Dead by Midnight

  “Nick Andris, a paramilitary operator with Cobra International Solutions.”

  “His wife is among the hostages,” McBride added. “We got a report from Hunter that she was down. He didn’t know whether she was alive or…”

  Dead.

  The unspoken word tore at Nick’s chest.

  Dixon shook his head. “I can’t send you up there, not even in a Little Bird. We’d be risking too much. Irving, you need to text your SWAT captain and tell him to lie low until this is over. His actions, though laudable, could cause us a world of trouble. How is Moreno going to react when he finds out his men on the roof are dead? If he thinks we’re responsible for that, he might kill Secretary Holmes.”

  Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Darcangelo stepped forward, fury on his face. “You’re just going to abandon Hunter? If they find him, they’ll kill him. What about the M2? What about the cell phones? He risked his life—”

  “We’ll ask him to field strip the M2 and hide the parts,” Dixon said. “There are a lot of lives at stake here, detective. What Hunter did was courageous, but his actions could imperil this entire operation. In the meantime, you Cobra boys need to leave. Cobra has a great reputation, but you’re not going to be a part of this. This is an HRT operation—”

  Nick exploded. “Your HRT hasn’t gotten here yet!”

  “—and we’re operating by the book. I don’t have to remind you that the Secretary of State is being held at gunpoint, along with your lieutenant governor. You need to step back and sit this out.”

  “I can’t do that, sir.”

  Dixon’s gaze went cold. “Anyone who’s not federal or Denver PD needs to leave this command vehicle now. I’ll allow you to stay here at the incident command center, but you’re not going to be a part of our briefings or operation.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Tower pulled out his cell phone.

  “Don’t make me bring in muscle to remove the two of you.”

  Nick met Tower’s gaze, saw that Tower was thinking exactly what he was thinking.

  “I’ll keep you up to date,” McBride said. “You go and talk to the ambulance crews, show them Holly’s photo, give them your cell number.”

  “Thanks.” Nick turned to go, his hands clenched into fists.

  Tower started after him, then stopped. “I ran an op against the FLC once a few years ago. Moreno is every bit as ruthless as his uncle. I seriously doubt he intends to let the hostages go. He’ll want to exact revenge for his family’s loss of face. You need to find out what this bastard’s real endgame is, or people are going to die.”

  * * *

  20:05

  Gabe returned to the Grand Ballroom, the wounded all loaded into ambulances, apart from Holly, who apparently wasn’t going anywhere. His job now was to carry the dead. “I’m going to need some help,” he said. “Any volunteers?”

  Ramirez was on his feet. “I’ll help.”

  “Count me in,” said Alex Carmichael.

  “I’ll help too,” Sheridan said.

  Moreno looked at Sheridan, his expression mocking. “You’ll get blood on your pretty clothes.”

  “That doesn’t bother me,” Sheridan answered. “It’s the blood of heroes.”

  Moreno rolled his eyes, said something in Spanish that made his goons laugh.

  Gabe and Joaquin bent over the body of one of the security guards, lifted him, a white table cloth still covering him, offering him some dignity in death.

  “We’ll go down the staff elevator,” Gabe told Joaquin. “It’s around the corner and down the hall to my right.”

  “Got it.”

  For a time, they said nothing else, Moreno and his men watching them.

  When they were out of the ballroom, Joaquin broke the silence, his voice a whisper. “I overheard that chingadero commander tell his men to shoot you if you refuse to leave. I think he sees you as trouble.”

  So Moreno was smarter than he looked.

  “I can’t leave Kat.” But Gabe couldn’t make her a widow either.

  “She wants you to go. She says the kids need at least one parent.”

  He thought of Alissa and Nakai, suppressed rage flaring in his gut. He couldn’t come home without their mother. “I’m not leaving her here.”

  He’d wanted to ask Moreno to let her go but had been afraid the bastard would make her pay for his actions the way he’d punished Kara for Sheridan’s words.

  Joaquin went on. “She doesn’t want me to tell you this, but her water broke.”

  Gabe’s pulse spiked. He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  She was a month early. If she’d gone into labor now, it might be a sign the baby was in some kind of distress. Last time she’d been checked, the baby had been breech and high in her pelvis. If it was still breech…

  He had to get her out of here and to a hospital.

  “Cállate!” One of Moreno’s armed goons walked up beside them, spoke to Ramirez in Spanish.

  Ramirez answered, the contempt in his voice clear even if Gabe couldn’t understand his words.

  The man glared at him, sticking with them as they stepped into the elevator and set the body on the floor, Sheridan and Carmichael behind them with a second. He rode down with them, then stood in the open elevator door as they carried the bodies outside, where a few ambulances remained, EMTs standing ready with body bags and gurneys.

  He and Joaquin lifted the body onto the gurney. Then Gabe pretended to help one of the EMTs fit the body he’d helped carry into the bag, glancing surreptitiously around to make certain he wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Remember every word I’m about to say. Lives depend on it. Holly Andris was grazed on the head by an AK round. She’s conscious and seems okay, but she probably has a concussion. Also, Kat James is eight months pregnant. Her water just broke. She’s in premature labor and needs help. Tell whoever’s in charge. Holly Andris. Kat James. And tell them not to mention me. I’m Gabe Rossiter. Can you remember that?”

  The young man nodded. “Yes. Holly Andris. Kat James. Gabe Rossiter.”

  “Good man.” Gabe walked back up the stairs to the loading dock, joining Ramirez, Sheridan, and Carmichael in the elevator, where they were once again under the hateful glare of Moreno’s goon.

  Gabe met Sheridan’s gaze, saw the dark fury smoldering inside him. He knew that Sheridan was doing exactly what he was doing—weighing their chances against the bastard with the rifle. Four against one was good odds. But even if they managed to kill the son of a bitch, take his weapon, and mount some kind of resistance, Moreno wouldn’t hesitate to take his rage out on the others, Kara most especially.

  A muscle moved in Sheridan’s jaw, and he broke eye contact.

  Gabe had to do something. He couldn’t leave his wife in the hands of killers. Having a baby was hard under the best circumstances. He’d been with Kat both times she’d given birth. The thought of her going through premature labor as a hostage…

  He couldn’t risk her or their baby.

  Heart tripping, he started piecing together a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was better than getting shot and much better than letting his wife suffer through childbirth as a prisoner of terrorists.

  When they carried the last body out to the ambulance, he glanced around, looking for some way to conceal himself, some way to sneak back into the hotel from outside the loading dock. He spotted some thick steel I-beams just inside the door.

  “Don’t do anything loco,” Ramirez whispered as they settled the last body onto a gurney.

  “What makes you think I’m going to do something crazy?”

  “Experience,” Ramirez answered. “Also, you looked up. That means you’re thinking about going vertical.”

  Ramirez knew him too well.

  Gabe had spent his life before Kat sending every crag, slab, and big wall he could get his chalked fingers onto, building a reputation for himself as an extreme athlete and world-class free solo c
limber. Adrenaline had been his drug of choice. He’d used it to dull the hurt of his past, risking everything to stay ahead of the pain. And then Kat had come into his life, and his world had changed. He couldn’t fail her.

  “I need some kind of distraction.”

  Ramirez nodded. “You act like you’re leaving, and I’ll do what I can.”

  “Don’t get shot.”

  “Right.”

  “If this doesn’t work and I get my head blown off …”

  Ramirez nodded. “Take care, man.”

  “You, too.” Gabe took a few backward steps as if he were about to climb into the back of the waiting ambulance.

  Ramirez crossed to the stairs on the other side of the loading dock, ran up a few, then seemed to trip and fall. He gave a cry, rocking back and forth and holding his leg. All eyes turned his way.

  Gabe saw his chance and took it, hurrying up the stairs and launching himself up one of the thick I-beams. He’d just reached the top and taken cover, when Moreno’s thugs, apparently thinking Ramirez was trying to fake an injury so he could leave with one of the ambulances, dragged him to his feet and back through the door.

  They seemed to have forgotten about Gabe entirely.

  Thanks, Ramirez. I owe you big time.

  Gabe watched Moreno’s men as they lowered the big loading dock door, secured it, then posted two men to watch it from the inside, the rest disappearing into the elevator with Ramirez.

  Okay, Rossiter. Now what?

  * * *

  20:10

  Megan sat in the living room, nursing Jackson, unable to take her gaze off the television, where Channel 12 was showing recycled footage of the Palace Hotel. Marc was in there somewhere, and no one knew if he was still alive.

  How like her brother to put everyone else’s safety ahead of his own. Hadn’t he done the same with her? He’d saved her life then helped her get back on her feet after she’d almost destroyed herself.

  She wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to him.

  Poor Sophie. She must be terrified. She was the sweetest sister-in-law a person could hope to have. She’d put her life on the line for Megan and Marc, going above and beyond her job as a journalist to find the truth that had set both of them free.

  God, keep them safe. And please don’t let Marc do anything too stupid.

  But Megan knew her brother. When it came to protecting those he loved, he wouldn’t hold back.

  If anything happened to either of them...

  No, she couldn’t let her imagination go there. She couldn’t.

  Janet made her way down the stairs, holding the railing with one hand, her cane in the other. She sat beside Megan. “Anything new?”

  Megan shook her head, cell phone on the coffee table in front of her. She’d asked Tessa to call her directly if she heard anything from Julian, who was now on the scene. “They’re doing what news stations do when they don’t have any news. They keep repeating the same thing. ‘Terrorists have taken over the Palace Hotel. The Secretary of State and more than 300 others held hostage. Stay tuned for bloodshed.’”

  Janet took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “They’ll send in HRT. Those guys are the best-trained law-enforcement unit in the nation. They train with Delta Force and Navy SEALs. They’ll do everything they can to free the hostages safely.”

  Megan took some comfort from Janet’s words. Janet had been an FBI special agent until she’d taken a bullet to the hip. She probably knew more about what was going on at the Palace than Channel 12 news.

  “I have an idea.” Janet took the remote, switched to Laura Nilsson’s station. Laura was married to Javier Corbray, Nate’s best friend from his military days. She’d worked on the I-Team with the others for a while before taking a position as the main news anchor for a national station in Washington, D.C. Watching her broadcasts always felt like getting the news from a friend.

  “Thanks,” Megan said.

  From the mudroom, came the sound of Jack and Nate’s voices as they took off their boots and coats after settling the horses for the night.

  “Mommy, what is a ‘hostage’?” asked Emily, who sat on the floor near the Christmas tree playing with her toy ponies.

  Megan took a deep breath, wondering how she could explain this in a way that wouldn’t trigger bad memories for her daughter. “A hostage is someone who is being kept prisoner by bad guys.”

  “Like that bad man who hurt you and made us stay in the basement?”

  Megan swallowed, did her best to keep emotion out of her voice. “Yes. Like that.”

  Megan and Janet shared a glance, and Emily went on playing as if they hadn’t just spoken of something terrible. She’d seen things that night no child should see—drugs, pornography, violence, death.

  Then Emily spoke again. “Daddy saved us from the bad man. Maybe he should go save Uncle Marc and Aunt Sophie, too.”

  “Maybe.” Megan couldn’t help but smile. Emily loved Nate so very much. One day Megan would have to tell her daughter that the man Nate had saved them from that night had been her biological father.

  Nate walked in through the kitchen, thick woolen socks on his feet, his cheeks red from the cold. His gaze met Megan’s. “Any word?”

  Megan shook her head.

  Nate reached down, ran a finger over Jackson’s chubby cheek, his gaze shifting to Emily. “They have police there to help save your Uncle Marc and Aunt Sophie.”

  So he’d heard what she’d said.

  “Is Uncle Julie there?”

  Nate and Janet hid smiles.

  “Yes. Uncle Zach is there, too.”

  Jack stepped out of the kitchen. “Anyone care for coffee?”

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “Thanks.”

  Megan’s cell phone rang, making her heart skip.

  Nate picked it up, held it out for her.

  Pulse tripping, she answered. “This is Megan.”

  “It’s Tessa. Marc is alive. Julian said Marc got in touch with Chief Irving again and that he’d been grazed by a bullet but was okay. He took down four guys on the roof and kept them from setting up a machine gun to use against the police. He’s a hero, Megan.”

  “Thank God!” Megan blinked back tears of relief.

  But Marc had always been a hero in her eyes.

  7

  Chapter Seven

  20:15

  Holly sat with her back against the wall, holding a makeshift ice bag to her head, Matt’s dinner jacket around her shoulders—a sweet, protective gesture on his part. Sophie had given her a couple of aspirins, and that had helped a little with the headache. It had done nothing for her nausea.

  By now, Gabe was free. He would’ve told Nick that she’d been hurt but was okay. That would keep Nick from doing something stupid. Then again, a part of her really wanted him to do something stupid and brave and heroic to get her and all her friends out of here alive, especially Kat.

  Joaquin and Sophie had made a place for her back in the corner, Alex, Joaquin, and even Tom donating their dinner jackets so she could lie on something other than the carpet. She said her contractions were mild, but Holly could see she was afraid.

  “Last time I was checked, the baby was breech,” she whispered to Sophie. “What if it’s still breech? What if the cord is prolapsed? I don’t want to lose this baby.”

  Sophie sat beside Kat, holding her hand. “Can you still feel it moving?”

  Kat pressed a hand against her belly, rubbed it. “Yes.”

  “Try to relax and focus on that.”

  Holly didn’t understand all of that. She didn’t know much about pregnancy or birth, despite the fact she’d been with Kara when her daughter Caitlyn was born—an experience that had left Holly more afraid to become a mother than excited. But right now, she was afraid for Kat.

  They needed to get her out of here or at least move her someplace quiet and private where she could lie down on a real bed. To make that happen, they needed to tell Commander Asshat that she was in labor. Bu
t Kat was afraid he’d use that against her or find a way to hurt her or her baby.

  Holly couldn’t blame her for worrying. Once Moreno knew about her situation, there was no telling what he would do. He might let her go. He might shoot her. From what Holly had heard, the bastard enjoyed watching people suffer and didn’t care whom he hurt—innocent men, women, even children.

  At the same time, they couldn’t wait for a rescue to get Kat out of here. Holly knew it would be many hours, perhaps even days or weeks before this ended. There was no way the US government would negotiate with narco-terrorists. They wouldn’t release Moreno’s cousin, and they wouldn’t give him $35 million. It would be a long, drawn-out stalemate—unless Moreno held true to his threats and started shooting. If that happened, HRT would move in hard and fast.

  She watched Moreno, saw Joaquin standing as near to the bastard as he could get. He was the only one among them who spoke fluent Spanish. He’d been trying to eavesdrop to gather intel. So far he’d learned that Moreno was angry with the crew on the roof, but Joaquin wasn’t sure why. Moreno had also sent a couple of men down to watch over the “little Christmas present below.”

  Holly had no idea what Moreno meant by that, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t the kind of gift one would hope to get from Santa.

  She watched Moreno, trying to glean insights that might help her, certain she’d seen him somewhere before. He strode from one end of the room to the other, talking with his men, AK propped against his shoulder, red beret perched stupidly on his head. But what kind of man was he?

  He’d grown up in a patriarchal family where the authority of the male head of the household went unchallenged. How small he must have felt, living under his uncle’s fist, subject to the extremes of his uncle’s personality. He’d grown up amid violence, had probably witnessed brutality as a kid, becoming desensitized to it. He’d been emotionally castrated by the power his uncle held over him, never able to be his own man, always having to follow orders. It had turned him into a rage-filled narcissist. But here, with hundreds of people’s lives in his hands, he felt important. He was finally the male authority figure, finally free to give the orders—and vent a lifetime of anger.