He didn’t hesitate to hurt women. She’d seen that when he’d struck poor Kara. He’d probably grown up viewing women as objects for male use—wives born to serve husbands, whores paid to endure whatever got their clients off, mothers who doted on their sons, daughters to be coddled and controlled like living dolls. He liked his women meek, submissive.
The way to his heart wasn’t through sex or money, but his ego. That’s how it was with all narcissists. His reaction to everyone and everything depended on how it made him feel about himself.
As if he could sense her perusal, he turned his head and looked straight into her eyes. And then he walked her way.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Bradshaw,” Tom said, calling her by her maiden name. “You’ve done enough.”
“I didn’t know you cared.” She let Matt’s jacket slip from her shoulders, willed tears into her eyes, whispered to her friends. “No matter what happens, do not interfere.”
People moved aside for him and the henchman who followed after him until he was standing before her.
She looked up.
“Get up,” he said.
She set the ice bag down, started to get to her feet, deliberately falling onto her knees before him, her face directly in front of his crotch. She looked up at him through wide, tear-filled eyes, then struggled to her feet, wobbling a bit on her heels.
He reached out a hand and steadied her.
Gotcha, you son of a bitch.
“One of my men says he saw you pull the fire alarm. How did you find out about our little party?”
She avoided looking into his eyes, did her best to act terrified. “I-I bumped into one of those carts—you know, the ones the waiters push. I guess I’d had too much to drink. A g-gun slid out the side of it. I tried telling the guards, b-but they didn’t believe me. I didn’t know what else to do, so … P-please don’t hurt me.”
He studied her, held up her ID. “You’re not a journalist?”
“N-no, sir. I’m not a reporter. I came as someone’s date. I’m … I’m …” She hesitated, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m an escort.”
Moreno frowned, his lips slowly curving into a twisted smirk. “You’re a whore.”
Holly let color come into her cheeks. “An escort. I don’t get paid to do that.”
“Who is your date?” He glanced around, then pointed straight at Matt. “Oh, yes. I remember. You.”
And Holly realized why she recognized him. He’d been posing as a valet when they’d arrived. He’d seen her walk in with Matt.
Matt wisely said nothing, his jaw tensing.
Moreno sneered at him. “I can see why you have to pay for pussy.”
Holly met Matt’s gaze, felt a pang of regret for him.
I’m sorry, Matt!
Then Moreno turned and spoke in Spanish to his men, sliding his arm around her shoulder and leading her away from the others.
She wasn’t yet sure what her plan was, but so far it seemed to be going well.
* * *
20:17
Julian wanted to hit something. Hunter had just risked his life and saved God only knew how many cops and SWAT guys, and the FBI’s SWAT commander wanted him to stand down. He stood toe to toe with Dixon, looked into the man’s eyes. “Maybe he should just surrender to the terrorists, take responsibility for the men he killed, and let them blow his head off.”
“Darcangelo!” Chief Irving shouted. “No one is saying that Hunter should turn himself over to Moreno.”
“Right now he’s the only one doing a goddamned thing to stop these guys.”
Dixon’s voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “HRT is on its way.”
The door opened, a blast of frigid air rushing through the cramped space.
Andris entered, followed by Tower and a man wearing an EMS uniform.
One of Dixon’s men stopped them. “Dixon says you two aren’t allowed in the vehicle.”
“I’ve got intel from the inside.” Andris pushed past him. “This man just came from the Palace, where he spoke with Gabe Rossiter.”
Dixon frowned. “Who the hell is Gabe Rossiter?”
“A former park ranger,” Julian answered. “I worked with him a few years back. He’s got solid law-enforcement skills.”
“Let’s hear it, son,” Irving said to the EMT.
“He told me to remember what he was about to say as if lives depended on it. He said Holly Andris was grazed on the head by the bullet from an AK. He said she’s conscious and seems okay but might have a concussion.”
Julian met Andris’s gaze, saw a muscle clench in his jaw.
An AK round?
Jesus.
That had been damned close.
“He said Kat James is eight months pregnant and that her water had just broken. He said she’s in premature labor and needs help.”
Son of a bitch.
Julian had forgotten that Kat was heavily pregnant. He couldn’t imagine a woman going through labor in that environment. Why hadn’t the fuckers released her together with the wounded?
“There’s more,” Tower said.
“He wanted me to tell all of this to whoever’s in charge, but also to tell you not to mention him to the terrorists.”
Dixon frowned. “Why would he say that?”
“Kat James is his wife,” Andris explained. “One of the wounded men said the terrorists are hurting the women to control the men. When Lt. Gov. Sheridan spoke up, Moreno backhanded his wife, nearly knocking her off her feet.”
And that made Julian want to kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.
He couldn’t imagine what Rossiter was going through. “He probably wants to make sure Kat isn’t made to pay for his having shared this intel with us.”
“Here’s the weird thing,” the EMT said. “The terrorists tried to send Rossiter away with us, but he didn’t want to go. He had his friend create a distraction, and he disappeared back inside the hotel. He jumped up on a support beam and just disappeared. He was gone, like Spider-Man or something.”
Julian met McBride’s gaze, saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin at the EMT’s description.
Dixon’s eyes narrowed. “He disappeared?”
McBride nodded. “Rossiter is a world-class climber. He has free-soloed routes that most elite climbers wouldn’t dream of trying without ropes.”
Dixon’s eyebrows rose. “Why in God’s name would he go back inside?”
Julian crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you married, Dixon?”
Dixon shook his head.
That’s what Julian had thought. The man had no idea what it was like to love a woman more than he loved himself, to be bound to her body and soul, to see her in his children’s faces, to know down to his bones that she was the axis of his world.
“He went back inside to try to find a way to protect and free his pregnant wife.” Julian had to fight not to shout. “You’ve got two men on the inside now, two good men. There’s a woman in premature labor and more than three hundred other people in mortal danger. Are you going to leave Hunter freezing his ass off on the roof and risk losing the intel those cell phones might bring us?”
“Let us go up in the Little Bird.” Andris was pleading with him now. “You can have police sirens make a din if you want. They won’t hear us. We can collect the weapons and the phones, give Hunter some body armor—”
“No!” Dixon’s voice boomed through the confined space. “We wait for HRT.”
Andris’s expression hardened. He turned without a word and stalked out of the trailer with Tower, slamming the door behind them.
Fed up with this bullshit and afraid of what might come out of his mouth next, Julian followed them, cold air hitting him in the face. Andris and Tower were talking, their heads bent together.
McBride came up behind Julian. “Want to take bets about what those two are planning?”
“Whatever it is, I want in.” He looked northward, saw the top of the P
alace Hotel through the bare branches of the trees.
Hang on, Hunter. You’re not alone.
* * *
20:20
Marc knew he was no longer alone. Someone had come up the stairs and stepped out of the bulkhead. He’d heard the door squeak on its hinges.
Chilled to the bone, he stepped back out of the light, dropped to one knee, raised the TAC-338.
A man in camo emerged from behind the bulkhead, some kind of rifle held in one hand, its muzzle pointing down. “Luis!”
He’d probably been sent topside to find out what the hell was going on. But Marc couldn’t let them figure it out. Not yet.
He sighted on the man and pulled the trigger, dropping him with a shot to center mass.
That left at least 19 assorted assholes still at large in the hotel.
Marc kicked the body, made sure the fucker was dead, then confiscated the man’s wallet, cell phone, and the wool gloves he found in his jacket pocket. He dragged the body into the shadows with the others, then walked back over to the M2, which he’d been ordered to strip.
He knelt down, jerked off the weapon’s backplate.
So the FBI wanted him to stand down, did they? They wanted him to hide somewhere while a bunch of murdering motherfuckers held hundreds of people, including his wife and some of his best friends, at gunpoint?
Right. Sure. Fine.
He stood and hurled the backplate over the side of the building, a desperate roar tearing itself from his throat. He watched as it arced through the darkness, falling eight stories and landing with a metallic clank in the deserted street below.
Goddamn it!
Sophie!
If only he’d kept her with him. If only he hadn’t sent her away.
He couldn’t change the decisions he’d made. All he could do now was be a good cop and follow orders.
Or not.
He turned back to the M2 and set about disassembling it down to its most basic components, fighting to rein in his anger. He understood the FBI’s strategy. They didn’t want the FLC to misunderstand his actions and start slaughtering people. But if he hid inside, he’d be surrendering the high ground to the enemy. They didn’t have to have the M2 to kill cops. Anyone with decent aim and a rifle could kill from up here.
He got to his feet, his toes now numb from the cold, and got to work scattering pieces of the M2, dropping screws down vents, sliding bigger pieces down rain gutters, and tossing pieces off different sides of the building.
He wasn’t sure what to do with the confiscated cell phones, which buzzed like angry hornets in his pocket. If only he spoke Spanish, he’d know what these bastards were saying to each other. He would be able to buy more time by texting back and making whoever was in charge of this clusterfuck think that his team on the roof was still in action. Too bad he couldn’t tap into Darcangelo’s brain. He spoke Spanish like it was his mother tongue and…
Mind racing, Marc hurled the heavy barrel of the M2 over the side of the building, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He settled himself with the TAC-338 where he had a clear view of the bulkhead so that he’d see anyone who came up to the roof. Then he dialed Darcangelo’s cell and found himself fighting to talk through chattering teeth. “H-hey, I’ve got an idea.”
“Hunter? Shut up and listen to me.”
“Y-you haven’t even h-heard my idea yet.”
But Darcangelo just kept talking, his voice quiet as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Andris and Derek Tower are on their way. They’ve got an MH-6 Little Bird on standby at the Centennial Airport and should reach you within the hour. You won’t hear them until they’re right on top of you. Their bird has serious stealth features.”
This was the best fucking news Marc could have hoped for.
“D-dixon changed his m-mind.” It was getting seriously hard to talk.
“No. This is an unauthorized operation. I don’t even know about it.”
Wait. What?
Marc thought his brain must have frozen. “It’s n-not authorized?”
“Nope. Dixon and Irving have no idea.”
“Wow.” Marc was touched. It took serious balls to defy the FBI. Then he remembered. “Andris. H-he’s coming for H-holly.”
“Holly is awake. We got intel saying she was grazed by an AK round and might have a concussion. Oh, and try not to shoot Rossiter. He got away and is on the loose in there somewhere. Kat went into premature labor. We need to get her out.”
“Wow,” Marc said again.
Shit.
The cold was really getting to him.
“Is there somewhere up there where you can warm up? You sound like you’re hypothermic.”
Darcangelo was right.
Marc glanced around. “Th-there’s a g-greenhouse.”
“Get your ass inside.”
“D-don’t you want to hear m-my idea?” He got to his aching feet and moved carefully toward the greenhouse, keeping his gaze fixed on the bulkhead, aware that he was distracted and that his mind and reflexes were compromised by exposure.
“Sure. Go ahead.” Darcangelo sounded like he was talking to a child now.
“I-I need you t-to be m-my Spanish t-translator.”
“Your … what?”
“I h-have the c-cell phones. If I r-respond, I can d-delay them from c-coming up h-here and f-finding out what h-happened.”
For a moment, Darcangelo said nothing. “You know, for a human ice block, you’re not too stupid.”
“F-fuck you, D-dickangelo.”
“Sorry, buddy. The answer is still no.”
8
Chapter Eight
20:25
Reece sat in a chair beside Kara, wrapped more ice in his handkerchief. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She pressed it against her swollen cheek, her eye already black.
“How’s your head?”
“It still hurts.” She gave him a little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and he knew she was more shaken than she was letting on. “I’ll be okay.”
“What is he going to do with that girl?” a man whispered.
Across the ballroom, that son of a bitch Moreno had his arm around Holly’s shoulders. He looked her up and down, talking to her in the tone of voice one might use for a small child.
Go ahead, asshole. Underestimate her. I dare you.
“I don’t know.”
Reece couldn’t say it aloud, but that girl had more skill for dealing with situations like this one than anyone else in the room. He’d watched her go into action, transforming in the blink of an eye into a helpless, passive blonde to get close to Moreno. Well, she was close all right.
What was her plan?
Reece wished he knew. He was pretty certain Andris wouldn’t want Holly taking risks like this. Then again, if not for her, the bastards would have taken Ambassador DeLacy and hundreds of others hostage.
Be careful, Holly.
Moreno and his men had no respect for women. Proof of that marred Kara’s face.
Hatred churned hot and bitter in Reece’s gut. He should have seen the blow coming. He should have blocked it. He should have made certain Kara was nowhere near him before he’d opened his mouth.
Damn it.
He had no doubt that Moreno’s threat to hand her over to his men was real. He couldn’t imagine there was much the son of a bitch wouldn’t do. Still, the fucker would have to go through him if he wanted to touch Kara again.
Big words, Sheridan.
The truth was that Moreno could order a couple of his men to restrain Reece and then do whatever he wanted to do to Kara.
Reece had never felt so completely helpless, so utterly powerless.
Moreno knew it, and he was gloating.
He watched as the bastard led Holly over to the table where Secretary Holmes sat and offered her a chair. For a moment, Reece was afraid Secretary Holmes would give Holly away. He knew the two of them were acquainted. But Holmes was smarter than that and fast on the u
ptake. She acted as if she’d never met Holly before.
“Do you think Secretary Holmes will do it?” Kara whispered. “Will she order his cousin’s release?”
Reece shook his head. “She can’t—not legally.”
She’d tried to explain that to Moreno once already, but he didn’t give a damn about the intricacies of the US judicial system. In his world, the men with power and money made the rules and did as they chose. From his point of view, Secretary Holmes had spearheaded the capture and extradition of his cousin, and that meant she had the power to release him again.
What would he do to Secretary Holmes—what would he do to all of them—when he realized he was wrong?
Hopefully, HTR would arrive before they found out. Then it would be Moreno and his men who were afraid for their lives.
* * *
20:25
Gabe looked down at the two assholes who’d been left to guard the loading dock. He’d worked his way along the ceiling using the I-beams and other supports and now stood directly above them. They spoke to one another in Spanish, never looking up, never stepping more than a couple of feet away from one another.
You’re not going to make this easy for me are you?
Gabe had run a few scenarios through his mind, most of which ended with him getting shot and dying on the concrete floor. He couldn’t let that happen. Kat thought he was safe and maybe home now, caring for Alissa and Nakai. He didn’t want her to get the bad news later that he’d gotten himself killed doing something stupid, leaving her to raise their kids alone.
It’s only stupid if you fuck up and get shot.
Right.
He had the element of surprise and a titanium leg that could do a fair amount of damage, but they had assault rifles and probably a hidden knife or two. He was pretty sure he’d be able to take them out one at a time, but two at once?
Come on, guys. Someone take a bathroom break.
It had been years since he’d done DT training—defensive tactics. Once it had been a regular part of his annual training cycle. But when he’d lost his leg, he’d left his job as a park ranger, taking a job test-driving prosthetic limbs built for athletes so that he’d have more time for Kat. He was still in good shape, but he was a little rusty when it came to fighting.