Midnight Hero

by Diana Duncan

  Two down, four—or more—to go.

  After the first two didn’t return, more would come looking. Guerrilla tactics, picking off the bad guys individually, was his only viable option. Six to one were lousy odds, and storming the bank would only get the hostages killed. Before long, the guy in charge would figure out he wasn’t up against just a bookstore clerk. Until then, Con had the advantage.

  He exited the bathroom and strode to Bailey’s side. He scooped up the vest. “Put this on.”

  She bit her lip. “You should wear it. You’re most at risk.”

  “Don’t argue. Do it.”

  Her shaky fingers fumbled with unfamiliar straps, but her remote, guarded expression warned him not to help. Instead, he jammed the hood into his pack. He wanted unobstructed vision for now, but the extra protection might come in handy later.

  She shifted, having trouble with her balance. “It’s heavy.”

  “It’s an older model. Weighs twenty-five pounds. New ones weigh sixteen.”

  “I don’t know how you function in one of these things.”

  He snorted as he shrugged on his pack, picked up his jacket, and then checked the Uzi’s magazine. His baseball bat had shattered under Gigantor’s kick, but they still had hers. They also had the vest, hood and a decent amount of ammo. That leveled the rocky odds some. “Add in the other gear, and SWAT officers pack about forty pounds into combat.”

  Her uneasy gaze slid away from his, and he fisted his hands. Right. Don’t mention combat around the lady. “Let’s move.”

  She shivered. “You should change into dry clothes. It’s getting awfully cold. And you’re even wetter now.”

  He rolled his taut shoulders. The soggy clothes were uncomfortable, but comfort wasn’t a top priority. “I’m plenty warm after all the exercise. First things first. We need to find out who used to own all this blood.”

  “You don’t think…could it be a hostage?”

  He hoped not. Had the alarm spooked the robbers into shooting a hostage? His throat tightened as he slowly followed the splotches along the fake marble. “Way down here, so far from the bank? Unlikely.”

  “Maybe someone escaped and was shot in the process. Maybe that’s who the robber was looking for.”

  He’d rather believe the crooks had a falling out over what to do after the fire alarm sounded and had gone their separate ways. Violently. That scenario would sure make them easier to neutralize. “Maybe. We’ll soon see.”

  Watching for more gun-toting suspects, he tracked the grisly markers. The watery, yet unmistakable trail meandered into stores and out, seemingly at random. Larger pools showed where the victim had stopped to rest. At one point, the path made a wobbly loop toward the bank, then turned and wove toward the end of the mall.

  Finally, the trail stopped at a rock-and-gem shop. Con signaled Bailey to wait in a sheltered alcove inside the entrance while he followed the blood to the back. Her safety was his number-one concern. However, if he had to subdue a suspect, he’d rather she didn’t witness it again. He already had enough opponents. He didn’t want to fight her disapproval, as well.

  Uzi at the ready, he edged around a glass display case. And came face-to-face with a man sitting on the floor, propped against the oak paneling. Con’s finger slid to the trigger of his weapon; then the man’s identity registered. Syrone! A bloody bullet hole marred the upper left shoulder of his pale blue uniform jacket. More blood soaked the front. Way too much blood.

  Syrone raised his fist, wrapped around a huge, sharp chunk of unpolished agate. “Come and get me, jerkwad.” His voice was weak and shaky.

  “Whoa!” Con whispered, lowering the Uzi toward the floor. “I’m on your side.”

  Syrone dropped his head back against the paneling. “Irish! Am I glad to see you.”

  “Can’t exactly say likewise. Looks like you’re in a jam here.” He half rose. “Bailey,” he called softly. “C’mon back.”

  She rushed in. “Who—” She stopped, gasped. “Syrone! You’re hurt!”

  “Bailey, you tangled in this mess, too?” Syrone shook his head. “I didn’t see you leave before they jumped me, but I’d hoped you made it out okay.”

  Con pressed two fingers to Syrone’s wrist.

  “You trying to hold hands with me, O’Rourke?”

  “Not on the first date. Maybe the second, though.” The big man’s pulse was weak and thready. Con squeezed his uninjured shoulder. “Can you stand?”

  “Don’t think so. My arms and legs feel disconnected.” Syrone shook his head. “Took everything I had to stay on the move, keep two steps ahead. I’m about tapped out. Those bastards are hunting me.”

  “They won’t get you.” Con glanced up at Bailey. “Run to the bedding store and get sheets and quilts. Then find first-aid supplies. Move in the zigzag pattern I taught you, and watch your back. Hurry. He’s shocky.”

  “They shot him? In cold blood?” Incredulity pitched in her voice. “He doesn’t even carry a gun.”

  The truth sucks, sweetheart. It’s a cold, hard world. “Probably without a second thought. No witnesses for this crew, remember?”

  Horror skittered through her eyes, and he watched understanding dawn. Life or death—in-your-face brutality. Without another word, she pivoted and hurried away.

  His heart ached at her grief and bewilderment. Losing your illusions was never pretty. He’d learned that lesson firsthand. Maybe now she’d accept what had to be done. He said a silent prayer for her mental and physical safety. Sending the woman he loved out alone and unarmed against ruthless killers went against everything he was. But he could not go with her. He had to trust her protection to a power greater than his own. He clenched his teeth against the need to call her back. To keep her safely by his side.

  Con found a stack of clean rags in the storeroom. He knelt, folded several into a makeshift pad and placed them on Syrone’s back over the exit wound. Gently turning the big man, he leaned him against the display case so his weight would put pressure on the pad at the right spot. “The bullet went clean through.”

  “Well, isn’t this just my lucky day?”

  “Considering those scum decided to use you for target practice, yeah.”

  “Guess I should count my blessings that big SOB had lousy aim.”

  “Things could be worse.” Con folded more towels and covered the entry hole in Syrone’s shoulder.

  “Things can always be worse, Irish.”

  “That they can.” Hoping the statement wasn’t prophetic, he took Syrone’s hand and pressed it over the pad. “Hold this tight.”

  Syrone winced. “That hurts like a mother.”

  “I know. Sorry, buddy. I’ve got to leave you for a few minutes and clean up the blood trail.”

  “Hells bells, is that how you found me? I was so out of it, I didn’t even think about that. Follow the bloody brick road.”

  Con chuckled. Syrone’s body had taken a beating, but his spirit was intact. “You had other things on your mind, like survival. Be right back.”

  He grabbed more rags from the storeroom and then hurried out to the mall. Trying to block his worries for Bailey, he mopped up most of the blood except for the trail that backtracked toward the opposite end. The false lead might throw the bad guys off the scent. For a while.

  Finished, he sprinted back to check Syrone. The guard was holding his own. Barely. Con couldn’t relax until the bleeding was stopped, the shock under control and his friend safely hidden.

  He tied the blood-soaked rags into a plastic garbage bag and threw it in the trash can in the storage room. “How’d you get away from them?”

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine. Couldn’t let some rat-bastard civilians take me down without breaking a sweat, could I?”

  In spite of his anxiety about his friend’s condition, Con grinned. “No, you couldn’t.”

  Flushed and panting, Bailey hurried in. He’d never been so glad to see anyone in his life. He released the breath he hadn’t realized
he’d been holding. He looked up, embracing her in his gaze. C’mon, sweetheart. Give me a sign we can work it out. Something. Anything. His feelings ran the gamut, yo-yoing from fear to anxiety to hope. “Have any trouble? See anybody?”

  “No.” Her glance slid away, and he squelched disappointment. The dragon still loomed between them. Dammit, he smashed down barricades for a living. Vanquished dragons daily. However, he could not fight this battle. She had to find the courage and strength inside her to slay the beast—her fear.

  Standing on the sidelines awaiting the outcome while she fought alone was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He determinedly squelched his emotions. Top priority: concentrate on keeping everyone alive.

  Con again took Syrone’s pulse. It was faster, and his respiration had also increased. His ebony skin was clammy. Not good.

  Bailey knelt beside Con and he extended his hand, palm up. “Scissors.”

  Syrone grabbed Con’s wrist. “Hold the phone, Irish. What are you cutting off?”

  He chuckled. “Your jacket. After today, Riverside Security better spring for a new one. Okay?”

  “I dunno. You have a license to practice?”

  Bailey patted Syrone’s leg. “Don’t worry. Con is trained in first aid.”

  Con frowned. “How do you know that?”

  She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You are, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  She handed him the scissors. “Here.”

  The woman was a wealth of information. Had she been reading up on SWAT training? A small, positive sign. Hope flickered to the forefront. If she’d been researching his job, she was interested. In spite of her reservations, she cared. He cut away the bloody, wet uniform. “You must have been caught in the downpour.”

  “You, too, from the looks of you.” Syrone attempted a grin, but it looked more like a grimace. “The rainstorm your doing?”

  “Yeah. When the trucks arrived, we signaled them to call up SWAT. The boys in black should be on site any second.”

  “Smart, Irish.”

  “Bailey’s idea. She’s the mind behind the operation. I’m just the muscle.” He unbuttoned Syrone’s shirt, and again held out his hand. “Disinfectant.”

  Her movements jittery and distracted, Bailey hesitated. “Not true. We came up with the plan together.”

  Syrone gave a weak chuckle. “Awesome work, if you ask me. You two make a great dynamic duo.”

  Con looked at Bailey, and this time her gaze lingered on his. The hurt and bewilderment swimming in her eyes punched into his chest. He sent her a silent message. We do make a great team. Believe. Trust.

  Internal tumult ravaged her face as she passed him a brown plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide. His girl was hurt and confused. Lost. Sad.

  His chest aching as if he were the one with the bullet hole, he poured bubbling liquid over the jagged wound, front and back.

  Syrone howled. “Yow! You disinfecting with battery acid?”

  “Sorry. I know it hurts.” I’m hurting right along with you, pal. For entirely different reasons.

  “You can say that again, Irish.”

  Con constructed a pressure bandage. “There. That’s slowed the bleeding.” Too damn bad he couldn’t as easily keep his emotions from leaking out.

  “Bailey, darlin’, hand me a quilt.” He swaddled Syrone as carefully as he would a baby while Bailey disposed of all evidence they’d been in the rock shop. “Okay, now shake out the others and layer them on the floor.”

  They helped the injured man move to the center of the heavy, padded blankets. Pulling the quilts by the top, they used them like a sled to drag him over the slick floors to the Bedroom Furniture Emporium.

  Near the back of the store, Con shoved a bulky mahogany double dresser a few feet away from the wall. “Solid cover to hide him behind.” He carried over a crib-size mattress and tore away the plastic wrapping. Bailey added four plump pillows.

  They helped Syrone settle in. Con again checked the big man’s vitals. His pulse was stronger, but still rapid, and his respiration too shallow. His skin was cool and slightly clammy, though a little better than before. But he’d lost a lot of blood and needed medical care ASAP. “Your pants are damp. Not as bad as your shirt, but you’d be warmer with them off.”

  “Nuh-uh. There’s a good chance I’ll be involved in another firefight before this is over. Marines don’t get caught with their pants down.”

  “Your call. We’ll layer on another blanket. That should help.”

  Bailey fetched an additional quilt and covered Syrone while Con barricaded one open side of the mattress with another dresser.

  Syrone shifted restlessly. “I’ve got a powerful thirst.”

  Con stood back to survey his work. Even this close, the makeshift bunker wasn’t obvious. For Syrone’s sake, the less obvious, the better. “I know. It’s common with severe injuries and shock. But you can’t have anything by mouth. Grady will be transporting your butt to the hospital in the ambulance. I don’t want baby brother ragging on me for breaking medical protocol.”

  “Lord forbid.” Syrone succeeded in his attempt at a grin this time. “That boy does take his doctoring seriously.”

  Bailey smiled. “My sympathies. There’s nothing Grady loves better than a patient to poke and prod.”

  Con hated to spoil the camaraderie, but they had to get moving. “Do you have your key card?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t work. The robbers jammed the circuits. And they took my keys, including the manual override. Lifted my radio, too.”

  Con swore. There went his hopes for getting Bailey out and letting SWAT in.

  Syrone shifted. “You need an escape route, I have an idea.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “There’s an access door at the bank end of the mall. It’s hidden behind a panel on the wall behind the fountain. We use it for bringing in equipment and pipes when the fountain needs cleaning or repairs. It’s locked, but not on an electrical circuit. A hammer and lock punch should do the trick.”

  “Or my Swiss Army Knife.” Con nodded, his spirits rising. If he had to be trapped without his piece and a limited means of communication, a mall wasn’t the worst place in the world. “I’m sorry, buddy. We’re gonna have to park you here for a while.” He despised leaving his friend in such a bad way, but had no choice.

  Bailey gasped. “We can’t leave him alone and defenseless!”

  “Don’t sweat it, Bailey. I already figured as much.” Syrone hesitated. “If I…don’t make it, tell Jazelle she’s always been the only woman in the world for me. Make sure my Jazzy knows I loved her right to the end. And the rug rats. Tell ’em their daddy loved ’em, and did his best.”

  Bailey’s chin wobbled. She gave Syrone a gentle hug. “Nothing will happen to you.”

  Con checked the injured man’s vitals one last time. Again, slightly improved, but still far too weak. Without surgery, and maybe a transfusion, he might not last long. “You can personally deliver the message after we get you out of here.”

  Syrone’s wise, dark eyes locked on his. “Don’t blow sunshine up my skirt, Irish, I know I’m not doing all that great. Even if my injuries don’t send me to the final roll call, the bad guys are hunting me. I’m as defenseless as a naked pawn on a chessboard. I can’t run, can’t evade. Can’t fight. All I can do is pray SWAT reaches me before the hunters do. The odds aren’t great.”

  “Remember, one pawn can still win the game,” Bailey said softly.

  “This will even the odds some.” Con passed him the Uzi and the Kevlar hood.

  Syrone tried to return the gun. “You can’t give me your weapon!”

  Con had known from the minute they’d discovered the wounded man he couldn’t do anything else. If the robbers found Syrone defenseless, he was dead. At least Con had given him a fighting chance. Unlike his own dad, maybe Syrone would go home to his wife. Wouldn’t leave devastated kids. “I have. I’ll kill the emergency lights before we leave.
Anyone who ventures in won’t be able to see, and they’ll be silhouetted against the doorway. Just look real carefully before you pull the trigger. My teammates will tear a strip off my ass if I armed the guy who shoots them.”

  “Will do.” Syrone offered his right hand. “Don’t get tagged and bagged, Conall.”

  Con shook the broad hand. “Likewise, Syrone.”

  Syrone gave him a broad wink. “Too bad you’re a wimpy SWAT boy. You would have made one hell of a Marine.”

  Con chuckled. “We’ll settle that on the shooting range after you’re healed.”

  “Lord willing, it’s a date. Our second. So I might let you hold my hand.”

  Bailey unfastened the straps on her vest. “He should have this, too.”

  Syrone’s glance collided with Con’s. Both combat experienced, each knew what the other was thinking. If the enemy got past the barricades and close enough for a body shot, Syrone was doomed anyway. Syrone offered a weak wave. “You’re on the run, you need it more. Besides, it would make me look fat.”

  Bailey was too smart to miss the unspoken message. She planted a kiss on Syrone’s cheek. “Stay safe.”

  “You too, Bailey.” Syrone leaned into his pillows and propped the Uzi across his lap. “Look after one another.”

  Con glanced at Bailey. Sorrow and tenderness softened her face. He held her gaze, telling her without words he, too, found it unbearable to walk away from their injured friend. “Will do.”

  Con knelt and tugged the Kevlar hood over Syrone’s head. He spread his leather jacket over the other man to add an extra layer of warmth. “Watch this for me,” he whispered in Syrone’s ear. “There’s something special, something sparkly for my girl in the pocket. If they take me out, make sure she gets it.”

  Syrone’s eyes widened. “You bet,” he whispered back. “Guard it with my life.” A frown creased his brow. “Like you told me, you’d better plan on giving your love to your woman personally.”

  “Always wise to have a backup plan.” Con rose. He disabled the emergency lights, and then boxed in the open side of the mattress with a third dresser. Sealing Syrone inside what he sincerely prayed wasn’t his final resting place. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he led Bailey out of the store and into the darkened mall.