Capture the Night Read online

  “Johnny.” Alexa reached for him, but he shook his head.

  “No. Gotta do this…alone.”

  “Do what?” There was an exasperated edge in her tone this time, but Johnny didn’t take offense. She was just worried about him. And she was going to be plenty mad when he answered her. So mad, in fact, that this might be the deal-breaker for their “happily ever after” if they did get out of this alive.

  “My brother, Pete.” He stopped and took a deep, scalding breath. “McShane’s got him, Alexa. I’m going after him.”

  Chapter 25

  Sorley O’Brian stepped out of the elevator just in time to hear McShane’s howl of pure rage. He sighed, rounding the corner to the sound of McShane’s knuckled fist connecting hard with something. Someone, O’Brian mentally corrected. He was in high dudgeon, Kier was, and that boded ill for all of them. Kier never lost his cool, not so’s others could see it. When he did, it meant he had been mightily provoked.

  As O’Brian gained line of sight, he saw Pete Logan lying on the floor. It was the normal way of things for Kier to set him to the task of throttling Logan yet again, but he hadn’t waited. And Logan stood almost a foot taller than the slight Irishman; so, O’Brian concluded, something had happened to give Kier this powerful mad.

  Eileen was halfway across the distance to where McShane stood, kicking at the fallen police officer. The young woman hostage, O’Brian noted, was not far behind Eileen.

  He raised his gun and leveled it at Brendan Roberts and his men. They had all risen and were inching forward, as if they meant to try to overpower Kier and Eileen. O’Brian shook his head in silent warning to them. It had been a mistake, doing away with Latham and Farley at this point. Kier should’ve held off a while…but, who was he to question? Kier had always been their leader. The smart one of their army.

  He hurried his steps, breaking into a trot, wrapping his fingers in an iron grip around Eileen’s arm just as she reached for McShane. O’Brian pulled back on her and she turned, reflexes kicking in as she swung a punch at him.

  Expecting it, O’Brian dodged and grinned. As her eyes met his and registered recognition, relief flooded her face.

  “Let me handle it,” O’Brian muttered, letting go of her. “You keep an eye on them.” He nodded at their small band of captives, then swung his rifle around behind him.

  He laid a firm hand on McShane’s shoulder, grasping him in a tight hold. “Kier! Leave off! He’s no good to us dead!”

  O’Brian took a quick glance at Pete Logan. Jesus, he looked dead already!

  McShane’s flat gray eyes met O’Brian’s, just for an instant. McShane was breathing hard. A trickle of sweat ran into his eyes, and he shrugged out of O’Brian’s grip, wiping the moisture away.

  “What happened?” O’Brian questioned.

  “He—He hung up!” McShane spat. “Bloody bastard! All we needed was another ten seconds and we’d have placed them.”

  O’Brian looked at him in dumb confusion. “Who?”

  “The survivors, you fucking idiot!” McShane turned back to the unconscious Pete Logan, his thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line.

  O’Brian stiffened, his eyes turning steely. It was so like Kier. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Still, it managed to hurt him, every time. And even though Kier never apologized, O’Brian knew he felt regret about the way he’d spoken to him afterwards. Still…if Kier would just control these rages—

  “What survivors?” His voice was low, steady, drawing McShane back to himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kier. I’ve been otherwise…occupied.” Sorley laid a paw on McShane’s shoulder again, and this time, he allowed it.

  McShane looked at O’Brian again, the wild madness slowly draining out of him. O’Brian’s hand on his shoulder tightened, squeezing gently in silent understanding. Finally, McShane shook his head and turned away, extricating himself from O’Brian’s grasp once more. McShane’s gaze fell upon the group of English hostages, and he eyed them with a steady stare, one by one.

  “Did you take care of the other?” he murmured, not looking at O’Brian.

  “Of course I did, Kier. You know you can count on me.”

  “All of them?” His head came around to meet O’Brian’s quick smile.

  “Just as you ordered.”

  McShane nodded to himself. “That’s good. One less thing to deal with.” He turned to Eileen who was still standing behind O’Brian, her gun held on the hostages. They had made a hasty retreated when Sorley reappeared, and were now all sitting quietly once more. McShane held an arm out to her. “Come to me, lass.”

  Eileen turned and moved forward into his embrace, closing her eyes. She stood silent, allowing McShane’s hands to rove over her body.

  Sorley watched as she slitted her eyes open, peering just over McShane’s shoulder. Logan looked dead. He wasn’t moving. Didn’t even look to be breathing. Eileen stepped out of McShane’s arms as he let her go, giving her a fond pat on the butt.

  She jerked a thumb at Logan, glancing at Sorley. “Get him back on the couch, will ya, Sorley? Little Miss Sweetcakes here is gonna see to him. He’s out of it, and too heavy for her to manhandle up to the sofa.”

  She turned to Traci. “So, lovey. Get your little tendin’ things and…tend.” She waved an airy hand in Logan’s direction as Sorley hauled him up from the floor with a mighty groan.

  The young woman scurried away, frightened out of her wits. Eileen turned to him, smiling. “Gor’ I’m gettin’ hungry,” she said, with a bright smile.

  “I don’t see how, with this cursed stench all around us.” McShane’s answer was curt. “We’ll have to be gettin’ out of here soon, no doubt about it…else we’ll never be rid of the death smell.”

  Sorley couldn’t agree more; but it was unlike Kier to say such a thing. In fact, he could never remember him having done so before in all the years he’d known him. It made him uneasy.

  “Soon enough, love,” Eileen murmured.

  Sorley had shifted Pete Logan to the sofa where a tearful Traci was gently washing away the fresh blood under his nose. Sorley walked over to join McShane and Eileen.

  “What now, Kier?” His gaze shifted past the slight Irishman to the hostages beyond. For the most part, they sat in apathetic silence, awaiting their fate—all but Brendan Roberts. O’Brian was overcome with the uncomfortable awareness that Roberts’s gaze was just as clear and undaunted as it had been fifteen hours ago, when he’d been taken captive. The man had an incredible will to live that made a disturbing feeling of disquiet start low in the pit of O’Brian’s stomach and begin to crawl upward. He looked away, turning his full attention to McShane as he spoke.

  “Now?” McShane’s lips lifted in a sardonic curve. He looked at O’Brian. “Now, we end this, Sorley. And we go home.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “We may both lose our badges over this. You know that, don’t you?” Carter and Richter had been discussing what Richter had laughingly termed, “Plan B”—doing something—as opposed to Evan Sanders’s “Plan A”—sitting around with their thumbs up their asses.

  Richter passed a hand over the top of his bald head and let it come to rest on his neck for an instant before he answered Carter.

  “Does that scare you, Captain?” A smile lurked in his hazel eyes.

  Carter shook his head and looked past Richter at the hotel where the four bodies lay in the grass. “Nope. What scares me is—thinking I made a helluva terrible mistake letting Pete go in there. I’d do anything I could to have that one back.” His lips compressed in a thin line. “I’d say that’s the worst judgment call I ever made.”

  “I understand. I made a couple of those bad calls myself over the last seven years in SWAT.” He grasped Carter’s shoulder. Carter didn’t need to say anything. He figured everyone on the force remembered Don taking a full month off two years ago to reconcile a decision he’d made. The Parkway Branch of the First National Bank was being robbed. His squ
ad had been dispatched. He’d sent three men down a hallway that had been the “right” one. Only, there had been twice as many men involved in the robbery as they had been told. Those three officers had been mowed down within seconds—and that decision had haunted his buddy like nothing else he’d ever faced.

  “We’ll do our best, Ray.”

  Carter nodded. “I know. And I appreciate you putting your neck out there for me—for Pete.”

  Richter slapped Carter’s arm affectionately “Hell, a man’s gotta do something. I could grow old and gray sittin’ here waitin’ on them.” He shot a look toward the group of feds by the comm table. “This is what my men train for—every day. Now that sonofabitch Sanders comes in here like he owns the place—well,” he gave a brief nod, his eyes steely, “it so happens I don’t agree with ‘Plan A’.”

  He glanced back to the vacant place where his men had, minutes earlier, stood together in the warm April sun. “Guess we’re ready as we’re ever gonna be.”

  “Good luck, Don.”

  Richter turned back to Carter. “Hell, Ray, luck ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. It’s skill.” He gave Carter a wide, toothy grin. “And we’ve got plenty of that.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “Wait!” Alexa stepped in front of Johnny. He looked so determined. His tousled dark hair made her think of the way he’d looked earlier, when he’d kissed her. His blue eyes were fired to bright sapphire. She thought of when she’d watched him stumble through the door of this self-imposed prison not twenty-four hours ago. Wounded and bleeding, the first words he’d spoken to her were of wanting to write a note to Pete.

  He’d called her an angel, and she’d felt like one. He’d made her feel that way—made her feel things she’d never known. She couldn’t bear to lose him now.

  Even if Pete was still alive, Johnny was no match for the likes of a band of Irish terrorists; not in the shape he was in. She watched his hand involuntarily move to his side, as if to hold himself together. His breathing was unsteady, his legs shaking. He leaned heavily against the wall behind him.

  Alexa shook her head, her eyes holding his. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “I have to!” His fingers splayed open behind him as he made a steadying grab for the wall. He let his head go back, plastering his body to the solidity. He closed his eyes. “Pete—Pete’s my brother. I can’t leave him to those bastards, ’Lexa. Can’t do it…”

  She stepped forward and gently touched his rigid chest, her gaze momentarily drawn to his side where the trickle of red had soaked the bandage, what was left of his undershirt, and the dark blue cotton of his outer shirt.

  “Johnny.”

  He relaxed for an instant under her touch, then tensed again. He wouldn’t look at her as she stepped in closer. Every muscle was straining just to keep himself upright.

  “Please, darling.” Alexa’s voice was a quiet, desperate whisper, begging him to look at her; to know the love she felt.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Johnny didn’t reply. He only had the strength right now to stand in one place. He could drown in her gaze, he thought, but only if he allowed it. He closed his eyes, slowly, to avoid being snared in the magic of those twin green pools. He couldn’t afford that now. He knew what she wanted from him—what she was going to say. And it wouldn’t take much persuasion at all on her part to convince him he was in no shape to go after Pete. Don’t confront me with my failures…I’m aware…Old song…it fit…

  “It’s what they’re expectin’ you to do,” Daniel said from where he stood, forgotten, in the doorway. “Don’t you know that?”

  Johnny opened his eyes and fixed Daniel with a harsh glare. Of course he knew it. But what else could he do? He sure as hell couldn’t leave Pete down there without trying to help him. On the heels of that thought came the realization of Daniel’s surprising and unexpected thought process. It took some of the bite from Johnny’s tone when he spoke.

  “What would you suggest?”

  Alexa stepped nearer and he hesitantly put an arm around her. Then suddenly, Daniel was there, holding on to him firmly, the only thing keeping him pinned to the wall as Alexa moved out of his unsteady embrace, and Daniel eased him back down to sit on the floor.

  The dizziness washed over him and he felt his stomach roll, as if he were going to be sick. He groaned and swore, Daniel’s hand quickly coming across the back of his head, pushing it forward between his legs, driving back the encroaching darkness almost immediately. Johnny’s neck and forehead prickled with sweat, and he heard Daniel telling Alexa to hand him a wet cloth.

  Didn’t he know there wasn’t any ‘cloth’? You know so damn much, but you don’t know that…and you don’t know how to save my brother. The thought hung churlishly in his mind, and he clamped his lips together. He wouldn’t say anything that might offend this strange comrade of theirs.

  He felt himself sliding back down all the way, to lie on the concrete, the blessed, stationary floor. The sick feeling was slowly receding…and then there was a cool re-moistened towelette gliding across his forehead and across his upper lip, down to his neck, a chill following in its wake. He shivered, and Daniel’s big ham of a fist closed around his wrist almost gently, feeling for a pulse, counting the beats and testing their strength.

  The blanket settled over him like a prayer, warming him, sheltering him. He tried to open his eyes, finally managing, and found himself looking into Daniel’s mercurial silver gaze that was as steady as the silver links on the St. Christopher chain. José was dead. Pete would be, if he didn’t get to him. He moved again as if to rise, and Daniel pushed him back effortlessly. Hell, he probably didn’t even need Daniel to hold him down. He doubted he could get up if Jesus himself commanded it right now. He was shivering hard, sweating and starting to feel sick all over again.

  “Christ…”

  Daniel grinned. “Naw. ’S just me.” The smile faded. “Man, you’re in a bad way right now. Want you to be still and try to relax. Alexa’s gonna lie down here with you an’ keep you warm.”

  “Daniel—I gotta get—gotta…Pete—”

  Daniel patted his shoulder. “Now, don’t you worry none. I’m gonna try to go see to that. Can’t promise nothin’, but I figure I’ll be able to climb through them tubes a helluva lot easier’n you right now.”

  “Can you get to—to where he is?” Johnny tried to still the chattering of his teeth as he spoke. Daniel’s eyes looked suddenly troubled, he noticed.

  “I ain’t sure. All I can do is try. An’ I won’t be gone too long.” He started to stand up and Johnny’s fingers closed tightly around his wrist.

  “Daniel.” Johnny didn’t miss the sudden surge of anger in Daniel’s features as he grasped his arm. It gave Johnny momentary pause for what he had been about to suggest. Daniel seemed to force the harsh lines from his face, and Johnny thought perhaps it was only surprise he had seen.

  “Daniel—take the gun.”

  “Johnny, no!”

  Alexa must believe he was hallucinating; out of his head with the fever to trust Daniel with the weapon. Uncertainty flared in Daniel’s expression, his eyes becoming suddenly hooded, as though he was wondering the same thing.

  “You’ve got…the bullets…Daniel.” The darkness was taking over. He didn’t have long to say what he needed to. And he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, anyway. It was a high stakes gamble that could end up getting him and his brother both killed.

  “I know you—you took them. Take the…pistol…” He shook his head to clear it, and was immediately sorry as the buzzing turned into a roar.

  “You mad at me, Johnny? I just wanted to look at ’em’s all.” Daniel’s voice was almost shy at the admission.

  “No,” Johnny struggled to say, not sure at first if he’d said it aloud. He tried again. “No, I’m—I’m not…mad.” He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. He felt Daniel drop to his knees beside him again, this time pressing a water bottle to his mouth as his big hands supported Jo
hnny’s neck.

  “Drink slow.”

  Johnny closed his eyes, letting the liquid slide down his throat. He savored everything about it; the wetness was like drinking from a cool waterfall. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty. He tried not to drink too fast, but it was damn hard to hold himself in check. Daniel took the bottle away, easing him back to the floor. Johnny opened his eyes.

  “Maybe Lex can give you some more here in a few minutes,” Daniel offered. “Don’t want to make you sick.”

  Alexa took the bottle from Daniel as he held it out to her. “Guess I better get goin’.” He stood up, awkwardly silent, as if he expected Johnny or Alexa to say something; as if he had something he wanted to tell them, maybe. Finally, he said, “I’m glad I could know you.”

  Alexa put her hand on his arm. “Thank you for everything, Daniel.”

  Daniel gave her a crooked, almost boyish smile. “You’re welcome. I was glad—glad I could help.” He met her eyes, and for a moment the flash of devotion that he felt was plain.

  Then, he looked down at Johnny. “You keep her safe, Johnny.” He bent and retrieved the pistol, then fished in his pants pocket and brought out three of the bullets. Expertly, he opened the chamber and slid them in, then brought out the other three and loaded them, as well. When he was done, he hunkered down beside Johnny and put the weapon in his hand.

  “You take it…” Johnny muttered insistently.

  Daniel was silent for a moment. Johnny tried to hold the gun out to him, but Daniel shook his head. “No. You—might need it.” He leaned closer. Quietly, he said, “Don’t let McShane take you. Don’t let him—” He lifted his head and met Johnny’s half-lidded gaze. “You be strong—an’ do whatever it takes to keep that from happenin’.” Clasping Johnny’s forearm briefly, he rose to his feet.

  Johnny let his hand rest against his ribs, then moved it carefully to the floor, laying the gun close beside him. There was something he needed to tell Daniel. Something… He moistened his lips. It was important. The darkness was trying to take him, pulling at him. A wave of dizziness washed across him, and he felt like he was spinning and floating unfettered in a boundless wash of pain and responsibility that he wasn’t sure he could handle. The uncertainty was the worst. Pete…Pete was his responsibility. Had always been since that long ago summer’s day when he’d begged Johnny not to leave him behind. Johnny swallowed hard. He couldn’t hold on to his consciousness but about five seconds longer…long enough to ask a question if he could manage to be coherent.