by Tess Diamond
Being in the field had always felt more natural to him than the conference room. So much so that he’d considered SWAT after graduating from the Academy. Direct action had an order that assured him, that made sense.
“Alpha One, the cabin is in sight. I repeat, cabin is in sight,” said Sutton over the radio. “Awaiting your green light, Alpha One.”
“Confirmed, Alpha Two,” Paul replied. “Approaching now.”
He scaled up the last slope, clearing the top in minutes. The shadow of the cabin—all the lights turned off—came into sight. The sun was sinking fast. They needed to do this. Now.
Paul’s stomach tightened in anticipation. Adrenaline might be rushing through every part of his body, but he had to keep his hands and mind steady. Focused.
“Visual confirmation on the cabin, Alpha Two,” Paul said. “Alpha One is in position.”
He waited until the other five SWAT members had moved into place and confirmed it over the radio. He counted silently in his head, eyeing the exact positions of his teammates in his field of vision. They were ready. It was time.
His muscles tightened, coiled like a tiger ready to spring on his prey as he gave the order. “Alpha Team, you have the green light. I repeat: you have the green light.”
The seven men moved toward the cabin in unison, like parts of one body. Paul kicked the front door down, his gun at the ready.
“Freeze!”
“FBI!”
“Down on the ground!”
But they faced nothing but an empty room. The men broke apart, turning the lights on as they went, searching the other rooms.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“It’s all clear, sir!”
“Omega Team One and Two,” Paul said into his radio. “Cabin is empty. Stay sharp. Suspect has fled. I repeat: Stay sharp. He’s out there and most definitely armed. Use extreme caution. He might have the girl with him.” He switched off his radio, gesturing to two of the SWAT team. “Set up a perimeter,” he ordered.
He glanced around the living room. The furniture was old and rickety. A faded high-school pennant was stuck on the wall, next to a tapestry of a black bear. A fraying carpet lay crookedly across the floor.
Paul turned to Sutton. “What went wrong?” he asked.
“Maybe he saw us coming,” Sutton said. “Dammit!” He kicked the wall.
The lights cut out.
“Shit!” Paul heard someone say. Then a thumping sound, like a body dropping.
“Sutton? Rhyne?” Paul called, scrambling for the light on his gun, raising it. The beam fell on the agent’s unconscious body.
“He’s in here!” Sutton shouted. “Hidden door!” There was a scuffling sound as Sutton moved toward the hallway, then the muffled, sickening sound of metal hitting skull. Sutton fell to the ground.
Paul swore, forcing himself to turn in a slow circle despite every instinct screaming at him to move quickly. He needed to watch for movement. He needed—
The gunshot echoed so loudly that pain spurted through his head. He felt something whiz by his ear, embedding in the wall, casting a spray of wood splinters everywhere.
A bullet. Near hit. God, that was close.
Then he felt something even worse: the pressure of a hot gun barrel against the back of his neck. The click of the hammer being pulled back filled Paul’s ears.
“Don’t move,” said a voice.
Shit, Paul thought. Maggie was right. This was a terrible idea.
Chapter 44
Maggie and Jake were almost to the conference room when Frank came hurrying down the hallway, his face gaunt.
“Something’s gone wrong,” he said, jerking his thumb behind him. “We’re needed downstairs, in the basement.”
Maggie and Jake turned to follow him to the stairwell as Frank gave them the facts. “They got through the woods, the approach was smooth, everything looked good. They breached the doors, and initial examination of the cabin interior brought up nothing.”
“It was empty? Did Mancuso get away?” Maggie had to half jog to keep up with the two men as the three of them wound their way through the maze of hallways. They were heading toward the back of the building, where the armory and surveillance equipment was stored.
“No,” Frank said, a dark expression settling over his face. “The bastard got the drop on them. I don’t know how he did it—visual and radio access were cut off as soon as shots were fired.”
Maggie’s stomach clenched. “Was Paul leading the raid?”
Frank looked down, away from her. It was all the confirmation she needed.
“Oh, my God,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “What do we know? Is he alive? Is he okay? Frank, tell me.”
“We don’t know,” Frank said.
Maggie bit back a horrified sound. Why hadn’t he listened to her? If he died because of this, she’d never forgive herself. Was there something she could’ve said to convince him? She should’ve been stronger. More argumentative. Anything.
“What we know is there are three agents inside that cabin,” he said. “We’ve got the place surrounded, but . . .”
“Christ,” Jake swore. “What a mess.”
“And Kayla’s still inside with Mancuso,” Maggie said.
Frank sighed. “Your instincts were on point again, kid. Going full tactical assault was the wrong choice.”
Duh, she wanted to snap at him. Fury wrapped in fear sparked inside her, but she pushed it down. She had to keep her cool. Now Mancuso had more hostages. The FBI had practically handed them to him on a silver platter. This might empower him. Give him an ego boost and confidence. Emotions would be high on all fronts.
“We need to get you suited up,” Frank said grimly. “They have a vest in your size.”
He opened the door to the armory, where equipment of all kinds sat in giant metal cages, waiting to be used. Several techs were running around, placing guns and other equipment on the table in the center of the room.
“I found it! Sir! I found it!” A young woman with short black hair triumphantly held up a bulletproof vest. “Agent Kincaid—” she held it out to her “—here you go.”
Maggie took the Kevlar from her, the weight of it familiar in her hands. She remembered the first time she had to wear one, when they were training in Quantico. It had been too big for her, bulky and ill-fitting on her petite frame. When she had graduated, Frank had given her one specially fitted for her as a gift. “Just in case you’re ever in a pinch,” he told her. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Maggie?” Jake’s soft prompting pulled her out of her daze. “You’re up.”
Her fingers clenched around the Kevlar. She pulled on the vest, snapping it into place.
She was up.
“Let’s go,” she said.
By the time they arrived at Potomac Overlook Park, night had fallen. Stealth was no longer a priority. It didn’t matter if Mancuso heard them coming, they were already there. Frank, Maggie, and Jake drove through the forest in a Gator, a tricked-out all-terrain vehicle painted in camouflage colors that sailed over rough territory like it was asphalt.
Choppers circled above the treetops, beaming bright lights down on them, illuminating the cabin garishly, like a movie set. Positioned every ten feet, SWAT members surrounded the cabin, shields at the ready, guns drawn. Out of shooting range, on the south side, SWAT brought in a ring of armored trucks, using them as both shields and impediments to Mancuso’s escape.
Maggie hopped out of the Gator and walked confidently toward the group of men standing behind the trucks.
“Who’s lead here?” she demanded.
A man with a mustache and a slightly panicked expression cautiously raised his hand. “Um, me. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Agent Sutton is on his way to the hospital,” the man said. “Mancuso tossed him and Agent Rhyne out the front door about ten minutes ago. They were both unconscious, but alive.”<
br />
Why in the world would Mancuso give up hostages? Unless . . .
Oh, no. Dread built inside her, filling her chest, rising up to her throat, choking her. “What about Agent Harrison?” Maggie asked.
“He’s still inside,” the man said.
“Okay,” Maggie said. “Okay,” she repeated, trying to gather her thoughts. “You.” She pointed at Sutton’s teammate. “Name?”
“Agent Collins.”
“You’ll be taking your orders from me,” she said. “You good with that?”
He looked relieved. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I need to reestablish dialogue with Mancuso. He’s got not only one, but two hostages now. He has the upper hand, and he knows it. He’ll want to gloat.”
One of the agents went running, coming back with a megaphone, which she handed to Maggie.
Maggie clicked it on. “Roger Mancuso,” she said into it, her voice booming through the clearing. “It’s Maggie Kincaid. I’ve discovered some things about Joe. About your brother. Why don’t you give me a call and we can talk about it?”
Within seconds, her phone buzzed. Handing off the megaphone to Collins, she pulled it out, unlocking it.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her stomach sinking. Mancuso had texted her a photo.
A photo of Paul, stripped of his tactical gear and Kevlar vest, bound to a chair, with what looked like C4 explosive wired in an M112 block taped to his chest.
“I need the bomb squad out here!” Maggie shouted. “Now! Frank.” She looked at her mentor. When he’d seen the amount of C4 in the block, his skin had taken on a gray sheen. He had trained Paul just like he’d trained Maggie. This was personal for him.
“That’s enough to blow us all to kingdom come,” Frank breathed.
Maggie swore. Jake’s hand settled on her shoulder, and he squeezed, a quick, comforting touch that helped her breathe through her worry.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a picture, but a call from an unknown number.
Maggie stared down at it, wanting desperately to pick it up immediately, to scream at Mancuso. But she forced herself to wait. She was in control. She needed to convey that message. Paul’s and Kayla’s lives might depend on it.
She picked it up after the third ring.
“Hello, Mancuso,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. He couldn’t find out how worried she was about Paul; he’d use it against her.
“You don’t keep your promises, Maggie,” Mancuso said. He was breathing heavily into the phone, like he’d been pacing.
“I’m really sorry I wasn’t able to get you the file,” Maggie said.
“You have to be lying,” Mancuso shouted. “If you know about Joe, that means you must have seen it.”
“No,” Maggie said. “Trust me, that would’ve made my life a lot easier. I’ve been chasing leads all over Maryland today. I went to SouthPoint, Roger. And I talked to Nancy, Joe’s ex. I put it together, but these jerks overrode me and messed up. I understand, Roger. I know what you’re trying to do. You need to make sure your brother didn’t die in vain, right?”
“Joe was murdered,” Mancuso hissed. “And that bastard Thebes was the one who orchestrated it. People have to know! He has to be held accountable for what he’s done. He’s a murderer!”
“I understand,” Maggie said. “And I’ll help you. But what’s the point of blowing up Agent Harrison and Kayla—and yourself? That’d bury the truth so deep no one would ever know.”
“I have to do this,” Mancuso said, his voice breaking. “I have to.”
“Look—” Maggie started.
“No!” He shouted into the phone, sounding truly unhinged. Was she going to lose hold of this? Was he going to snap? He was on the verge. She could feel it. Dammit. Why hadn’t they listened to her? Or at least sent Jake in alone? Paul would have been safe right now. Kayla would be on the way home. If anyone could’ve gotten her out solo, it would’ve been Jake O’Connor.
“It’s time for you to listen to me. Okay, so the senator won’t get the papers.” Mancuso was clearly thinking out loud, all plans abandoned. “That’s fine . . . that’s fine. I don’t need the file. I want a national news crew here in one hour, plus a ride to the airport and a private plane chartered with a one-way trip to Andorra. And I’ll take that five million dollars—in cash—too. Unmarked bills, Maggie. And no funny business.”
So Mancuso wanted to tell his story. Okay. That was something she could use. A new bargaining chip. “I can work on getting the news crew here,” Maggie said. “But it might take longer than an hour. It’s getting pretty dark out here.”
“I don’t care!” Mancuso barked. “Do what I say in the time frame I’ve given you. Otherwise, you won’t like what happens.”
Maggie’s hand tightened around the phone, sweat crawling down her neck. “I’ll get working on that right now,” Maggie said. “Can I talk to Agent Harrison?”
Mancuso snorted. “You think I’m stupid?”
“What about Kayla?” Maggie asked, checking her watch. God knew how long it’d been since she’d had food or insulin. She didn’t trust Mancuso’s word that he’d given her any—or that he’d crushed the remaining supply. “Can you give her some insulin? As a show of good faith?”
Mancuso laughed, a high-pitched, almost maniacal sound of a man cornered. “It’s your agent who’s got a bomb strapped to his chest, Maggie, not me,” he said. “You aren’t in control here. Give me what I want. And if you double-cross me, if anybody comes within fifty yards of the cabin, I’ll blow it up and take all of you with me. I got the drop on your SWAT team. I can kill you all. If I have to, I will.”
With a click, the phone went dead.
Maggie looked up at the men surrounding her, staring.
“Agent Kincaid, what do we do now?” Collins asked.
Maggie looked over her shoulder at the darkened cabin. It looked quaintly rustic, almost charming—if you didn’t know how much C4 was inside.
“We keep the dialogue open,” she said. It was the only way she had any chance of getting Kayla and Paul out of there alive. Mancuso was too far gone, and she . . . she had to guide him. She had to be the touchstone, even if every irrational part of her was screaming to send SWAT into the cabin, no matter the consequences. She must stay in control. She pushed down the surge of panic and worry rising inside her. “Then we figure out a way to get in, get everybody out, and dismantle that bomb . . . before he blows us all up.”
Chapter 45
The beam of the floodlights glared down on the cabin, making the shadows of the trees stretch freakishly long across the clearing. Jake had done a slow circle around the perimeter as SWAT set up teams. It was secure—for now. The forest line started a good fifty feet away from the cabin—no matter where they tried to hide, Mancuso would be able to spot them.
“O’Connor?” Agent Collins said.
Jake turned from where he was staring at the cabin, working through the potential approaches in his head. “Yes?”
“Agent Kincaid asked me to keep you apprised,” Agent Collins explained. “We’ve cut the power. Omega Teams are patrolling the perimeter.”
“They should stay sharp,” Jake said. “Mancuso’s probably thinking he’s invincible right now. And he’s got a good vantage point.”
Agent Collins nodded. “We’re being careful.”
Jake didn’t want to say what he was thinking, which was that “careful” should’ve happened before they stormed the cabin. But the guy didn’t need that on him. He hadn’t made the call. He had superiors, just like Jake did. Instead, he gave a short nod of dismissal to Collins, who went back to his team to give them the hourly update.
The moon had begun to rise in the night sky, adding to the floodlights beaming down on the cabin. Choppers swung in tight circles above their heads, and Jake looked up for a moment, tracking them.
His instincts were on red alert, his body tense for action. The weight of the gun on his hip was a comfort, b
ecause this situation was teetering into catastrophic territory. Jake knew catastrophe well.
It had been almost an hour since Mancuso had issued his demands. In that time, SWAT had brought in one of their mobile units through an overgrown access road, along with a slew of trucks. The bomb squad had arrived, and an impermeable perimeter had been established.
Mancuso wasn’t going anywhere.
The cabin was dark. Floodlights were strategically positioned around it, giving the SWAT team patrolling the perimeter good visuals while serving the double purpose of blinding anyone who tried to leave the cabin.
They had Mancuso boxed in, but no amount of firepower would save them from that bomb strapped to Agent Harrison’s chest. Jake had picked up enough knowledge working with the bomb squad in the Middle East to know that amount of C4 was trouble. Big trouble. Especially if Mancuso built it himself. He was a slick operator, no doubt, but no one became an expert bomb builder in just a few years. The explosives in the device could be unstable, the trigger or wiring faulty. There were too many things that could go wrong.
Jake felt for Agent Harrison, but he knew the man was trained for this. Kayla Thebes wasn’t. The girl must be terrified—if she was even conscious at this point.
It set his teeth on edge, his body thrumming for quick action and solid resolution, but there was nothing he could do. Not without Maggie’s go-ahead. She was running the show—as she should be.
He smiled at the thought. He’d never met anyone like Maggie. The memory of her in the greenhouse, the long line of her throat as her head fell back, reveling in her release, would haunt him for the rest of his days. She wasn’t just sexy as hell; there was this barely contained fire inside her—a mix of passion and a thirst for justice pulling him toward her. He wanted to know everything about her. To break down all those walls she put up and discover the real woman beneath.