play poker one night, just an innocent nickel-and-dime game, and about twenty minutes into the game I get hot, take off my coat, and toss it on the guy’s couch. There were six of us and this seventh guy who came late; we made room for him and then he bailed before anyone cashed out. Some friend of somebody’s friend.
“So the game’s over. It’s about 2:30 in the morning. I grab my coat off the couch and head home. I’m not in my car ten minutes before I get flashing lights and pull over because I know about the busted taillight I haven’t fixed yet. I figured I’d give the same spiel I gave the other two times I got stopped, about the damage being new and having an appointment to get it fixed next week.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that honesty is the best policy?”
He gave her a quizzical look that amused her. “Don’t give me that, you’d have lied, too. Admit it.”
“I admit it.” She tried not to grin. “But you’re holding a gun on me so does that count?”
Cal’s lips curled up at the corners and his eyes sparkled with glee for a whole minute before he remembered the rule about not having fun with the captives.
“They didn’t believe me anyway. And when they called my plates and license in and found out I was a con they were all over me like a bad rash. I told them they could search the car, I had nothing to hide. I got out and put my hands on my head so they could frisk me. I’m an innocent man, right?” A derisive laugh slipped out. “I thought my head would explode when they pulled a baggie full of pills out of my pocket.”
Bonnie gasped, covered her eyes with her hands, and muttered, “It’s not your coat.” She slipped her hands down to cover her mouth and waited for him to continue.
“Also the bulk in my pocket that I thought was my cap—the cap I didn’t even check on after I stuffed it in my pocket because it was warm enough to go without it—was a gun. And it wasn’t just a concealed weapon, it was also a parole violation.” He let her groan and fall back in her chair in defeat. “You ever watch those cop shows and wonder how stupid the crook must be to try and outrun a cop car…and then a whole fleet of cop cars? Well, fear makes people stupid…and reckless. It made me real stupid and reckless. I head-butted one cop and rammed the other in the gut with my shoulder. They both went down, and I started running through the neighborhood, in the dark, with handcuffs on. Real smart.”
“And, of course, no one believed it wasn’t your coat.”
“Would you?”
Reluctantly, she shook her head. And okay, she was being pretty stupid and reckless herself because she believed him. She believed him and she liked him; liked the way his clear hazel eyes looked straight into her soul when he spoke and the solid, uncomplicated tone of his voice. She liked that his hands were rough and well-used but the nails were clipped neat and clean. There had to be some way to help him.
She watched as he crossed the room again. “Look, if we leave here now I swear I’ll do everything I can to help you get the money you need.” He was looking out on the hallway, taking a peek in both directions. “I know a few venture capitalists, maybe we can work something out there…or maybe a private investor…there are loans and grants from the government that hardly anyone uses. We’ll look everywhere and we won’t stop until you have all the money you need.”
He turned, leaned back into the corner behind the door, and looked at her. His eyes were soft and warm and scalpel sharp all at the same time. She felt a familiar, airy, boosting sensation below her diaphragm and immediately reminded herself that she was the captain of her own ship.
“Where were you a couple hours ago?”
“I know,” she said with sympathy. “And two hours ago I’d have had to turn you down for your felony arrests, too. The bank has rules. But I didn’t know you two hours ago and I wasn’t willing to use my own personal time to help you find the money you need.”
“Because now you know all about me.”
“Of course not, but I know more about you than when we first met, and I know I want to help you.”
For a long minute he stared at her, so long she finally squirmed in her chair. Eventually, he pushed away from the wall, saying, “Thanks, Bonnie, I appreciate the offer, but it’s a little too late. The cops are here.”
Six
“No! Don’t answer it,” she said, when the telephone rang. She sprang from her chair and clamped her hand over his on the receiver. “Let me answer. I’ll tell them we came in here for a quiet, private meeting. I’ll tell them someone overreacted, that I’m here because I want
to be.”
He shook his head and the phone kept ringing.
“Please, Cal, once they know this is a hostage situation for sure there’s only one way this can go—badly; our options will be gone and we won’t be able to turn back.”
“I understand. Now move your hand.”
“Um.” She scratched around inside for a minuscule amount of courage and used it all to say, “No. Now you’re making a mistake. Take another minute and think it through. Think about your life. About your brother’s life, and your sister’s. What about…do you have a wife?”
“Divorced.”
“Kids?”
He shook his head, his gaze on hers. “What about you? I bet some rich guy gobbled you…no ring?”
It was her turn to shake her head and she couldn’t remember the last time she permitted herself to feel self-conscious about never having been married. She withdrew her hands slowly and hid them out of sight, saying, “I was busy doing other things.”
“I’d like to know what, but first…”
A startled cry spilled out of her when she realized she’d been duped into freeing his hands. Her desperate lunge to secure them again ended in a sudden, frozen halt when a loudspeaker screeched outside the door.
“Joseph Sanderson, this is the police. Please pick up the phone so we can talk. Joe Sanderson. We know who you are, now all we want is to know what you need.”
He was a kidnapper and a thief and she couldn’t believe how hurt she felt that he’d lied to her about his name.
“Joe? Joe is your real name? Great. Fine. I suppose I get to call you Joe now?”
“You can if you want. My mother does, and a few people I grew up with, but I’ve been Cal to everyone else since I left home. Poor Joe had a reputation to live down, remember? My middle name is Calvin. Can you beat that for a stupid name?”
“Come on, Joe, pick up. Tell us what we can do for you.”
Cal held out both hands helplessly. “They’re asking so nice, I gotta pick up now.”
“No. I can still do it. I can defuse the whole thing right now. Please, Cal.”
An expression of wonder and…something close to fondness softened his features as he looked at her. He put his fist under her chin and gently swept the pad of his thumb across the rounded tip of her chin and said, “You asked—”
They both jumped when the phone rang again. He snatched it up impatiently and pressed the speaker end against his side.
“You asked why I picked you…I must have talked to a dozen people in this bank today. You were the only one who looked me in the eye, smiled at me, and wished me a good morning. If I hadn’t seen you I’d have gotten on the elevator and gone home empty-handed again. I’d have gone home to watch my brother pretend he doesn’t know it’s me that’s holding him back. But I did see you and…Damn it!” he said when the bullhorn in the hall started up again. He lifted the receiver to his mouth. “Can you wait a damn minute? I’m busy here. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere.” The phone went back to his waist. “Where was I?”
“But you did see me.”
He smiled and Bonnie’s knees went weak. “That’s right. I did. And I thought to myself, ‘Now there’s a woman. Friendly, honest, smart. A woman who would never give up, she’d never take anything on the chin and accept it. She’d fight.’”
“You got all that from a smile, a look, and a polite good-morning?”
“Was I wrong?” She shook her head—her rather inflated head—slowly. “But none of that is why I picked you. The reason I picked you to take as my hostage is…you were available.”
The gasp and the outrage and the humor and chagrin all arrived in the same breath moments before he burst into good-natured laughter. Swallowing chuckles, she whacked his left arm and then added her hand to his as he held the phone to his waist.
“That’s funny, Cal, but this isn’t. You’re in serious trouble, so get a serious attitude before you talk to them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He scowled “Did I mention bossy? You looked bossy, too.”
She was about to make a retort when he put a finger to his lips and put the receiver to his ear.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. My hostage was giving me some flack…No, she’s fine, she’s just real mouthy.” His grin was teasing and so was her indignant eye roll. He held out the phone. “Tell them you’re okay.” She called out that she was and he took over again. “Here’s the deal, Ted, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet so back away from the door and stop calling every five minutes. I don’t want to go off half-cocked so don’t force me to. When I know what I want to do, you’ll know. Oh, and no more of that bullhorn, it makes my fingers twitchy.” He hung up. “How was that?”
“I think it was good. But don’t give them any reason to think I’ve been hurt or that you’re being abusive or they’ll storm us. Help me push the table up against the door. And turn out that light. You really are horrible at this.”
“You, on the other hand, are acting suspiciously adept at it.” He set one chair atop another and another, using them all to barricade the door. “Which leads me to wonder, why are you helping me?” He looked around and realized he’d stacked all the chairs and she had nowhere to sit but the floor.
“Thank you, but leave the chair. We should sit on the table anyway, for extra weight. Get under it if they try to break in.”
The looks they exchanged said it wasn’t a matter of if they tried to break in, but when—and if they both knew, why say it aloud?
“That’s another good suggestion. Have you thought of writing a book? How Not to Bungle a Burglary, and its follow-up, How to Be a Happy Hostage.”
Ignoring him, she sat on the tabletop next to him and started swinging her legs. She couldn’t help it—she hadn’t had a legitimate excuse to sit on top of a table since she was twelve.
“I’m helping you because I think you got a raw deal—not that any of this is going to make any difference. You know that, right? You can’t win this.”
“When you write your book be sure to stress the importance of faith and staying upbeat.” Bonnie turned her sternest look on him. He winked at her and she…gave up.
“Actually, I’m helping you because this is all my fault. When I walked by you, out near the elevators, you got sucked up into the vortex of my morning from hell.” He gave a soft, dismissive chuckle. “I’m serious. I woke up thirty minutes late today, my hair dryer blew up, I snagged my pantyhose, locked all my keys inside my condo, had a flat tire, took a taxi to work, was kidnapped, and held hostage.” She lifted her left arm. “And it’s not quite noon yet.” She turned her head to find him staring at her. “What?”
“Do you think that’ll hold up in court? Your Honor, I was just standing at the elevator, minding my own business—which, by the way, is grossly limited because of my two felony arrests—when this very pretty woman came along and I got sucked into her bad morning.”
“Works for me.” She especially liked the very pretty part.
“That’s the story I’ll use then. I like it.”
Bonnie nodded. “I’m going with Stockholm Syndrome.” He tipped his head and gave her a you-always-get-all-the-best-excuses face. “Well, why else would I be helping you?”
Cal sobered slowly and thoughtfully. “Don’t tell anyone, not even your best friend, that you did anything to help me in here. Not the slightest little thing. Okay?” She nodded. “And don’t make me out to be a monster either, all right? My niece and nephews might see the news.”
“You’re not a monster. I’d never call you one.”
He tipped his head in gratitude and slid off the table to check the window overlooking the street.
He was in great shape for a man his age…for a man almost any age, she decided, her gaze wandering from broad shoulders to trim waist, down long, lean legs. It was a fit, working man’s body.
Though he hadn’t said it aloud yet, they both knew that taking her hostage had been a gigantic mistake made in a rash mome
nt of anger, fear, and frustration and now he was in over his head. If he could, she knew he’d surrender immediately, apologize to her, a vice president of the bank, and the cops, and go home. As it was, he was simply putting off going back to jail for as long as he possibly could. And she wanted to wait with him.
Knowledge and instinct were what she was all about…since doing her job was basically her whole life. She’d be the first to admit, but not to her clients, that the managing, projecting, planning, investing, and building of other people’s money was commonly an educated crapshoot—that she was pretty good at, by the way…And she wasn’t the first to say that.
But at the moment, what she knew in her head and felt in her gut was all wrong, backward, all tangled up.
She was in danger, his hostage, a stranger to him, but she felt like his friend and his partner—and okay, lover had crossed her mind once or twice, briefly, perhaps under different conditions. He’d had a gun in his hand the whole time she’d known him but he was no more a criminal than she was, she’d swear to it.
She looked across the room at him. He was holding his gun in both hands, staring at it as if it were a toy or like he could clearly see that it was way too small to defend him against the cannons he knew were coming.
The cops hadn’t given up and were calling every few minutes or so. It was her turn to pick up and hang up for a while.
“You know what?” She spoke softly into the silence that had stretched out between them for close to an hour. He looked up immediately, happy for the reprieve from his thoughts.
“What?” He pushed off the wall and walked halfway across the room to match her position: feet on the floor, butt on the table, arms propping up the torso.
“I was just thinking…I have a sister who’s eighteen months older than I am.”
He gave her a little smile and humored her. “What’s her name?”
“Jan. Janice. She’s Jan Everly now, but she used to be Jan Simms. Janice Simms? I’m Bonnie Simms.” A slow pucker started between his brows, but all he did was nod to encourage her to get to the point. “We…well, she mostly, went to school with a boy named Joe Sanderson. In Leesburg. What a coincidence, huh?” His pucker was now a Stage 4 frown. “Interesting, isn’t it?”