by Tee O'Fallon
Bellboys rolled luggage carts back and forth along the white marble floors. Lines at the registration desk wound their way into the lobby. More people amassed outside the main entrance, waiting to pass through security.
Inside the ballroom to his left, the full band contingent blasted loudly enough to shake paint off the walls. Fuck, they were so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts.
At the far end of the ballroom a podium perched on a dais, behind which hung a wall of drapery. The rest of the ballroom floor was dotted with white cloth-covered tables set with gleaming china and silver.
Room 225 was located on the second floor, adjacent to the gold filigree and mahogany balcony that circled above the entire hotel lobby. As much as he wanted to charge up the stairs and kick in the door, attracting unwanted attention was the last thing he should do.
On his way to the staircase, he passed a tall man with silver-gray hair and wearing a black tuxedo holding court while a circle of reporters hung on his every word. Christopher Shane. Dom recognized him from his online photo the day he was arrested for running down Marsden’s son.
Shane smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. He spoke in the smooth, polished manner of someone who was accustomed to interacting with the press, and those media hounds were eating up every word.
Dom easily picked out the hotel’s security team. There were only two of them, hardly enough to stop a threat in a crowd of this size. Both wore identical black suits, white shirts, and blue ties. Coiled wires dangled from their ears. These bozos wanted to look so much like Secret Service agents they might as well have painted bull’s-eyes on their chests. Worst of all, they were watching Shane. Neither one of them faced outward where the threat would come from. If Shane was relying on these mall cops, he really was a dead man.
As Dom took the stairs to the balcony, he didn’t doubt that he was walking into a trap. Backup was on its way, but he couldn’t take the chance they’d kill Daisy before Gray and the others got there. Getting to her was the only thing that mattered.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Basic tenets of military leadership. But like him, the people he was up against were also former military. They’d figure on him having a damn good plan up his sleeve. In reality, he was flying blind.
He understood exactly what it was like to be on the Pyramid’s blackmail list. Everyone on that list had a weakness, something to be used against them and to control them. The Pyramid knew what his weakness was.
Daisy.
As long as they had her, they controlled him. Totally and without reservation. He had no plan, so he’d have to pull one out of his ass.
At the top of the stairs he paused to look down at the controlled chaos below. Men in tuxedos and women in sparkly cocktail dresses poured into the lobby until they were jammed in like cattle. He moved along the balcony to stand directly outside the door to Room 225. Taking a deep breath, he took one last look below, noting that he had a direct line of sight through the lobby to the dais at the far end of the ballroom.
He turned and faced the door. On the other side was his entire world—the woman he loved more than life itself. He should have told her he loved her when he had the chance. He prayed it wasn’t too late.
When he raised his hand, preparing to knock on the door, it was shaking. He took a deep breath, then knocked twice. A few seconds later, the door opened.
Jack stood in the doorway, pointing a gun with a silencer at his chest. His eyes glittered with unconcealed rage. “Get in,” he growled, stepping aside for Dom to enter. “Put your hands on top of your head and interlace your fingers.”
Dom did as ordered. The door slammed shut behind him. Even with the door closed, music from downstairs beat out a steady rhythm through the walls.
Keeping the gun pointed at Dom’s face, Jack patted him down for weapons, starting with his shoulders, back, and chest. While Jack searched the pockets of his vest and pants, Dom took quick stock of the room.
There was no bed, telling him this was a suite with multiple rooms. The outer room was opulent, with plush white carpet, a sofa, coffee table, chairs, and a desk. An enormous flat-screen TV graced the far wall. Slumped against the wall beneath the TV were three men in dark suits. No blood was visible, but none of the men moved. He hoped to hell they really had been shot up with tranquilizer, but he wondered if their necks had been snapped.
So much for the rest of Shane’s security team.
He nodded to the still bodies. “How’d you get them up here?”
Jack snorted. “Gullible chumps. All it took was a report of a suspicious package to the front desk, and half the team abandoned their protectee to come up here and save the day.”
Which only confirmed Dom’s low opinion of Shane’s team. He flicked his gaze to the other side of the room where he made out a bed through another open doorway.
Jack yanked up Dom’s pants leg and grabbed the Smith and Wesson from the ankle holster. He hadn’t really thought it would do him any good, but he’d had to try.
Next Jack pulled the cell phone from his rear pants pocket. Still pointing the gun at him, he placed the phone on the desk, then brought the handle of the gun down hard, shattering the cover. He smashed the phone three more times before it broke into several pieces.
Jack walked toward him, his expression hard. “I vouched for you, asshole.” Before Dom could process what was coming next, Jack whipped his arm out, hitting him in the head with the butt of the gun.
He hit the carpet hard, landing on his shoulder. Pain speared through his head, and he thought he’d pass out. He blinked, seeing nothing but white flashes. When his vision cleared, he made out the barrel of the gun an inch from his face. He shut his eyes, waiting, knowing he’d barely feel a second of pain before the bullet entered his brain.
“Get up, fucker.”
Slowly, he got to his feet. Blood dripped into his eye, and he wavered for a second as his vision momentarily clouded again. Jack shoved him in the direction of the adjoining room. Through the open door, the first things he saw were a folding rifle on the bed and a large wooden crate shoved into a corner of the room. When he crossed the threshold someone gasped.
Daisy sat in a chair, her eyes wide with fear. Smith grinned at him from across the room with the muzzle of another silenced gun to her head.
His blood ran cold. Panic nearly twisted his guts apart. The sight of Daisy with a gun to her head filled him with a killing rage the likes of which he’d never known. He clenched and unclenched his hands, struggling with the urge to launch across the room and wrap his hands around Smith’s neck.
Her arms were pulled behind the chair. Their gazes met, and his heart squeezed so hard it hurt.
“Dom,” she whispered on a shaky breath.
Her breasts heaved beneath the tight red fabric of her dress, and one of her legs was bared to her waist where her dress had torn. His heart raced so quickly he thought it would fly from his chest. He knew perfectly well what damage a bullet to her head would inflict, and the image nearly brought him to his knees.
Before the day is out, I’m going to kill Smith and Jack.
He knew it with every fiber of his being. First he had to find a way to get Daisy to safety.
Smith sent him a sadistic smile. “I took out your boy Gonzalez. I knew you weren’t on the level, motherfucker.”
Jack shoved him roughly into another chair next to the door, then yanked his arms backward and bound them tightly with thin rope that cut into his wrists.
He needed to stall for time. Time to allow Gray and the troops to get there while he figured a way out. He glared at Smith. “It was you in the SUV outside Daisy’s apartment. You’ve been watching her.”
“I’ve been watching all of you. Good thing, too. Jackie-boy, here, was too dumb not to see you were bullshitting him, and even dumber not to see you were fucking his woman.”
“Shut up.” Jack’s eyes simmered with a deadly glow.
“Maybe,” Smith added, shifting his ga
ze from Jack’s to Dom’s, “I’ll let Jack be the one to put a bullet in your brain. That way I’ll have more time to spend with your lady friend. She’s one hot mama.” He began stroking Daisy’s hair with the back of his hand, and she flinched at his touch. “I can already imagine her legs wrapped around my ass while I fuck her long and hard.”
Beside Dom, Jack vibrated with rage, clenching and unclenching his fists, a muscle in his cheek twitching furiously. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
Dom gritted his teeth and fought back a growl. The idea of that asshole—either of those assholes—touching her was driving him out of his mind. Which was exactly what Smith was trying to accomplish. Sadistic motherfucker.
“You twisted piece of shit,” he snarled. It killed him that he was ten feet away and couldn’t do a damn thing to help while Daisy strained futilely at her bonds.
Smith locked eyes with him as he trailed his knuckles down Daisy’s cheek to the side of her neck. “Such a fine piece of ass deserves a real man.”
“Don’t touch me, you disgusting pig.” She raised her chin, glaring up at Smith. “If you were a man you wouldn’t need to resort to rape to get your rocks off.”
Smith’s hand froze, as if Daisy’s defiance was the last thing he expected. “You bitch.” He took a step back, then raised his arm, about to backhand her, when the hotel room’s outer door shut and a man wearing a dark raincoat walked into the bedroom. The man removed his coat to reveal an army dress uniform.
Colonel Bud Marsden.
Not that Dom was surprised, but confirming Marsden was indeed the leader of the Pyramid brought with it a grim satisfaction.
“Stand down, Mr. Smith,” Marsden ordered in a cold, hard voice.
Smith stiffened, his entire body practically saluting. Jack’s response was nearly the same.
Marsden had aged significantly since Dom had seen him last, no longer looking anything like photos he’d seen on the internet, but he still retained the same undeniable air of strength and authority. At nearly six foot two, Dom figured, the man was still lean and hard, although his face was severely lined and his short crop of hair was pure white. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and there was a yellow pallor to his skin. It reminded Dom of his great uncle who died last year from cancer.
“Detective Carew.” Marsden’s voice was rough as he addressed Dom by his real title. The colonel put his hand to his scarred throat. “I was saddened to hear that Jimmy Gonzalez was alive and well. It confirmed Mr. Smith’s suspicion that you are still on active duty with the NYPD. Too bad, really.” The colonel paused to take a long drink of water from the bottle in his hand. “I had high hopes for you to take over Jack’s position.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he said as the colonel sat on the edge of the bed next to the rifle.
Marsden couldn’t have been more than fifty but looked more like seventy. He appeared old and tired but with a gleam of determination in his gray eyes.
“You don’t plan to get out of here alive,” Dom said.
“I have no illusions about that.” Marsden lifted his sleeve to glance at his watch. “Just as I have no doubt that your backup is on the way. Any good undercover officer always has backup, and you, Detective, are one of the best. No one’s managed to infiltrate my team before. Congratulations.” The colonel tipped his head in mock salute.
As much as he needed to look at Daisy to see how she was doing, he couldn’t. It took every ounce of concentration to focus on what he needed to do. Find a loophole, some avenue of compromise with the colonel so he’d let her go.
“You survived the explosion.” Keep him talking. “I’m guessing you made it into the mountains and managed to link up with one of your drug-smuggling contacts.”
Marsden nodded. “The last thing my contacts wanted was for their American dealer to die in the mountains. Sadly, there was a price to be paid for remaining hidden.” He touched his hand to his throat. “Shrapnel damaged my voice box, and without medical attention the scarring became permanent.”
“My condolences about your son,” Dom said. Ironically, he really did feel sorry for the man over the loss of his only child. “But killing Shane isn’t the way to get revenge.”
“You’re right. Which is precisely why I’m here.” His thin lips tipped up at the corners into a grim smile. “Christopher Shane took from me the only person I ever loved. My son, Billy, had his whole life ahead of him. He could have been anything he wanted to be in life. A doctor, a lawyer, a husband. He was my heir. My only child.”
Marsden was breathing hard and paused to drink again from the bottle. Dom got the sense that the man’s health was even worse than he’d originally thought.
“You’re dying,” he said, knowing it was true. And it explained why Marsden didn’t care if he made it out of the hotel alive.
“You’re very perceptive, Detective.” Marsden nodded. “I have terminal cancer, and my end of days is fast approaching anyway, so I’ve decided to go out with a bang.” Again, he smiled.
Dom risked a glance at Daisy and saw she was listening intently. He needed to keep Marsden talking. “The ADA killed in a drive-by shooting seven months ago was the same one who dropped the charges against Shane. He was your first personal target. I’m guessing he took a bribe for conveniently making evidence disappear.”
“Goldsucker was a corrupt, bottom-feeding attorney. The lowest form of life.” Marsden crushed the empty water bottle in his fist and threw it across the room. “The man had children himself. Letting Shane get away with killing my son was unconscionable.”
He now realized why the Pyramid had kidnapped Alex when she was employed at One PP. This wasn’t the typical Pyramid pay-for-hire assassination. Knowing his death was imminent, Marsden had orchestrated his own personal vendetta and used the Pyramid to do it. “You initially thought the police were involved in dropping the charges against Shane. You were going to storm police headquarters and take out as many officers as you could. Until you discovered the department was just as pissed as you were when Goldsucker dropped the charges.”
“A-plus, Detective.” Marsden again nodded his compliment. “My last act will indeed be to kill the man who murdered my son, but not before killing his baby.”
“Shane doesn’t have children.” To his surprise, Marsden smiled broadly.
“Not quite true.” Marsden paused to outstretch his arms and look around the room. “This is his baby. He’s bragged about this hotel being his greatest achievement—his crowning glory. He’s thrown so much of his money around this city he can do no wrong. But what all the senators, congressmen, and the mayor don’t know is who Shane really is—and what he’s done. I intend to enlighten them.”
A fit of coughing overcame Marsden, and when he continued his voice was even worse. “Shane has no soul. He killed my son and didn’t utter a single word of remorse. His heart is as cold and unfeeling as the pristine marble floor downstairs in that lobby. And very soon I will disgrace him in front of the same city that adores him. Then his blood will run across that expensive floor while he watches the walls of his precious hotel crumble down around him. Literally.”
“You’re going to blow up the hotel.” Dom stared at Marsden in disbelief. “There could be hundreds of innocent casualties.”
“A small price for justice.” Marsden dug into his uniform pocket and pulled out what looked like a short TV remote with a two-inch antenna. “I’ll give people as much time as possible to evacuate, although you are correct. There will undoubtedly be casualties.”
“Colonel.” Dom tipped his head toward Daisy. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this. Like everyone else in this hotel, she’s someone’s child. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Dom realized Marsden was crazed with grief and, given his medical condition, had nothing to lose. But he had to try. For Daisy’s sake. For the sake of all the innocents in the hotel. “What you’re about to do is far worse than anything Shane ever did. Shane killed your boy, I get that. But mu
rdering hundreds of others to get back at him is far worse.”
For several seconds, Marsden stared at Dom, saying nothing. His pained expression seemed to soften, and for a moment Dom thought maybe he’d actually gotten through to him.
“As I don’t intend to live for more than another hour or so, I have no desire for Ms. Fowler to die. Unfortunately,” he said, looking first to Jack, then Smith, “I don’t think my operatives would agree. She’s a witness to their crimes.” He turned to address Daisy directly. “Please accept my apologies.” He rose. “It’s nearly time. Mr. Smith, you’re with me.”
Smith lifted his shirt and tucked the gun into his waistband. He followed Marsden to the door, turning at the last second before leaving the room. To Jack, he said, “Your stupidity brought them into this. You can get rid of them.”
“Colonel!” Dom shouted, pulling futilely at his bonds. “For God’s sake, let her go.”
Ignoring him, Marsden and Smith left the suite, leaving them alone with Jack, who still had a gun on him. Dom locked gazes with Daisy and tried to give her a reassuring look. Her eyes were wide with fear.
With only Jack remaining, the odds were with him. He strained against the thin rope binding his wrists tightly together and felt it give slightly…but not enough to slip free.
When her eyes glistened with unshed tears, his gut tightened. He alternately clenched his hands into fists, trying to stretch the rope. “I’m sorry, Daisy.” Fuck. Somehow he’d get her out of this.
Jack slapped the silenced muzzle of the gun against his thigh. “She was mine,” he snarled. “Until the minute you walked in the door. I should have seen it. I should have fucking seen it.”
“You expect me to apologize?” Dom glared up at him, resisting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “You never stood a chance. You’re a goddamn killer.”