He rose, shoulders back, posture erect, making sure these guys knew he didn’t fear them. Plus, his small act of rebellion allowed him to assert control. How he thrived on psychological warfare.
He did release a silent breath when Shotgun-Guy lowered his weapon.
“Rox, you okay?”
She cut her eyes to Jeans-Grunt. “I’m fine.”
Gavin nodded. “Good.” He turned to Joe. “I’d like her to have a seat down here. She’s been locked up all day. Give her a break.”
After a moment, Joe glanced at his cohorts. Shotgun-Guy gave an almost nonexistent shake of his head.
Power struggle.
Joe motioned Rox to the other end of the sofa, away from Gavin. “Sit there.”
Success. Not only did Gavin win that round, he’d created a power play between Joe and Shotgun-Guy. Each victory got him closer to Roxann walking out of here.
They both took their places on the sofa. His radio crackled and he lowered the volume, lifting it to his ear. “Cargo has arrived,” Jessup said.
Cargo. The son. Now they were getting somewhere.
Joe leaned forward. “What cargo?”
“Put him on,” Gavin said into the radio.
Keeping his focus on Joe, Gavin handed him the radio. “We talked about your son and how much you love him.”
And then Joe’s eyes bugged out—wham—instant panic.
Control him.
“Sit tight. He’s fine. He’s outside and wants to talk to you.”
Joe swung his head left and right. “I don’t believe you. It’s a trick.”
“No trick. He’s in the barn. Knowing how much you love him, I thought if you talked to him, maybe we could end this standoff and everyone goes home. Okay? That sounds good, right?”
Agree with me. Go ahead.
He glanced at his cohorts and Shotgun-Guy once again shook his head no.
Counter attack. “We can bring your son out front if you want to see him.”
Realization must have hit that his beloved child had been brought to this disaster and Joe slammed his hands against his head. “You sons of bitches brought my son here?”
“Not alone. His mother is with him.”
The look on his face, that open-mouthed gawk, changed from dismay to mind-numbing horror in a split second, and Gavin wondered if he should have stuck to the playbook.
Joe shook his head. “Her too? Jesus.”
“I know you love your son, Joe. Make this right for him. Do you want me to get him out front?”
“No! I’ll talk to him on the radio.”
Gavin lifted the radio, drew a calming breath to ease his rapidly rising pulse. No turning back now. All he could hope was that he hadn’t royally screwed up by involving the kid. “Put Jason on.”
A long minute later, he heard Janet’s voice, not directly in the radio but as if talking to someone else and just the sound, that soft whispering, made him more determined to get Roxann home.
“He’s here,” Janet said. “Just push the button, buddy. Got it?”
Then came a pause. “Dad?”
Joe held the radio near his face, his finger tapping the side. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before dropping his hands.
Atta boy. Think about how you’ll lay waste to this kid’s life by dying in here.
After a minute, he lifted the radio again. “Hi, pal. Where are you?”
“With Mom in this barn, but it’s not really a barn. There’s all this cool stuff. Computers and monitors and walkie-talkies. There’s a phone in a box! The lady said I could play with the phone. Can I come see you?”
Textbook. Gavin ignored the surge of adrenaline nearly blowing his skull apart. The third HT left the room and Gavin kept an eye on him from his spot.
“Not yet, pal,” Joe said to his son. “In a little while. Okay?”
“Sure. Can you take me for ice cream like usual?”
Joe slammed his free hand against his forehead, did it once more, then marched to the front window and peeked out the blinds.
Think. About. It.
“Yeah, buddy. Ice cream it is. I gotta go now.” He stopped, cleared his shattering voice. “I’ll call you back soon.”
He tossed the radio the few feet to the coffee table and it clattered against the cheap wood. Don’t give him time to think.
“Joe, that’s what you’re risking. Ice cream with your son every night. Is Jackson Spelling worth it? Maybe he is, I don’t know, but from my perspective as a guy who lost his father at a young age, if something happens to you, your son won’t recover. Make this right, Joe. Let me walk out of here with Roxann and we’ll find another way to help you win the Jackson Spelling fight.”
“No!” Shotgun-Guy yelled, swinging the barrel up.
“Hey!” Joe yelled back. “Calm down. If that thing goes off you’ll screw this whole thing up.”
“Yeah, Joe, he will. You don’t want that. Nobody gets hurt and we all go home to our families tonight. No harm, no foul.”
But this scenario was turning to shit. Damned fast. Without a weapon, Gavin’s options were few and Shotgun-Guy’s unpredictability would hinder negotiations. Mentally, Gavin gauged the distance to Shotgun-Guy at roughly fifteen feet. A charging man could cover twenty-one feet in one second or less.
One second of distraction.
That was all he needed to be able to reach Shotgun-Guy. Except, Gavin was seated, not standing. He’d have to risk it.
“Lower that weapon!” Joe hollered and Shotgun-Guy took his eyes from Gavin to Joe.
Now.
Gavin exploded off the couch, taking the seat cushion with him and hurling it at Shotgun-Guy. It wouldn’t do much, but it would absorb the impact of a bullet. A boom sounded and the shot tore through the cushion, pellets slamming into the Kevlar like tiny missiles. The vest kept the bullet from penetrating his right shoulder but the force knocked him back two steps. His breath caught at the raging pain ripping through his shoulder and chest. He glanced down, saw the outer portion of the vest shredded and knew he’d probably been hit with double-aught buck.
Son of a bitch.
“Gavin!” Roxann yelled and he swung his gaze to her, holding up his hand to keep her seated and out of the line of fire.
Get the gun.
Before Shotgun-Guy could get off another shot, Gavin charged. Grabbing the barrel with both hands, he wrenched it upward and, throwing all his weight into it, slowly forced the man backward. Gavin’s arms burned, his muscles straining until Shotgun-Guy reached his spine’s bending limit and dropped to the floor. Finally, he planted his foot on his chest, twisted the gun hard and jerked it free.
Got it.
With the gun pointed at Shotgun-Guy, he lifted his foot. “Flip over.” Gavin waited for him to roll then jammed his foot into his back to hold him down. “Keep still.”
At the front window, Joe stood with his gun aimed at Gavin. The tremble of his hand indicated fear. Afraid to fire.
“What the hell?” the third hostage taker hollered, charging in from the dining room.
“Don’t move!” Gavin said and the guy halted. “Go over by Joe. On the floor, facedown, hands on your head. Now!”
In Gavin’s mind, this guy’s decision should not have been a difficult one. Considering the shotgun at his buddy’s head. With assessing eyes, the guy swung his head to Joe, back to Gavin and that shotgun and hustled to the window where he dropped to the floor. In the sudden silence, voices—tight in their urgency—came over the radio. They’d have to wait a sec.
“Rox, you okay?”
“I am.”
Joe swung his gun between Gavin and Roxann. “Nobody move!”
“Here’s the deal,” Gavin said. “I got a bunch of guys out there hoping to tear this place apart. We’ve just had shots fired. If I don’t get on that radio and tell them something, they’ll go balls to the wall. You don’t want that. Rox, get on the radio and tell them we’re okay.”
Slowly, Roxann reached fo
r the radio still on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” he said. “When you’re done, stay on the couch.”
Away from the guns.
* * *
“Shots fired!” Janet yelled, her eyes focused on the monitor overhead.
Vic lifted his handset. “What are those goddamned shots? Status!”
“Inside the house,” Monk said.
A small squeak sounded in Janet’s throat. All day she’d kept the fear at bay, locked down that emotional swamp waiting to submerge her, to steal the air from her body, and now, just maybe, it would overtake her. “What if…”
Vic stared at her for a split second. “Focus!”
“We’re fine.” Roxann. Through the radio.
Janet’s heart crumbled. Just fell apart in a way that left her body splintered and aching. Too much stress. She concentrated on staying alert as her breaths came fast and short. God, Janet, don’t cry.
“No one is hurt.” This from Gavin, but his voice sounded distant. As if away from the radio. “I’ve secured two of the HTs. Now Joe and I are gonna talk and see if we can resolve this.”
“My ass,” Vic said. “We’re done here. My guys are coming in.”
“Joe still has a weapon. Give me a few minutes.”
“Crap,” Janet muttered. She turned to her boss who stared at the ceiling, his head slowly moving back and forth. Contemplating. There were times when Vic was dug in. Resolute. During those times, his commands were swift and decisive. This was not one of those times.
“He can do this,” she said. “He’s already subdued two of them. He’s been working this guy all day. Joe, on a certain level, trusts him. Give him ten more minutes.”
A long moment passed where the only sounds registering were the whirring of her laptop and the rustle of leaves outside. Janet breathed in and her head stopped pounding. The fear had backed off. The emotional flood receding. Thank you.
Vic hit the button on his radio. “Ten minutes and we’re coming in.”
* * *
Gavin stared right into Joe’s eyes. “You heard him. We’ve got ten minutes. We’re either gonna kill each other or we’ll walk out of here. What’s it gonna be?”
Joe’s gaze went to the HT wiggling around under Gavin’s foot, the shotgun still pointed at him. The other guy stayed on the floor, but his eyes shifted back and forth. Roxann, being Roxann, twisted around, yanked the lamp cord from the wall, wrapped her hand around the heavy brass base and brought the lamp to her lap.
She understood the benefits of brass lamps as weapons. One good swing and she’d crack someone’s skull.
“Hey!” Joe yelled, aiming the gun at her.
Gavin swung the shotgun in Joe’s direction. “Relax. She’s not going anywhere.”
Rox removed the shade and checked the heft of the lamp. “Insurance.”
No wonder Mike adored her. Right now though, he had eight minutes to get Joe’s gun pointed back at him and end this thing.
“Joe, your mission is coming apart. Stop now and everyone walks out safely. Nobody is hurt. Nobody is dead.”
From under Gavin’s foot the guy on the floor said, “Don’t—”
Gavin pressed his foot down. “You shut up.”
After a gasping noise from his prisoner, figuring the point had been made, Gavin eased up. Joe’s gaze bounced all over the room. Silent panic.
Move in.
“Somehow,” Gavin said, “whoever these guys are, whatever they mean to you, I don’t think they rank with watching your son grow into a man. That’s the only decision you need to make right now. Are these two, this mission, worth you losing the opportunity to take your son for ice cream every night? Or to ballgames for the next twenty years? Watching him graduate? Get married? What’s it worth to you, Joe?”
With any luck, it would be enough to get them out of there.
* * *
Janet sat on the stupid, miserable, spine-mangling folding chair, her equally miserable boss towering over her, his gaze glued to the monitor above her head, both of them—for different reasons—counting down the minutes. Theoretically, she and Vic were of the same mind in wanting the standoff to be over, but Vic wanted to breach and Janet wanted everyone to exit on their own.
Either way, she supposed, someone could die. And maybe she was a horrible person, but she didn’t want either person to be Gavin or Roxann. The other ones? They created this mess, they’d have to deal with the consequences.
Horrible person.
“Five minutes,” Vic announced.
He strode to the table and grabbed a vest, sliding it on with the ease of a man putting on a dress shirt. “I’m heading up there. Mike is probably ready to haul ass into the house. Without a vest or weapon. Goddamned head-shrinker.”
Enough already. Beleaguered from the battle of controlling her emotions, her last standing nerve snapped. She shot out of her chair. “He was afraid Rox would get hurt. That’s why he went in. He’s trying to save her and you being a pain in the butt is not helping.”
But Vic was already out the door. Not that he would have listened anyway. At least not in his current mental state. Another thing she knew about her boss. When he was in his zone—as in now—he only dealt with the task at hand.
Jason’s mother entered the barn, her face drawn. Jason didn’t trail behind and Janet assumed he would still be in his mother’s car. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure.” Liar. “Give me a couple of minutes to find out. Please, go back to your car and wait. Just until we know what’s going on.”
“Is he dead? Joe?”
And, oh, God, she needed some better people skills. What was she supposed to say to this woman whose son might wind up fatherless? Totally inept at this. Lacking options, she’d go with the truth. At least what she knew to be the truth. “No.”
The woman dropped her chin to her chest. “He’s a good father. Maybe he’s mixed up, but he adores Jason.”
Janet squeezed her arm. “I know. I was listening while he and Gavin talked. We’re trying to get him out safely. If you’ll promise to stay in your car, I’ll see if I can get you information. Will you do that for me?”
“Please, hurry.”
Janet grabbed a radio, spotted Gavin’s iPod and snatched that, as well. He’d want it when he came out. Yes, she’d allow herself to believe it. Allow the words to convince her that he would indeed walk out.
* * *
Joe lowered his gun and Gavin’s head throbbed.
Not home yet.
“No!” Shotgun-Guy yelled.
When it came to the idiot under his foot, Gavin’s insistence on a nonviolent resolution quickly dissolved. He leaned in, adding extra pressure this time. “You shut up.”
His gaze solid on Shotgun-Guy, Joe said, “I’m done. I have a son to think about.”
“Pussy!”
This dumbass wouldn’t shut the hell up. Gavin leaned in harder. “Are you gonna keep quiet or do I have to shoot you?”
Shotgun-Guy bobbed his head. Finally. Gavin eased up, then swung his gun back to Joe. “I need you to put the gun on the floor and kick it toward the door.”
Half a second later, his shoulders stooped, Joe set the gun on the battered wood floor and slid it away.
“Good. Now, on the floor. Hands on top of your head.”
Joe did as he was told. “Rox, come around this way and grab that gun. Please.”
Not until Gavin had that weapon secured and Roxann out of this hellish place would he be relieved. A surrender could disintegrate in a thousand different ways. A thousand different ways that included dead hostage takers, dead hostages and dead negotiators.
None of which appealed.
* * *
By the time Janet got to the road, Vic had Michael wedged behind the cover of a tree. Another conversation she’d be totally inept at.
She concentrated on the house and the quiet country air. The rustle of leaves. Chirping birds. All the pleasant sounds.
; All the sounds that didn’t include gunshots.
Maybe they’d get out of this. She held the radio to her lips. “Gavin? What’s happening?”
Silence.
Dammit. He’d better not die, that’s all she had to say. But that fierce, nagging panic seized her and her stomach pitched and rolled and rolled again. She didn’t want to imagine his body riddled with bullet holes, blood seeping, stealing the life from him.
She picked up her pace, walked by the tree toward the driveway.
“Hey!” Vic yelled. “Where the hell are you going?”
She kept walking.
“Well, goddammit,” Vic said and suddenly she was yanked backward, stumbling against her boss.
Janet blinked a couple of times, zoomed in on the taut features of his face. Mad face.
“I need you to get it together. You’ve got no vest on, no helmet and you’re about to walk into a hot zone. I don’t have time for you to get nuts on me. Got it?”
But I think I love him.
There it was, the admission to herself. The risking her life because a simple crush had grown into a deep yearning. Emotionally, she’d known it after that first kiss three weeks ago. Intellectually, she didn’t want to admit it.
Vic snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You in there?”
She nodded. “I’ve got it. Sorry.”
And then her radio crackled. Thank God. “We’re coming out,” Gavin said. “Send the men in to secure the HTs.”
Various sounds and colors exploded in her head. The chaos breaking free. Her body sagged with relief—or maybe it was simply exhaustion.
What a damned day.
Michael lurched away from the tree, but Vic rammed a hand into his chest. “Wait. Let’s get it cleared.”
Monk led the team into the house and seconds later the front door opened. Roxann stepped onto the porch with Gavin on her heels. Movement from the right drew Janet’s attention and she watched as Michael shoved Vic and sprinted down the driveway.
Wow. Who knew the boss could run like that?
“Mike!” Vic yelled.
Janet grabbed Vic’s arm. “Let him go.”
I know how he feels. Gavin ushered Roxann down the porch stairs and she held her arms open for her charging husband, who nearly knocked her backward. They held on for a long minute, just the two of them in that blasted driveway, clinging to each other, offering shelter from this horrid, horrid day.
Negotiating Point Page 8