Terms of Engagement

by Kylie Brant

  With a hand on the customer’s arm, she halted the progress of her and her little boy. He looked about four. From the looks of his tear-drenched eyes, he was the one who had been screaming earlier. “You’ll have to go back to your booth,” she said in a whisper to the thirtyish woman. “But I can get him out. Through here. There’s an outside entrance.” She looked at the nearest woman in line who was listening, her arms clutching her little girl protectively to her side.

  Lindsay spoke rapidly. “You have to decide now and you have to act normal. Go back to your booths afterward. Pretend you have a child cuddled to your side. Don’t do anything to give us away.”

  The second woman acted first. Eyes hard, she gave a grim nod and unwrapped her daughter’s arms from around her knees. She crouched down, hands on her child’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Quiet as a mouse. Like hide-and-seek, understand?” The girl nodded, eyes scared but solemn. Lindsay squatted to help the child take off her shoes, then got on all fours behind her. “Not a sound, but scoot as quick as you can, okay?” Then she pushed the door open, drew a deep breath.

  She could hear the child’s breathing, abnormally loud to her ears. Could feel her own heart pounding like a herd of stampeding cattle. On all fours, they were hidden by the counters, but there was about a five-foot clearing in front of the door where they’d be exposed. All Mitch had to do was turn to look over those chest-high swinging doors at the right time and he’d spot them. Even if he didn’t look down, the outside door would be in his vision. He’d notice if the bolt was slid back. If the door was open.

  And then both she and the girl would be dead.

  She could feel her phone vibrate in her apron pocket. The sensation sent a quick quiver through her system. She withdrew the cell and flipped it open to read the message.

  Rdy but b dam carefl?

  She smiled shakily, dropped the phone back in her pocket. She assumed Jack had meant an exclamation mark, but the question mark embodied her emotions. Was she crazy for even trying this?

  They were at the edge of the counter now. She could hear Mitch clearly. “I don’t know. I’m not ready to trust anyone out there. I need more time.”

  The words sent a chill over her skin. He’d already told her what more time meant to him.

  They were at the door. At their most vulnerable point. She reached up, moved the bolt back. Turned the knob.

  The door swung open as if of its own volition. She got a glimpse of black-garbed, helmeted, armed men outside it, and instinctively clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth before she could scream at the sight of the alien-looking creatures. She pushed the child into the waiting arms, felt a hand grasp hers. Her eyes met a familiar dark gaze.

  Jack.

  He squeezed her hand before backing away, easing the door shut again. But that touch, even through his gloves, was enough to give her the strength to turn again.

  Fear a cold tangle in her chest, she risked a glance at Mitch as she dropped to her knees again. Found him still immersed in the conversation.

  “It’s been like this all my life, you know? No one respects me. No one listens to me.”

  With his backdrop of petty grievances filling her ears, Lindsay made a return trip to the restroom hallway. Took the boy this time, who wasn’t nearly as quiet as the little girl had been, and delivered him safely to the door. This time when she returned to the hallway, she made a point of rounding the corner, making sure Mitch could hear her directing the women back to their seats and calling up the next group. Then she sent one more message before heading across the kitchen with the third one, a toddler she’d need to carry.

  5 kid

  The pacifier in the child’s mouth would keep it quiet, she hoped. Each trip across the kitchen seemed longer. How long would Mitch talk? She imagined they’d try to keep him on the line but he’d hung up suddenly the other time and could again.

  The fourth was an infant, and Lindsay’s stomach clenched at the mother’s tears as she handed him over. Another slow, torturous journey across the kitchen, Mitch’s voice ringing in her ears.

  Her phone vibrated. She halted behind the counter to check the message.

  Aftr 5th tke covr

  A pool of cold fear congealed in her stomach. They’d mount an assault then. Probably through the door she’d opened for them. Which meant she had to hurry, because every moment that bolt was undone she was in danger of being discovered.

  “Lindsay!”

  She had to clutch the wall for support at the bellow. It took every ounce of effort she could summon to hand the fourth child back to his mother, step around the corner of the restroom hallway.

  “Yes, Mitch?”

  He had the phone covered, and a glare directed at her. “How much longer is this going to take?”

  Nerves tap-danced along her spine. “I’ll speed them up. When I get through here, I’ll bring you another root beer, all right?”

  Seeming mollified, he said, “Make it an orange this time,” and resumed speaking into the phone.

  Relief had her going boneless. And she was ashamed at the strength of will it took for her to round that corner again. To face that mother holding out her baby. To make yet another journey across the kitchen.

  What the hell was taking so long?

  Jack was used to the spike of adrenaline, those little bursts that kept instincts charged and quivering at the ready. But he knew his reaction couldn’t be blamed totally on adrenaline.

  It was knowing that every time Lindsay crawled across the floor, she was making herself a target.

  He waited with the rest of the primary entry team, a little aside from the hostage recovery unit, who were taking charge of the children Lindsay released. Each kid was passed through the door to a member, who wrapped the child in an armored blanket and rushed to a nearby uniform.

  Time seemed to have halted. He willed the door to open again. He stood behind Nelson, who’d enter first and head right. Jack would go left, with the rest of the team alternating direction to set up a sector of interlocking fire.

  “Status,” he muttered to Nelson.

  “Contact still established.”

  His lungs eased only slightly. When he’d heard Lindsay’s name bellowed a few minutes earlier, he’d thought for sure she’d been discovered.

  Anxiety was still snapping through his veins, never a good reaction when he was on point. And the hell of it was, it wasn’t the situation that elicited the response, it was the woman inside, putting herself in danger. How the hell did a female he’d only met hours ago call this kind of reaction from him? He didn’t do emotion. Other than variations of the “Hey, it was a great time, see you later” variety.

  And he damn sure wasn’t used to a woman tying his guts up in knots by risking her life. Whether stupidly brave or just stupid, Lindsay’s actions would ensure that any incidental injuries that might occur upon entry wouldn’t involve kids. Hard to argue with that.

  But it didn’t mean he liked the situation any better.

  The door inched outward and his muscles tensed as Reagen took a baby from Lindsay’s arms. His throat went dry as the door closed again.

  One more. Just one.

  He glanced down at his watch. It seemed to have stopped but he knew it was just his own reaction making it seem so.

  His radio sounded, the volume purposefully turned down. “Entry team one, ready. Contact terminated.”

  A fist squeezing his chest, Jack awaited further orders. Surely Lindsay hadn’t had time to start back with the fifth kid. Surely she’d abort the attempt. She could hear the conversation. She’d know Engels was off the phone—

  “You no-good bitch! What’d I tell you about screwing me over?” The words were plainly heard through the door.

  “Compromise! Compromise! Compromise!”

  Jack didn’t need the radio command. He was already moving. Nelson had the door open. Jack threw in a flashbang grenade, hoping Lindsay had gotten the hell out of the way. Two sounds were hea
rd in quick succession.

  The second was the flashbang detonating.

  The first was a gunshot.

  He followed Nelson through the door, running in a crouched position through the haze from the grenade. He sensed rather than saw Basuk behind him. Knew the rear was brought up by three other members of the entry team.

  The team spread out, but Jack and Nelson advanced on the partial doors. “Throw down your weapon. Now!”

  His specialized goggles protected his eyes from the haze. They allowed him to see the man in camouflage, wearing a bright orange hunter’s hat, holding a shotgun over the top of those doors, coughing.

  “Throw down your weapon!”

  When the shotgun barrel swung in his direction, Jack didn’t think twice. He hit the floor, firing in quick succession. He heard other shots coming from Nelson. Saw the gunman jerk, throw his arms wide. Slowly crumple.

  Only then did he become aware of the other body on the floor, curled up around a small boy who was screaming for all he was worth.

  And the steady stream of blood flowing out of the larger figure.

  Lindsay.

  Chapter 5

  “Why can’t I change the channel? Oprah’s Christmas special is on.”

  The blonde’s grating whine drew a long look from Niko Rassi that had the blood draining from her face. What had he been thinking when he hired her? Every time she spoke he wanted to strangle her.

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a sliver of memory surfaced. Of course. Her appeal had been her mouth. Just not for conversation.

  “Because I’m watching the news. Stick around and maybe you’ll learn something. Otherwise get your ass to work. The bar needs polishing before customers start coming in.”

  The woman—Chantelle? Chandrelle?—snuggled up to his side, one hand stroking his thigh. “I’d rather stay with you, baby.”

  He thrust his heavy crystal tumbler toward her. “Then go pour me another drink.”

  She rose to obey, giving an exaggerated sway to her hips as she crossed the room in case he was watching. But she’d already been forgotten. Niko picked up the remote and flicked it to another twenty-four-hour news station.

  Didn’t look like Carletti’s body had surfaced yet. Or if it had, the fat bastard had earned less attention dead than he had alive. A satisfied smile crossing his lips, Niko stretched out on the chaise of his Italian leather sofa, remembering the hit with pleasure.

  Another flawless job. Another hundred grand wired to his Caymen account. And another little memento for his collection. His world was damn near perfect.

  The blonde leaned over him to deliver his drink, her perky plastic breasts spilling out of the skimpy cocktail uniform. Taking the tumbler, he looked past her through the wall of one-way glass that allowed him to survey his kingdom from his second-floor office.

  Or at least the front for his kingdom.

  The club was nearly empty now, but in a few more hours it would be pulsing with light, music, voices and excitement. Sex, or people in search of it. He’d built Kouples up from a glam bar to the hottest club scene in New York, and it hadn’t been just his connection to the Portino family that had accomplished it. It was his smarts, his guts, his cunning behind its success.

  There was satisfaction in knowing that. But it was his other occupation that gave him true pleasure. His lips curved as he tipped the glass of vodka to his lips.

  Chandrelle saw the smile and suppressed a shudder. There was nothing warm about Niko Rassi, not even humor. He looked like the prince of darkness, sprawled out in slim black pants and a loose white silk shirt, with his thick dark hair combed straight back from his cruelly handsome face. Some of the other staff whispered that he was Satan himself, but they didn’t whisper it too loud, or too often. It didn’t pay to dis Niko. People who got him angry didn’t last long around here.

  But Chandrelle was smarter than most. She’d changed her hair color and her first name when she’d hit New York, hadn’t she? Landed herself a receptionist job at that plastic surgeon’s clinic. Done her best work after hours, on her knees, and earned herself a pair of double Ds that would take her further in life than that college diploma her ma had always preached about.

  Niko put that aging, flabby surgeon to shame. He might be ruthless but he was rich and he was good-looking. If she played her cards right he’d spend some of that money on her one of these days. Especially if she became one of his favorites.

  Mentally congratulating herself for coming in early, she sat down on the couch next to him, one hand slyly placed in his crotch. “You work too hard,” she cooed, leaning toward him to kiss his neck. “I’ll bet I can distract you from the boring old news.”

  Niko reared back, studied her narrowly. “I’ll bet you can,” he murmured. He shoved her head to his lap, stretching in anticipation as she unzipped his pants. With his free hand he picked up the remote and flipped to CNN.

  Attention only half on the news, he recalled exactly why he’d hired the blonde. Everyone had a talent. She might be brainless, but she could suck the chrome off a trailer.

  He wasn’t focused on the story the anchor was reporting. It was the pictures flashing across the screen that had him straightening abruptly, the blonde and those limber lips forgotten.

  “Hey! You gotta relax, baby.”

  But his attention was honed on the big-screen TV, disbelief raging through him. It couldn’t be her. She’d dropped off the edge of the earth three years ago. He should know. He’d spent nearly that long searching for her.

  But damn, it’d looked like Gracie. He grabbed the remote, turned up the volume.

  “The incident left two dead and two others wounded. Ms. Bradford is credited with getting four children to safety before Metro City police shot and killed the gunman.”

  There! There was that face again, a camera shoved close to it as she was carried by on a stretcher. He stared hard, trying to see through the surface differences to the woman he’d known as Grace Feller.

  Yeah, yeah, the yards of red hair were gone. Hair he’d loved wrapping around his hands while he pounded himself into her. She’d had it cut shoulder length and dyed a nondescript dark brown. Couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but contacts could change them from that unbelievable grass-green, anyway. The shape of them was the same, though, wasn’t it? And those kiss-my-ass cheekbones that made her look like a slumming princess instead of a dairymaid fresh off a Wisconsin farm.

  The news went on to something else, and he flipped through the channels, trying to find the story featured on another station. No luck.

  The blonde was taking his distraction personally, and applying all her considerable skill to coax his attention back to her. But the excitement firing through his blood couldn’t be credited to her.

  It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. He’d call Horatio, get a copy of that telecast first thing and go over it again. Blow up those shots of the woman and then they’d see.

  Yeah, then they’d see.

  He’d gone rock hard and the blonde gave a pleased little hum. He didn’t bother to tell her that his reaction had nothing to do with her and everything to do with a woman named Grace Feller.

  And the bullet he still carried with her name on it.

  “Hospitals creep me out.”

  Lindsay cocked an ironic brow at Jolie, although the other woman wouldn’t see it as she prowled around the room. “Really? I, on the other hand, love them.”

  Jolie stopped long enough to toss a quick grin over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know it’s worse from where you’re sitting. Or lying, as the case may be. It hasn’t been so long since I was in your spot. I didn’t much like it, either.”

  “Hopefully I won’t be here much longer. Sorry you had to wait.”

  Jolie gave a shake of her bright blond head. “No big deal. I promised to give you a ride home and I still remember how long it took them to deliver my dismissal papers when I was here. I was chewing nails.”

  “I passed that s
tage hours ago.” Lindsay was fully dressed in the fresh clothes Jolie had brought her. Her others were bloodstained and she’d be leaving them behind. She didn’t want any reminders of those hours at the restaurant.

  She wished she could leave the memories behind as easily.

  That was what she got for ignoring the itchy feeling she’d had recently. The one that said it was time to move on, time to start over.

  That was what she got for letting a broad chest and a crooked smile distract her from instinct. Maybe hormones grew more powerful with disuse, because hers sure had hazed her better judgment.

  At that moment, the owner of said chest and smile stepped through the open doorway, a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Wanna play doctor, little girl?”

  While Lindsay rolled her eyes, Jolie let out a disgusted snort. “Geez, Langley, could you get any sleazier?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  Eyeing the stethoscope, Lindsay commented, “I hope the doctor you mugged to get that isn’t the one I’m waiting for.”

  He skirted the question hidden in her words and studied her with an intent dark gaze. “You look pale. Are you sure you shouldn’t stay a few more days?”

  “Positive.” If she’d had her way, she would have left after the first day. Two nights in the hospital were going to deplete most of her savings. And with Bill’s death, she obviously wouldn’t be getting her last paycheck. She didn’t know what he had for family, but she couldn’t bring herself to intrude on their grief to ask for money.

  Which meant she’d be leaving town riding her thumb instead of a bus.

  Trepidation pooled in her stomach. She had the hospital bill to settle. Then she’d have to spend her leftover money to change her appearance again, to get her hair professionally stripped and recolored. To find a place to stay until she had a new job in whatever state she ended up in.

  There wouldn’t be enough left over to buy new identification, at least not right away. She’d have to revert to one of her previous identities. That would be best, she decided, a slight frown on her brow. The Lindsay Bradford ID hadn’t exactly been fraught with good fortune, and it wouldn’t be smart anyway to use the same ID in two consecutive places. But still, she’d never resorted to using the same ID twice, and the thought of having to now filled her with unease.