Dangerous Games

by Tess Diamond

  “Maggie’s not gonna pull anything on you, Mancuso. She’ll play it straight. She won’t gamble Kayla’s life on something so reckless. You can trust her.”

  Mancuso looked at him closely in the muted light, and Paul was uncomfortably aware of the knowing expression on his face. The understanding. Mancuso was good at reading people—it was the only way he could’ve gotten so far in Washington. Had Paul revealed too much? Had he laid it on too thick? Had he given Mancuso some sort of ammo?

  Did it matter, considering the explosives wrapped around him?

  “You really love that blonde pain in the ass, don’t you?” Mancuso asked.

  Paul didn’t say anything, but he could feel angry heat rising up his neck to his face. He squared his jaw, trying to show no emotion. Trying not to show how deep that blow went. How deep a truth that was.

  “How sad for you,” Mancuso said pityingly. “She obviously doesn’t feel the same way.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes lighting with curiosity. “Now, how about you tell me about Sherwood Hills?”

  Chapter 51

  “Maggie?”

  She looked up. Frank was standing in the door of the mobile unit, his bulldog face solemn. “Doctor’s here.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she said, closing out of the transcript from her last call with Mancuso. She’d been pretending to go over it, but really, she’d just been staring at his final words, obsessing.

  She hurried outside, where a balding older man was standing with Agent Collins and Jake. The doctor fidgeted as she approached, looking nervous. “Dr. Aaron James, ma’am,” he said, holding out his hand. She shook it.

  “I’m Maggie Kincaid. I’m in charge,” she said. “Has Frank filled you in on the situation?”

  “You’ve got a diabetic teen in there. She’s been without insulin for how long? What’s her usual protocol?”

  “She uses up to a unit a day, administered over three or four doses,” Maggie explained. “Her mom said she was a good candidate for an insulin pump, but Kayla didn’t want it because she was worried people would stare. She’s an athlete, so there were locker room concerns. You know how teenage girls are. We believe the unsub—the kidnapper—was originally administering insulin, but we have no way to know for sure. He claims to have destroyed her supply, if he did and was giving it to her before that, it’s been at least half a day, maybe more, since her last dose.”

  He nodded. “That’s not good,” he said. “Especially if she’s dehydrated and under stress. Do you know if he’s been feeding her?”

  “I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “The unsub’s been busy and . . . not happy with how things are turning out. He’s withholding medication because he thinks it’ll get him what he wants faster.”

  “Was she still conscious when you last made contact?” Dr. James asked.

  “I can’t confirm,” Maggie said. “The unsub said she was, but at this point . . .”

  “He might be lying,” finished the doctor. “I understand. What am I allowed to bring in?”

  “Nothing,” Maggie said.

  “Not even medical equipment? The girl’s going to need insulin and fluids immediately. The risk of diabetic coma is high.”

  “I know,” Maggie said. “But this guy’s on edge. You reach for a syringe in your pocket and you might end up with a bullet in your head.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?” Dr. James asked. “If I can’t give her medication, there’s not a lot I can do for her.”

  “I need you to examine her and tell me how much time I have to get her out of there before there’s any permanent damage,” Maggie said. “If you tell me five minutes, I will make my move, but I risk Agent Harrison dying in any crossfire. If you tell me five hours, I have more time to talk Mancuso out of this and put together a strategic plan that gets everyone out safe and sound.”

  “Understood,” Dr. James said, nodding. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “While you’re in the cabin, try to get a sense of the layout,” Agent Collins said. “We haven’t been able to pull accurate blueprints of the building. Take note of any weapons visible, the bomb trigger—”

  “Collins,” Maggie said firmly. His mouth snapped shut. The doctor looked between the two of them, clearly confused. “Don’t worry about the layout or getting a feel for the situation,” Maggie said. “That’s not your job. Your job is the girl. Go in. Don’t make any sudden movements. Make sure your hands are always visible. If you’re going to reach into your pockets, inform the unsub before you do. Examine the girl. Estimate a time frame—how long she has before she’s in real medical trouble. Once you know, you get out of there. No heroics. No panicking. You got it?”

  Dr. James smiled reassuringly at her. “I’ve been in a few of these situations,” he said. “I know the drill.”

  “Okay,” Maggie said. “Then I’m going to make the call. We’ll be sending you in right after.”

  She pulled out her cell and dialed Mancuso’s number. After two rings, he picked up.

  “Roger, it’s Maggie,” she said in a clear voice, praying he hadn’t changed his mind about letting the doctor in. “I have the doctor here, like we discussed. Can I send him in to check on Kayla?”

  “What about the power?” Mancuso asked. “You promised to turn it back on.”

  “You’re right,” Maggie said. She snapped her fingers at one of the techs, mouthing Turn on the power to them. They went running.

  “They’re doing it right now,” Maggie promised. She wanted desperately to ask him about how he’d thrown Erica’s last words at her. But she knew she couldn’t. She needed to be patient. This wasn’t the time or place.

  But she’d make sure to create a time and a place. And soon. She was going to get answers if it was the last thing she ever did.

  A few seconds passed, and the lights inside the cabin blinked on.

  “There we go,” Maggie said into the phone. “If you turn on the TV, you’ll be able to see what they’re saying about the senator on CNN.”

  She heard shuffling and then the muted sound of a voice on the TV. Mancuso sucked in a ragged breath as the anchor talked about Senator Thebes and the rumors of corruption. Maggie smiled to herself. Validation would make Mancuso trust her more. This was exactly what she needed.

  “Can I send in Dr. James now?” she asked after giving him another moment to soak in this victory. She needed him feeling good to get the doctor in and out safely.

  “Yes,” Mancuso said. “He needs to be alone and unarmed. I have a gun and I’ll shoot any of your SWAT team who takes a step toward this cabin, you understand?”

  “I understand, Roger. No funny business. Just the doctor checking on Kayla. I promise. I’m walking with him right now.” Maggie motioned for the doctor to follow and they moved through the convoy of SWAT trucks until they were in front of the cabin, a good thirty feet away from the door. She could see a flutter of a curtain in one of the cabin windows, and she knew Mancuso was watching them.

  “I see you,” Mancuso said. “Send him in.”

  He hung up.

  “Go ahead, doc,” Maggie said. “Just a straight line to the door. In and out. Calm and steady and slow, like we talked about.”

  Dr. James began to make his way toward the front door, and Maggie watched him, trying not to wring her hands. Mancuso was watching, she was sure. She needed to appear in control and confident. If she didn’t believe in herself, he’d never believe in her ability to get him what he wanted.

  “Should we get the press away?” Jake asked, nodding to the throng of journalists in the distance who were watching with rapt attention.

  Maggie shook her head. “If there’s shooting, they’re out of the line of fire,” she said. “Bomb squad said they’ll be out of the blast radius if everything goes to hell. They’re annoying, but they keep everyone playing by the rules,” she said. “If Mancuso is right about how high up this goes, those journalists might be the only thing preventing someone from fak
ing a gas explosion and blowing us all up.”

  Jake snorted in disgust. “You’re probably right,” he said. He glanced away from Maggie, toward the cabin, freezing. “Shit.”

  Maggie whirled, her eyes widening in horror. “What is he doing?”

  The doctor wasn’t making a beeline for the front door of the cabin. He was veering to the right, approaching the cabin from an angle, moving in a low, guarded crouch.

  Moving like a goddamn soldier.

  Oh, God. No. No. No. No!

  Panic rose inside Maggie almost as fast as the dread. She was stuck to the spot, unable to shout, to move, to do anything, as she realized she’d been double-crossed. Ice flooded her veins as she watched, sure any moment the world would erupt in a bomb blast, shedding fire and debris everywhere.

  The doctor was clearly Special Ops. As he reached the door, he pulled a gun from his waistband. Even this far away, Maggie could see the silencer on it.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Jake muttered. Maggie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the disaster unfolding in front of her, but she knew his face carried the same horrified expression as hers.

  They were screwed.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to run for the door and knock the good “doctor” to the ground. She needed to stop this. But she knew it was too late. At this point, moving in would be even more dangerous.

  Dammit! She had done it. She’d established a connection, she’d made him trust her! She was going to get everyone out safe and sound. And now . . . and now . . .

  She was helpless. No safety. No trust. No control.

  Paul and Kayla were as good as dead.

  She needed to make sure her team was safe. The bomb—oh, God. They needed to pull all the agents back—fast.

  “Recall all the teams. Get everyone back,” she said to Jake. “Out of the range of the bomb blast. Do it quietly and fast.”

  “On it,” Jake said, disappearing between two SWAT trucks.

  Maggie stayed where she was. It was like watching a car accident in slow motion, knowing there’s nothing you can do. The doctor knocked, and when there was no answer, he tried the doorknob.

  It was unlocked. He stepped inside.

  The air felt heavy around her, suffocating and dark. It made her want to run. To hide. But she couldn’t. She was locked to her spot, staring, waiting for disaster.

  For a long, tense minute, Maggie just breathed. Breathed and prayed. There was nothing else to do in that moment that seemed to stretch out forever. And then . . .

  Gunfire. Muted, but to her trained ears, evident. Several shots, fired in quick succession.

  Behind her, she could hear Jake corralling people away from the area, to safety, just in case the bomb went off. But her focus was on the cabin. On the silence settling like a storm cloud over the cabin in the echo of gunshots.

  She knew she should run for cover behind the SWAT trucks in case Mancuso activated the dead man’s trigger. But she couldn’t. Not without knowing. Not without trying something to help Kayla and Paul.

  What had happened? Had the doctor botched it? The cabin was still standing. That meant Mancuso was still alive, holding the bomb trigger, or. . . .

  Maggie’s phone rang. She jumped at the sound, nearly dropping it. She tried to calm her shaking hands as she unlocked it and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “You lied to me, you bitch!” Mancuso said, his voice shaking with anger. “You said he was a real doctor!”

  “Wait—” Maggie begged, desperation rising, choking her voice, making tears prick at the corner of her eyes as she watched all the control, all the leverage she had swirl down the drain.

  “No!” Mancuso shouted. “I’m going to kill your ex. Maybe that’ll make you listen.”

  “Please, Roger,” Maggie said, fear spreading inside her as her legs nearly buckled. She locked her knees, determined to stay upright. “I didn’t do this. I got screwed over. I promise you. I did not know. I would never have done this. It’s stupid. It’s an insult to your intelligence. I know how smart you are. They didn’t, clearly. Look at how you proved them wrong. I was playing this straight, I promise. I had nothing to do with this.”

  She was losing control, her rapid-fire excuses coming out of her mouth in a flood, her voice rising, filled with fear. She tried to breathe, tried to grasp the thin threads of control she had left, but Kayla was inside there. Paul was inside there. Mancuso had thrown Erica’s words at her like weapons, designed to weaken her, make her question herself.

  This was personal.

  “Too bad,” Mancuso said. “You got screwed over, I got screwed over. You’re a liar like the rest of them, Maggie. If there’s not a news team in here, broadcasting live, in one hour, I’ll kill Paul and Kayla—I’ll blow this cabin to bits on national TV.”

  Chapter 52

  Anger didn’t even come close to describing what Maggie felt right now. She stalked toward the mobile unit, her legs still shaking. People scattered when they caught the rage in her face. She burst through the door, surveying the agents inside.

  “Who the hell sent a shooter into my hostage negotiation?” she demanded.

  “That would be me,” said a clipped, clear voice. Mr. Black stood up in the back of the unit, his face still that smooth mask of indifference.

  Now that she had a clear target, Maggie rounded on him. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “How dare you . . .” Maggie stalked toward him, her shoes making angry clicks against the floor. So much fury radiated off her that she was surprised he didn’t recoil from the heat. “Are you a complete idiot?” she snarled, right in his face. “You sent an active shooter into a building with one of our agents inside with a bomb strapped to his chest. Who trained you, that you would do something so stupid?”

  Her voice rose steadily, and the agents in the unit were shifting uncomfortably, unsure of their place. “Mancuso will never trust me again,” Maggie went on. “You understand that, right? You’ve destroyed any chance of this not ending in a bloody mess. What if Mancuso released the trigger? Those SWAT members around the perimeter would’ve been in the blast radius! Paul and Kayla would have been blown to bits! And those journalists hanging around wouldn’t just get the story of a lifetime, they would have been hit with debris! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I made a judgment call,” Mr. Black said coolly.

  “It’s not your call to make!” Maggie shouted. Everyone around them was staring, mouths agape.

  “Well, it’s done,” the man said in an almost offhand manner. “I will accept responsibility.”

  “Really,” Maggie scoffed, jerking her thumb to the side, where the news was playing on a TV. “That’s rich, because it’s my face on the news right now.”

  Mr. Black looked over at the screen, and sure enough, there was a photo of Maggie, her Academy portrait, superimposed over footage of the fake doctor approaching the cabin.

  Mr. Black shrugged. “I didn’t mean accepting responsibility publicly. My involvement in this situation is classified.”

  “Get out,” Maggie demanded, gesturing at the agents around her. “Now!” she snapped, when they were slow to move. She glared at Mr. Black. “Mr. Black and I need to have a classified discussion.”

  The agents filed out, one by one, and Maggie slammed the door shut behind them, turning back to Mr. Black.

  “You’re going to talk,” she said. “And tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Or what?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked, as if he was amused.

  Maggie pulled her phone out and snapped a picture of him before he could react. “Or I take this to the media. Whatever agency you work for, I’m pretty sure your higher-ups wouldn’t be too pleased with your face on the news in connection with this.”

  Mr. Black’s calm, controlled expression faltered, just for a moment. Triumph burst through Maggie. This guy didn’t want his face anywhere. He was the kind who operated in the shadows. Whose job relied on anonymity. He wa
s calm and bland and nondescript. He had a face that wouldn’t be remembered. He was a man who could blend in so well he’d never be found.

  He was more than dangerous—he was skilled.

  And he had motives that didn’t line up with hers.

  “What the hell is in those SouthPoint papers?” Maggie asked. “Who are you protecting? What’s the real reason Mancuso’s willing to kill himself and everyone else?”

  Mr. Black reached out with blinding speed, grabbing her wrist and twisting painfully. Maggie cried out, as her bones ground against each other. The phone dropped out of her hand into his waiting palm. She tried to snatch for it, but he held it over her head with a mocking smile, like a schoolyard bully. She glared at him while he erased the picture she’d taken.

  “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Ms. Kincaid,” Mr. Black said, his voice going dark, almost deadly. A shiver ran down Maggie’s spine. Her wrist throbbed dully. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think she could take him in a fistfight. He was too strong. And he was probably the type who would hit a woman and enjoy it.

  “You don’t need to know what is in those papers,” Black said. “It’s not your job to even wonder about it. You are here to secure the release of the two hostages, not to investigate an alleged murder in the Middle East. So do your job. And don’t do anything else. Or you might find yourself in the kind of trouble Joe Mancuso got into.”

  Maggie drew herself up, resisting the urge to rub at her aching wrist. She couldn’t let him see he’d hurt her. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.

  “You think I haven’t dealt with invasive government agencies before?” she asked. “I know your type, Black. You don’t value human life—you value secrets. Using them. Keeping them.”

  “Your point being?” the man asked, looking bored.