by Kylie Brant
“What happened to Recker?”
She slid a gaze to Dace, listening at her side. “He’s here, John. Do you want to speak to him?”
Indifference sounded in the man’s voice. “It doesn’t matter. How long before I get that SUV?”
“Like I said, the arrangements are in the works. But you have to give us something, too. Life is a series of compromises, right?” She could almost feel the green intensity of Dace’s eyes boring into her. Too late, she recalled how often she’d heard him utter that particular phrase. “If there are injured people in there, we want to get them out. Get medical assistance for them. You’re not going to miss them. Less people inside to keep track of.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then, “You haven’t moved the perimeter back or provided the vehicle I requested. I haven’t gotten a thing from you yet, so where’s the compromise? Don’t call back until you’re ready to deal.”
The call abruptly disconnected again. The team members took off their headphones and Sharper got up to write notes on the situation board. There was a tap at the back door before it was pulled open. Lewis ducked out to talk to the newcomer. Johnson turned away to summarize the latest conversation to intel over his ear mike radio. A few moments later, Lewis rejoined them. “We’ve got DMV verification for all the vehicles in the parking lot, and positive ID on the owners. One was reported stolen two days ago from a parking garage on Sixty-first and Locust, a Toyota Camry. That’s probably our guy’s ride. We’ve got CSU going over it now.”
“Any ID on the hostage down?” Dace asked.
“Walter Hemsworth, security guard for the bank. He’s still clothed, so he probably tried to stop the gunman shortly after he entered the bank.” Lewis’s voice was dispassionate.
Jolie shifted to a more comfortable position and prepared to wait. At the beginning of any armed situation, the hostage taker was running on adrenaline, certain of his power. The longer the ordeal drew out, the more frayed his nerves became. The more hopeless his situation appeared. But it could take hours, or days, for the situation to reach that point.
Something jogged her memory and she looked at Dace. “The HT said ‘perimeter.’ And again earlier, when he was talking to you. Not move your people back, but ‘move the perimeter.’”
“You think law enforcement? Military?”
“Possibly.” Grabbing the leather clipboard on the table in front of her with the attached SWAT incident report, she flipped to the legal pad beneath and drew a grid, jotting labels at the top of each column. Writing quickly, she began noting details they’d verified, possibilities and unknowns. There was depressingly little to note, but she wrote down impressions of the gunman from their conversations and the make and model of the stolen Toyota in the first column, and then the words perimeter—LEO? Military?—in the second. She’d give Sharper the list to add to the situation board when he was finished with his own notes.
Dace looked on, a thread of amusement sounding in his tone, pitched low enough to reach only her ears. “You and your notes. I don’t know how many charts and lists of yours I ran across when I was packing.”
Her hand stilled. She kept her attention trained on the legal pad, not trusting herself to look at him. “You moved out of the house?”
“Not much use hanging on to a two-bedroom house for one person.” Any trace of humor was absent from his quiet answer. It was as detached as if he were talking to a stranger. Which was exactly what they had become to each other, after…She swallowed. After.
His words had been innocuous enough. They shouldn’t have had the power to carve a deep furrow of pain through her. Questions rose to her lips, questions that she knew she no longer had a right to ask. And as desperately as she’d like the answers, she couldn’t be certain she could deal with that conversation. Especially not here.
She shifted back to the situation at hand. “Who was that on Johnson’s radio earlier? Reporting on the visual?”
“Hmm?” He’d withdrawn a pen for the whiteboard and was completing the portions of the SWAT form she hadn’t finished. “Oh. Couldn’t hear much, but it sounded like Cold Shot. Ava Carter. Lucky for us. She’s the best.”
A sniper then. These operatives usually had the best vantage points from which to gather intelligence for the incident. But she was surprised that the shooter was female. SWAT was still a male-dominated field, and few women possessed the deadly accuracy with weaponry and the desire to apply that skill to high-stress situations like this.
Herb Johnson rejoined the table. “We’ve got a positive count on the number inside. The subject is probably the one man who had his face turned away from the camera going in. By the time he got inside, he had a mask pulled down. Besides the ten employees, we have thirteen customers—four men, eight women and a kid. Looks like a boy. Maybe two, two and a half.”
The news blindsided Jolie with a force that sent her reeling. Nausea rose, and for one dizzying moment she felt as if she was going to be sick. Her defenses were usually strong enough to protect her against the flood of memory, this paralyzing hurt that was brutal enough to melt her entire system into one oozing pit of pain.
But then there’d be a chance resemblance, a careless word, and the floodgates would open, dragging her back to a past that could still throb like a wound.
“Outside. Now.” Dace murmured the order into her ear then got up to head for the doors. Blindly she followed, still stunned.
Once outside he grabbed her arm, pulled her around the corner of the unit so they’d have a semblance of privacy. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.”
Helplessly, her gaze met his, lingered.
“We don’t know this boy,” Dace continued. “We’ll do our best for him, and for every other person in that bank. And if you aren’t up for that, tell me now.”
Another would think his tone cold. Unfeeling. Jolie knew Dace was neither. He was, however, a consummate professional. And so was she. The whiplash of his words helped her remember that.
“I’m okay.” But her words sounded weak, even to her own ears. She recognized Dace’s logic. Emotion didn’t belong in a situation like this. The child was a factor in this case, but the boy was a stranger. An innocent carried into the bank, probably with his mother.
He wasn’t Sammy. He wasn’t their son.
They’d buried Sammy nearly eighteen months ago.
CHAPTER 2
Memories flooded Jolie’s mind, spilling forth in a mental torrent. The look on Dace’s face when the nurse had placed his squalling son in his arms for the first time. Sammy’s sweet baby smell after his bath. The staggering joy at seeing his first toothless smile. The all-encompassing anguish of watching his tiny casket lowered into the earth.
Those memories could nearly suffocate her, weight her down under a heavy blanket of sorrow that made a mockery of hope. Long practice had her slamming the door on those images, shoving them aside to focus on the here. The now.
Dace was right. Neither of them knew the child in the bank. But there was no denying the boy’s presence there upped the ante dramatically.
She nodded jerkily, started back for the doors.
“Jolie.”
Dace’s voice, his expression when she flicked a glance at him, was soft. Her heart stumbled in her chest. She couldn’t recall the last time he’d looked at her that way. But it had been well before she’d left him and this city behind. It had been before she’d gone into the nursery one morning to find their son still and cold.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” She heard her own oft-repeated phrase on her lips, saw it have the predictable effect on the man beside her. His expression closed and although he didn’t move, a part of him shifted away.
And that, too, was familiar.
When they reentered the NOC unit, strategy was being discussed for the next phone call. And when Jolie established contact, she had herself firmly under control again.
“John. How are things going in there? I�
�m here to help you in any way I can.”
“Where’s the SUV I requested? How long am I going to have to wait for it?”
There was a new edge to the man’s tone. She glanced at Ryder, saw that he’d caught it. The psychologist would help monitor the man’s mood to better predict his actions. But before they could do that with any certainty, they needed to learn more about him.
“These things take time,” she said easily. “I’m still working on it, though.”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Dace gesturing but didn’t need the reminder to keep the man talking. “Sure we do. Something made you walk into California National Bank this morning. Hard to believe it was just to get the chance to speak to me. You wanted something. Tell me about that.”
“That’s easy,” came the disembodied answer. “This is where they keep the money.”
She heard voices coming from Johnson’s headset, and the man moved away from the table so the gunman wouldn’t overhear. “So that’s what this is about? The money? Why’d you choose this bank?”
“It was here. I was here. Seemed like fate. Do you believe in fate, Jolie?”
“I believe in personal responsibility. In doing the right thing. It’s not too late for you to do the right thing, John. Things haven’t gone so wrong yet that you can’t walk away from this. I want to help you with that.” She didn’t mention the dead security guard. If they were to convince the gunman to surrender, they had to make him believe he had a chance if he did things their way. “Why don’t you come out before things get out of hand?”
There was a soft laugh on the other side of the line. “You’re good. I can see why Recker let you take over. But unfortunately for you, you’re not dealing with an idiot. Thanks for the offer, but I like my chances better if we follow my plan.”
She glanced at Dace, who was reading a note Johnson had written and given to him. “What plan is that?”
“You get the perimeter pulled back. Bring the car up to the back doors. I leave quietly with the cash and, of course, a couple hostages to ensure my safety. We all live happily ever after.”
As fairy tales went, his was particularly far-fetched. There was no way his demands would be met. Before he would be allowed to leave the vicinity, an assault-and-rescue operation would be staged. Such an operation drastically increased the odds of injury to those inside. But she was charged with the task of making sure it never came to that.
“We’re working on that for you, John. We want a happy ending as much as you do. But these things take time. You know what bureaucracy is like, right? And while we’re waiting, you’ve got things to take care of, too. The people inside are going to need to use the restroom soon. Maybe food. Water. We can assist you with that.”
“I don’t give a damn what they need.” The earlier control the gunman had displayed was definitely thinning. “They aren’t my concern.”
“Couple dozen people who can’t use the bathroom can be cause for anyone’s concern,” she returned, injecting a note of amusement into her voice that she was far from feeling. “Especially if they’re all being kept in a small area. Where are they, in the vault? Pretty soon the money’s not going to smell so good.”
There was silence on the other end, leaving Jolie with no idea what the other man was thinking. “If there’s anyone in there who’s injured, John, now’s the time to send them out. Wounded people are just another headache for you.”
Dace touched her arm, handed her the note to read.
“On the contrary, Jolie. Wounded people will soon become your headache. Because if my demands aren’t met by the next time we talk, I’m going to start shooting people in here.”
That got her attention. “You don’t want to do that, John.” Her tone was firm. “I can help you out of this thing. I swear it. But if you harm anyone else in there, your options narrow drastically. You’re smart enough to realize that. I know you are.”
A click was her only answer.
Slowly, she lowered the phone while Dace crumpled the note in his hand. “So there’s a visual of him in the lobby?” That much, at least, she’d been able to read before the HT had reclaimed her focus.
He nodded. “He’s still wearing the mask, which is good news.”
Maintaining his disguise meant he still thought there was a way out of this, so he was taking pains not to be identified. It was when his hopes of walking away alive were dashed that they had reason to worry.
But there was something in the way Dace was regarding her that had trepidation stirring in her belly. “What else?” Whatever it was, there was no doubt he’d give it to her straight. Dace had always been honest to a fault.
I don’t know if I love you. How could I? It’s too soon, for either of us. But I know I’ll love this baby, if you’ll go through with the pregnancy. I’ll do right by it. By both of you. Give me a chance, Jolie. Give us a chance.
His earnest honesty had disarmed defenses that she’d once thought stronger. Had undermined common sense and shredded reason. In retrospect she still couldn’t understand how he’d circumvented a lifetime of caution and compelled her to reach for something she’d never before dared hope for.
“What else?” she repeated, in an effort to shake those memories from her head.
“He had the boy on his shoulders. One hand around both the child’s wrists, to pull him down to drape over his head.”
A chill broke out over Jolie’s arms. She rubbed them absently, muttering, “Smart bastard.” And totally cold, totally unfeeling, to use a child like that. In situations like this, if snipers were used to neutralize a gunman, they went for a head shot to produce instant incapacitation. There was no doubt the HT knew that. He’d positioned the child to protect his brain stem.
“Sounding more and more like someone well versed in law enforcement tactics,” Dace noted grimly.
“Or someone who’s done his homework,” Dr. Ryder put in. “He’s covered every base.”
Skepticism was written on Sharper’s square face. “Hard to believe an LEO would think he could get away with bank robbery.”
“But he has been getting away with it,” Lewis said grimly. “Twelve banks have been hit in a tristate area in the past three months. All have been smaller branches like this one. He’s in and out in under ten minutes. Rough estimates have the take so far at over thirty million.”
Jolie whistled under her breath. Smaller banks would have less cash on hand than their larger counterparts, but they’d also be easier to case. Fewer employees. Lower risk for complications.
Then the full ramification of Lewis’s words struck her. Bank robbery was a federal offense, and if this was one of a series, there was an ongoing investigation. In an undertone, she said to Dace, “How long do you guess we have before the feds step in?”
“I’m sort of surprised they haven’t shown up yet.”
His voice, his expression, was sardonic. He’d never been the Bureau’s biggest fan.
“Have there been any victims in the prior robberies?”
“Three.” Lewis worked a knot out of his shoulder. “So this guy isn’t afraid to leave bodies behind.”
Which was very bad news for them. And even worse for the hostages inside.
The CCL ducked out of the NOC unit to head over to the command center. While he was gone the team added details on the situation board. Using the floor plans of the bank, Johnson showed Sharper the positions of the SWAT personnel. All the known details were drawn in, down to the location of the throw phone. They used sticky notes to add unknowns, like the position of the hostages.
Jolie handed over her list and Sharper started a similar grid on the board.
Lewis returned as they were finishing. Something in his expression alerted Jolie. “We’re arranging to bring in a station wagon to park out front. You know what to do.”
Dace and Jolie exchanged a glance. “What’s the rush?” he asked.
The CCL sat down
heavily. “Don’t worry. Mendel is committed to the negotiation process. But the HT has issued two verbal threats and he’s placing a child in danger. We have to be ready to act fast.”
Usually a vehicle was provided only when a tactical resolution was being planned. It caused the HT to leave his surroundings and enter the SWAT team’s controlled environment.
And under any other circumstances, Jolie would be objecting vehemently about rushing the process. But the boy inside being used as a human shield changed things. She still hoped for a peaceful resolution. But she wasn’t going to quibble about being prepared for the alternative.
Of course the HT wasn’t going to be allowed to dictate the terms. There was no way the SUV he’d requested would be brought in. The vehicles were too hard to see into. Had too much interior space. Most likely the station wagon was an older model, and it would be totally messed with. Although the gas tank would show full, it would have very little fuel. The radio would be on full blast, along with the heater, to serve as distractions in case the gunman ever made it to the car.
The likelihood of him getting that far was slim, but every contingency would be planned for.
Next time they established contact with the gunman, they’d work a trade. And since it didn’t seem as though there were any injured inside needing medical assistance, she knew exactly what her priority would be.
“Let’s see if he’ll exchange the boy.”
After a brief hesitation, Dace said quietly, “Of course. But you know he won’t, Jolie. Are you prepared for that?”
She was. Of course she was. The man had found a crudely effective way of ensuring his own survival. It didn’t matter how good the snipers were, there was no way a “weapons loose” command was going to be given with a child blocking a clear head shot. And that was the only guaranteed way to make sure the HT didn’t fire a recoil shot before dropping.
“Chances are he’s carrying a cell. Any number of the hostages probably have them, too. But he didn’t insist I direct further communications to a cell phone, which he could use out of sight, away from the skylights.”