Capture the Night Page 12

  Daniel shook his head, his lips drawing together. “Damn!” He pounded a huge fist against the concrete floor, ignoring the pain of the jagged shards of glass from the broken microwave.

  Like an animal. He was like an animal. Just like Carla had said, when she tried to turn Ronnie against him.

  “Look at him, Ronnie. We can’t let him stay here—not with us.”

  Carla’s whispered protests played in his mind.

  “He gets mad too easy.”

  “For God’s sake, he’s my brother,” Ronnie had said.

  Daniel hated to hear his brother beg—especially for him. He didn’t need anybody to beg for him.

  “Well, you choose, sugar. It’s either him…or me.”

  Her voice had been like honey, dripping sweet, oozy charm all over Ronnie, Daniel knew. He could tell by the desperate way his brother said her name in the next breath.

  “Carla—”

  “Ronnie, Danny—he ain’t safe to be around.”

  Carla’s voice was louder in his mind now, and he could still see the glittering flash in her eyes from where he’d stood, invisible, in plain sight.

  “He just ain’t right any more. He’s like a—a wild beast—like a animal…or somethin’. You know what I mean.”

  That last had been what hurt, more than anything else. The way she had said it let Daniel know it wasn’t the first conversation they’d had about him.

  So many bad thoughts… He struggled up from the floor and gave the mattress a resentful kick, for not hiding his treasures any better.

  His fist was bleeding like a red river, slivers of glass embedded along the side of his hand. He ran his sleeve across his forehead, mopping the sweat of his exertion.

  “Everybody takes,” he muttered. “Everybody. Well, I’m not giving up my quarters. You’re not getting them, O’Brian!”

  He was lost. He wanted his home back. He wanted to be “right” again. He wanted a woman in his bed. He wanted to walk on the streets below as proud as any other man. He wanted—not to be so damned alone.

  He had settled for this life of purgatory—neither a real life, nor death. It had been enough, until now. Now, he couldn’t get Alexa Bailey out of his mind. Now, some asshole dared to come into his little corner of the only place he had in this Godforsaken world and steal his quarter collection—the one thing he and Ronnie could still share.

  His heart bled about as bad as his hand, felt like. A dull ache washed through him and his blood dripped steadily onto the concrete floor at his feet.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Eileen’s lips drew tight. The monitor screen had been blank for hours. Ever since they’d taken over the place. Ever since Kier had called to order the pizza—when the night had been young. Killing always seemed to whet their appetites.

  She turned her gaze back once more to the blank monitor. Of course it was empty; it would remain so. They’d killed every blessed living being in the hotel—or taken them hostage, and confiscated their cell phones. It made her job easier, for sure, watching the screen for incoming or outgoing calls.

  Closing her eyes, Eileen let the surrounding sounds wash across her. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was sick and tired. She wanted this to be over so she could well and truly end the farce she maintained with Kieran McShane. Once and for all.

  She hid a smile as she turned her head in the direction of his voice. That he wouldn’t expect what she planned would be the very best part of all. He sat on the arm of one of the overstuffed couches, toying with the remaining woman hostage, Traci Meadows. She was a pretty one, and young—no older than twenty. And, it seemed the girl had enough pluck left about her to give Kier a steadfast go-to-hell glare as she sat looking up at him. Whatever he was taunting her with had set the young woman’s mouth in a thin, taut line of anger as well, and she jerked away as he reached to touch the tip of her nose.

  Although Kier was laughing, Eileen knew the girl’s rejection stung. Well, what did he expect? Not everyone was willing to go down without a fight. He would have her in the end, though. She’d best get used to that idea. Eileen shook her head. Kier liked a fight. It made him feel strong, more manly, to force a woman. She sighed. His eyes were fired by an unholy light, a combination of lust, anger, and the purest insanity.

  She looked away, unwilling for him to notice her watching. She half-stood, startled, as her gaze came to rest once more upon the monitor. Evidently, they hadn’t been as thorough as they usually were. The number being dialled showed: Two-three-two, eight-five-zero-eight.

  She stopped her surprise from showing, making her face blank. Carefully, she inched the screen away from the others, toward the wall behind her.

  She cast a surreptitious glance upward through her lashes, feigning a yawn…waiting the sixty seconds it would take to show the number the call was dialed from, the name of the person that phone was registered to.

  The seconds dragged by as she tried to appear as bored as she had been only one minute earlier. She tried to let her mind empty. Kieran McShane had a sixth sense when it came to people. He could read actions, expressions, even the smallest glance that seemed different, somehow. And his mind was always at work. Eileen was never taken in by the disinterested look he often wore. McShane was a chameleon, but Eileen knew exactly what lay beneath the many disguises he cloaked himself in. Satan.

  She let her gaze drift back to the monitor, her hand moving closer to the “clear” button. For an instant, she felt a firm hesitance in sharing this development with the others. Only seconds later, she understood everything. Two-three-two, nine-three-four-three. The numbers meant nothing at all to her. Only the name that followed held any significance, burning into her consciousness, branding the connection in her mind just as audible as the snap of two railway cars being coupled together.

  Logan, John T.

  Her gaze flew to the beaten police officer lying on the couch. There was no movement, other than his slow, rhythmic breathing. Logan. Her eyes narrowed. Not John T., but someone he was pretty close to, she’d wager. Two-three-two, nine-three-four-three.

  A movement caught Eileen’s eye, and she laid her thumb over the “clear” button as McShane, finally tiring of Miss Meadows, swaggered his way toward her.

  Eileen had a soft spot for Pete Logan that surprised her, and would probably wind up getting her—and him—killed if she wasn’t careful.

  The idea of dying didn’t bother her; just the thought that she might leave unfinished business behind.

  “How’s my girl?” McShane asked from halfway across the room.

  Eileen smiled her brightest, sunniest smile. Two-three-two, nine-three-four-three. She committed John T. Logan’s number to memory, then she pressed the button, deleting every trace of information.

  “I’ve never been better, love,” she answered. “Never better.”

  Chapter 17

  Ronnie Williams started as the familiar strains of “The Eyes of Texas” began. He jumped to his feet and fumbled with the snap of his cell phone holder, finally managing to free the phone. No need to look at the tiny screen to see who was calling. Danny was the only one who ever called.

  “Hello? Danny?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Ronnie’s lips tightened at the way his brother sounded. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Daniel answered gruffly. “I’m—I’m okay.”

  Ronnie ignored the circle of police officers who gathered around him. Ray Carter dropped his cigarette stub and crushed it out, turning his attention to Ronnie Williams.

  “Danny, where are you?”

  “I’m here. Where I always am.”

  Ronnie’s gaze went upward, to the dark recesses of the hotel roof. He knew he couldn’t see his brother, but it made him feel better anyhow. He was there, Ronnie thought. And he was safe.

  “Ronnie, one of those damned assholes came up here and ruint my place! He busted up my stuff.”

  Ronnie could hear the rough edge of tears in Daniel’s tone.
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  “We’ll fix it, Danny,” he soothed. “Don’t worry—”

  “That ain’t all, though. He—He took our quarter collection, Ronnie! Stole it right out from under the mattress where I kept it.”

  “We’ll start up a new one. Just be careful. And don’t try to go after him, Danny.”

  There was a long silence on the other end, then a sniff. When Daniel spoke again, Ronnie could hear the catch in his voice. “I’ll kill him if he comes back up here. I swear I will. He stole from us.”

  Ronnie closed his eyes, knowing how impossible it was to reason with his brother when he was in this state of mind.

  “Ask him if he’s alone,” Carter ordered.

  Ronnie nodded. “Danny, listen to me. I need to know something. Are you by yourself?”

  Silence again.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, ain’t nobody else here.”

  Ronnie’s thick brows drew together at the hesitation he heard. “You sit tight—you hear? Don’t let ’em see you. They’ve killed a bunch of people. One more won’t matter to them. You keep hid.”

  “I’m feelin’ shaky.”

  “I’m down here, Danny.” Ronnie scanned the blackness at the top of the building, knowing he wouldn’t see anything. “No need for that, now. Just take some breaths. Good an’ deep. This’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Bye.”

  Ronnie hesitated for an instant, then, “Bye. See you soon.”

  “Mr. Williams?” The captain’s voice broke through Ronnie’s dark thoughts. “I need to take down some information from you.”

  Ronnie didn’t answer. All he could think about was Danny…up there alone, with all this going on below, and no escape. He’d let him down. In spite of all his good intentions, it just hadn’t been enough.

  “He’s on the roof still?” Carter insisted.

  Ronnie sighed. “Yeah. He said one of ’em came in and tore up his little place.”

  “What else?”

  “Stole our quarter collection.” Ronnie shook his head. “Think that bothered him more than anything else. We collect those state quarters. Guess the guy found ’em under Danny’s mattress an’ took ’em. Sure ’nough made him mad. I hope he don’t try to go after him…”

  Carter nodded. “Anything more you can tell us?”

  “Nope. Just said he was alone.”

  Carter looked away. “Disappointing. Don’t know what I expected…I’ll need to see your phone.”

  Ronnie gave him a questioning look as he handed it to him. “Why?”

  “I need to start a list of numbers and calls—get the times down—all that kind of stuff.”

  Carter pushed the button to list the calls. He wrote down the last five that Ronnie Williams had received, since this whole ordeal had begun, then passed his phone back. He gave the list to Holcomb, his communications officer. “Check that last number out first, Kevin. It doesn’t match the others he’s been getting. And…it looks familiar to me.” Holcomb grabbed the paper and took off to where his equipment was set up a few yards away.

  Carter looked at Ronnie Williams. “Next time your brother calls, I’d like to talk with him.”

  Ronnie gave a weak smile. “We can try it, Captain, but Danny—he’s a might skittish. Especially of policemen.”

  “I understand, but he may be able to tell us something that might help.”

  “Captain!” Holcomb came loping back over, a wide grin on his face. “You’ll never believe it. I checked out this last number—” he stabbed a finger at the slip of paper he held, “and it’s registered to Johnny Logan. Captain, there’s a chance he could be alive.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  But Carter turned blazing eyes upon Ronnie Williams once more. “What’s your brother doing with a police officer’s cell, Williams? You said he was alone.”

  “Th—That’s what he told me, Captain! He said he was by himself.”

  “Then how did he come by Johnny Logan’s cell phone?” Carter snarled.

  “I don’t know! Honest to God, I don’t know. I gave him one of his own a few months back. See, Danny gets these spells where he—he needs me.” Williams looked down. “I told him to call me when he starts getting the shakes. Usually, just talking to me helps him to get through it.”

  “So why didn’t he use the one you gave him?” Carter asked through clenched teeth.

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe he lost it. Maybe it’s not working right—”

  “Or maybe he got ‘skittish’ of a cop and killed him, Mr. Williams. Could be he liked the bells and whistles on Logan’s phone better than his own,” he said, sarcasm in his voice. “Maybe—”

  “Captain,” Holcomb murmured.

  Carter shot him an irritated glance, and Holcomb moistened his lips. “The rest of these calls…they came through a couple of days ago—all from this other number.”

  “Two-three-two, four-four-five-one,” Carter muttered.

  “That’s Danny’s phone number,” Ronnie interjected.

  Carter gave him a disgusted look. “Okay. So why is he using Johnny’s phone now instead of his own?”

  “You want me to call him back and ask him?” Ronnie asked.

  Carter was about to say yes, when his cell vibrated. He cursed, checking the number. Precinct headquarters. “Hold off a minute, Williams.”

  Carter turned and walked away a few steps, leaving Williams, Holcomb, and two other officers behind as he answered. He stood alone for a moment, calming himself. He needed to clear his head.

  “Hello, Vince.”

  “That you, Ray?”

  Carter nodded. “It’s me. You sittin’ at my desk?” A reluctant smile curved his lips, worry clouding his mind.

  “Yes,” the Commissioner replied. “And I’m taking this chair with me when I leave. It’s better than the one I’ve got.”

  Carter laughed, then turned serious. “What’s up?”

  “Ray, we just got word that these sonsabitches may have a comm monitor in their camp. Just a heads up.”

  “Shit.” Carter kicked a stone away, listening to the silence on the other end for a moment. Then he said, “Well, I guess if they do, we’ll know soon enough. We just got a call from a—uh—an odd cell number. I was just about to callback and check it out—”

  “No. Hold off.”

  Carter could hear the faint tap of a pencil on the desktop as his old friend weighed the options.

  “Calling back could cause that person—some serious problems…if he’s still alive.” In the few seconds that followed, Carter knew Vince Thompson had something more on his mind.

  “Ray—I’m going to the next level. We’re at a standoff here that isn’t resolving.”

  “Don’t be in a rush, Vince.”

  “It’s not that. Somebody’s got to make a move. I’m—getting pressure.”

  Carter’s eyes narrowed. He recognized the hedging tone in Thompson’s voice. “Somebody in there with you?”

  “You might say that. It’s—out of my hands now, Ray. And yours.”

  “Oh, for the love of God, what’s that s’posed to mean?” Carter couldn’t contain his frustration a moment longer. Vince had called him under the pretense of telling him about the comm monitor. But now, Carter realized, he was letting him know the feds were taking over. It had been inevitable; yet, he’d hoped they might work together with the FBI. He shook his head. Evidently not.

  “It means…what it means.”

  Carter thought the commissioner sounded about as tired as he felt, himself.

  “It means…do the best you can with what you have to work with, Captain. That’s all any of us can do.” Thompson gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll let you know about any new developments. Don’t allow any cell phone contact. We’ll have to use the Pony Express from here on out, looks like. Keep in touch, Ray.”

  “Yeah. Later.”

  Carter hung up. What next? He rubbed his eyes. Had Danny Williams said where he was? He remembered Ronnie asking—he
’d check with him—make sure of the wording that had passed between them. He was caught in the middle, and he knew it. The cryptic conversation with Vince let him know the sands were shifting under his feet. Once the FBI arrived—which would be soon—his authority would be practically nil.

  He had started to walk back toward the group of men when his phone rang again. He reached for it not looking at the caller ID. “Carter.”

  “Hello, Captain.”

  Carter stiffened and stopped at the unmistakable Irish brogue on the other end of the line. McShane.

  “How did you get my number?”

  McShane laughed. “I owe it all to the wonderful world of modern technology, Raymond. I have a toy—a monitor. Very up-to-date. As are all my—weapons.”

  “No doubt.”

  McShane’s enjoyment of the situation was evident in his tone. “Don’t be a killjoy, Captain. I rather thought your commissioner was being more than a bit—secretive.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Not only up-to-date, but top of the line. It was everything they’d suspected. Everything they’d feared. McShane had been able to listen in on their conversation.

  What had Danny Williams said about where he was? God, did McShane know where to look for him?

  McShane laughed. “Me, or your illustrious commissioner? He’s throwing you to the wolves, you know…and I’m not talking about us, Captain. When the FBI comes into the picture, things always turn…messy.”

  McShane was silent, but Carter could feel the pulse of his excitement, the thrum of his gloating through the space that separated them, just as if he stood next to him in the darkness.

  “What do you want?” Carter asked, barely able to force the words past his lips.