Capture the Night Read online

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  He brushed the hair back from her cheek and for a moment, he lay just looking at her. She’d been remarkable; all the way through this…she’d been…strong…beautiful…

  “Johnny?”

  He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them to begin with. It had scared her, he saw by the distraught look on her face. Was he worse off than he thought? “I’m here, honey. Right here.”

  She patted him. “Go on. Go to sleep. You need it to get better. Rest.”

  “Alexa—” He stopped, wanting to tell her everything he’d been thinking, not sure if he could. Might sound stupid. But it was true. And this situation between them was on his mind… needed to be discussed…settled.

  Her soft touch at his temple soothed him, and he felt himself reluctantly embracing the void that sleep promised, away from the pain and constant worry in his mind for Alexa; and now, for Pete.

  Just as the last remnants of his awareness were fading, he felt Alexa suddenly stiffen beside him, the comforting cadence of her breathing ending sharply with an indrawn breath. He struggled to open his eyes again. “Lex?” he muttered hoarsely.

  Her hand came across his mouth swiftly, and she put her lips close to his ear. “Quiet, love,” she whispered. “I—heard something out there.”

  Johnny nodded, and she removed her hand. He tried to slow his breathing, listening for whatever it was she’d heard. “It’s too soon for Daniel to be back,” he whispered.

  She nodded against him.

  “What was it?”

  “The outside door—and someone cursing—” Alexa lifted her head.

  “Daniel—he’d know to be careful with the door.” Johnny tried to bring himself to a fuller alertness. After a few seconds, a low-pitched voice sounded from just outside the wall of compressors.

  Johnny reached for the revolver, slowly closing his fist around the smooth butt of the gun, his finger on the trigger. He raised it, sure and steady, pointing it at the door. Waiting.

  Chapter 27

  At first, Pete thought he was dreaming. But after he’d gotten over the shock of actually seeing a pair of intense gray eyes watching him from the air vent, he knew it was real. He quelled the urge to stare in that direction, only allowing himself a glance every few minutes.

  Lying on his back gave him a good vantage point, but he couldn’t let Traci catch him looking that way too often. She was already nervous enough. Knowing they were being watched by someone in the ductwork would probably be the final undoing straw for her—no matter whose side the “Watcher” was on.

  All he’d been able to make out so far was that the person in the ductwork was a white male with auburn hair, and steel gray eyes that seemed to bore into him with an unspoken message.

  He got the feeling that the man was, in his silent vigil, trying to offer what support he could. And if there was one man up there in the vent work, there could be more. Maybe the walls were bursting with black ops, just waiting for the chance to rescue the Prime Minister and the others.

  A spark of hope surged through him. Johnny was alive…now this silent Watcher, waiting in the ducts—

  He wished he felt better. Wished he could quit seeing double when he’d been awake too long…wished he hadn’t gotten the shit kicked out of him twice already—he wasn’t going to be much good in helping with any rescue efforts in the shape he was in.

  He closed his bruised eyelids, trying to relieve the pounding in his head and clear the double vision. His body tensed, and he forced himself to gradually relax. He would be ready when the moment came, even if it meant only acting as a shield for Traci. He didn’t think he had the strength to do anything more than that. He knew now, exactly what would happen if he tried to stand. A wry grimace touched his swollen lips, and Traci pressed a cool cloth to his cheek.

  His mind went back to the short conversation he’d had with his brother. Alive. The word sang through his veins, and fanned the flames of hope. Johnny had sounded…worried—which was understandable. But he knew Johnny also understood that he’d had to gain entry anyway he could, even if he’d made himself completely vulnerable in the process. His brother would’ve done the same for him.

  There had been an undisguised note of pain in Johnny’s voice, and again, Pete wondered how bad he was hurt. He’d caught bits and pieces of the phone conversation that had been recorded between the other two men, Ronnie and Danny, and he knew that when McShane had thrust the phone at him, all the pieces had been put in place. But at that moment, all he could think was that his brother was on the other end of the line, and he was talking to him for what probably would be the last time, if McShane had his way about things.

  He’d done all he could, though, to protect Johnny. A security guard wouldn’t mean nearly as much to McShane as another policeman would. Pete shifted, trying to ease the ache in his lower back just over his kidney. He figured that punch Latham had given him had started some internal bleeding. Even if he made it out of this alive, there were no guarantees…

  His thoughts drifted, trailing away to other things; the cool rag at his neck, Traci’s gentle hands. She was trying her damnedest to comfort him even though she was scared.

  She had to know that he couldn’t protect her in his condition. He could barely manage to open his eyes and stay lucid for more than five minutes. He still didn’t know how he’d gotten to his feet earlier, when McShane had threatened Eileen. No, he wouldn’t be doing that again—not even if the building was on fire. Whatever distraction he had provided at that particular moment had kept Eileen safe from McShane for the time being, anyway.

  And maybe, the man in the ductwork meant that help was on the way. At least, he was hoping that was it; that the man was not some hotel worker who was hiding there, unable to escape. His perception of things was cloudy right now. He couldn’t trust what he saw.

  He pressed his lips together. If he couldn’t trust his own thoughts, his own reasoning and observations, what could he trust? Was the man ever really there? In the ductwork? Or had his mind conjured those intense gray eyes beneath the shaggy auburn hair? It had seemed real enough. The Watcher had been trying to tell him something—he felt sure of it. He struggled to lift his eyelids. Maybe he could understand. It was important…

  But when he finally managed to look past Traci’s worried gaze, past the end of the bar where Eileen sat at her station, then to the grillwork in the wall, the man was gone. Gone.

  Had the gray eyes ever really been there? Perhaps the beatings he’d taken had left him not only with sporadic double vision, but seeing hallucinations as well. Maybe he wanted to see this situation resolved so badly he was inventing people to rescue them. It wasn’t himself he worried about. He’d known what he was getting himself into when he’d volunteered to bring the pizza in.

  His mind wandered disjointedly to the blonde woman, the hostage McShane had released. At least he’d saved one life, he thought. He doubted Traci would be so lucky. He was so damned tired…needed to rest…to let himself drift away into the darkness—yet, he remained acutely aware of the mercurial gray eyes he’d seen earlier, watching…

  And he fought to stay awake. He had to see…to know for sure if the man was there in the ducts.

  “Pete?” Traci leaned over him, coming into the familiarly blurry focus objects in his world had assumed. She leaned very close to him and he could smell the lemon-spiced scent of her shampoo as he pulled her down closer.

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” he managed to mutter, not sounding very reassuring, even to himself. He couldn’t help trying to look past her shoulder, back to the wall and upward to where the vent grate was located.

  There was nothing there. No one there, he amended. He started to shake his head to clear his vision, but the soft touch of Traci’s palm on his skin stopped him.

  “It won’t help,” she whispered. “Just make your head hurt more.”

  “Yeah,” Pete sighed in resignation. “I know.”

  “Pete—what
’s going to happen?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, surely this can’t continue much longer—”

  “No,” he whispered, still thinking of the man in the wall. “I think…it’ll be over soon.”

  “One way or another.” Traci sounded accepting, and Pete recognized the defeat in her voice. It was written in her features. She was McShane’s—so devastatingly afraid of what he might do to her that if she weren’t careful, it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  “It doesn’t have to…end badly for…our side, you know.” The edge in his tone was evident, but the young woman merely smiled.

  “It doesn’t really matter to me anymore, Pete. I just want it to end. And I don’t care how it comes out. I can’t stand this—this waiting. I just wish it would be over.”

  Wordlessly, Pete took her hand in his. Somehow, he didn’t think the waiting would go on much longer. Traci Meadows was going to get her wish very, very soon.

  His gaze moved slowly to the vent where the silver eyes looked out at him once more. Pete saw the promise of action; the promise of the finish to the damnable waiting; the Watcher’s bond that he was here to protect and to serve, as much as any officer who had ever taken the oath.

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  As the door splintered open under the heavy-booted kick, Alexa gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. Johnny shifted to push her behind him, protecting her. He held off a split second on pulling the trigger—enough time to realize he was looking down the barrel of Don Richter’s semi-automatic.

  Johnny let his breath go on a long sigh, his head leaning back against Alexa’s trembling body. A cocky grin touched his lips. “’Bout time, Don. What the hell took you so long?” He let the revolver waver, then laid it on the floor beside him.

  Richter lowered his own weapon, giving Johnny a brief, tight smile. “What are you worried about? Looks like you and the lady already set up housekeeping here.”

  Johnny shook his head. “No. We’re playing doctor.”

  Richter chuckled. “How bad?”

  “I’ll live, I think.”

  Richter’s gaze went to the fresh crimson stain pooling inside the boundaries of the dried rust color that blossomed across the blue shirt. “Lotta blood…” He nodded at Alexa, his eyes asking the question.

  “She’s fine. Blood’s all mine.” Johnny looked back at her. “She’s wanting a refund on this whole damn vacation though, aren’t you, Lex?”

  Richter stepped back, watching the slow, thorough progress his men were making through cool hazel eyes. He turned his attention back to Johnny and Alexa after a moment.

  “They’ve got a bomb, Don. Up in that tunnel—the tubing…”

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  The air seemed heavy for a moment, and Alexa watched Don Richter with an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t explain. She shifted slightly, aggravated at herself and the crazy path her thoughts seemed to be taking. This man, Richter, was here to help them to safety. He was Johnny’s fellow officer. So, why did she feel that there was something at odds between them?

  Richter swore harshly. “We figured they’d have at least one. What about the other guy that was up here with you—”

  “Daniel—he went down the air shaft to see if he could find Pete and get to him.” Johnny leaned heavily against Alexa.

  “Shit.”

  Alexa could have sworn that Richter was more upset than he let on. As if Daniel’s disappearance had thrown a monkeywrench into his plans.

  “Well, I guess it’ll get real cozy in there,” Richter went on, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. “I’ve put a couple of my men in those tubes, too.”

  “They won’t hurt him, will they?” Alexa’s voice was sharp with concern. “He’s tried to help us—” She eased closer to Johnny, surreptitiously supporting him.

  “They’re not trigger-happy, ma’am. But they’ll take over—try to get him to safety,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  Alexa chewed her bottom lip. “And us? What do we need to do?”

  Richter’s hazel eyes met Johnny’s pain-filled gaze. An understanding grin flashed across his coarse features. “Naw, you ain’t. You’re stayin’ right here, John.”

  Johnny swore harshly as he relaxed against Alexa.

  “We’ll do our best, Johnny,” Richter murmured. “I got a kid brother myself. Seems like no matter how old you get, you still feel that responsibility.” He glanced at Alexa. “You two stay put, ma’am. I’ll be back…soon’s I can.”

  Chapter 28

  Johnny sat, breathing heavily for several seconds, and finally let his eyes slit open, regarding Alexa.

  She didn’t say anything, and he figured by that look she wore that she knew there was no stopping him from attempting what he had in mind.

  “You understand, don’t you?” It was not really even a question, but more of a statement. He knew her. And he knew she understood—better than anyone.

  “You’re going to need help.”

  He let his eyelids close slowly. He had to shut away everything but the prime focus, the only thing he could be concerned with…and that was how he was going to get to Pete.

  But even as he thought it, he knew everything had changed—everything. He doubted he would be able to retrace his steps, back into the hotel, through the kitchen door, past the janitors’ closet that still held a good amount of his blood on the floor, the door…the walls…

  And even if he could manage to get back down there, past the putrifying bodies that lay strewn through the kitchen and dining room…what about Alexa?

  He couldn’t leave her. No matter what happened now…he wouldn’t leave her. Nor could he envision making that horrendous trek back through the land of the dead with her. Being a cop, he’d seen a little of everything—and a lot of death in its many forms. It rarely affected him anymore—not like in the beginning, when he’d been a rookie.

  A rookie. That’s what Alexa Bailey was. If he took her with him back through the blood bath below…she’d never forget it…if they lived through it. It would be like a festering wound that she’d never be able to let heal. Those nightmares would be with her forever.

  “Johnny?” The way she murmured his name in the stillness of their close confinement sounded like a lover’s promise—a promise to stay with him…even if it meant her own death.

  “I-I’m okay, Lex.” So many things he could have said to her, but this one seemed safest. She’d been asking more than that, he knew; wondering what fate he had decided for them, because there would be no more separation.

  “You’re going—” she swallowed hard, “down below?”

  He gave a short laugh at the way she put it. “I don’t much like being left here so close to…to a wall full of plastique. Don’t like being an afterthought…like, ‘We’ll come back for you after this is all over.’” He let his head tilt back, resting against the wall, eyes shut as he marshaled his strength—and his thoughts.

  “My brother’s down there, getting the shit beat out of him—or…or worse. I can’t just sit here, Alexa. Damn it…” His voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper, fraught with desperation. It would do him no good to waste precious energy on cursing their situation.

  Alexa knelt and crawled closer to him. Hesitantly, she put a hand forward to touch his cheek. He turned toward her fingers, reaching to catch them in his own, planting a kiss in her palm.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  He nodded and moistened his lips. “Yeah, I know. I know. But—” He met her eyes—her eyes that asked only for his trust and assured him that, no matter what he decided, she would help him. “Alexa, I can’t ask you to—” he shook his head, warring with himself.

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t know what it’ll be like down there.”

  “You’ll never make it alone, Johnny. Without me.”

  Her voice was like warm honey, he thought, and he was drenched in it. It flowed over him, and with i
t came the realization that she certainly spoke the truth. He wouldn’t make it alone…without her…now—or later. He didn’t respond. They could stay here and wait, or they could take some action—even if it was wrong.

  Almost anything would be preferable to staying here.

  Johnny pushed at the walls on either side, struggling to gain his feet. The effort made his flagging muscles tremble, and at the last, he felt as if he were grasping at the walls to hold himself upright as much as he had pushed against them in the beginning for leverage. He couldn’t let go. He slumped heavily against the corner, breathing hard. For a moment, his knees threatened to buckle, and he found himself concentrating more on keeping them steady than on anything else.

  Alexa must have seen it, too, because she rose at the same moment, her hands reaching for him, stopping just inches short of that final touch. “Hurt?” she murmured, mistaking the sudden self-doubt in his expression for another kind of pain.

  It was killing him, but there was no way to explain it to her. The thought that he couldn’t leave her behind, yet was so unsure of the dangers that lay ahead of them—a path they were traveling at his discretion—ate at him.

  His lips pressed together tightly. He had to concentrate. At the rate he was going, they’d never get out of this cubicle. He was suddenly reminded of a jail cell, and he wished to God he was back out in the openness of the big equipment room once more.

  Alexa moved to him, slipping under his left shoulder for support.

  “Have you known that man long? The SWAT officer?”

  At first, Johnny assumed she was asking to take his mind off of the pain. But the studied casualness behind her question made him meet her eyes as she looked up at him briefly.

  He smiled. “Yeah.” If she only knew. “Long time. Why?”

  She shrugged, and they took a step forward. “Just wondered.”

  Johnny shook his head. “What is it, Lex?” There was a reason she’d asked. Had she felt the uneasiness between him and Don? It wasn’t as if…as if the rift was there between them any longer, was it? That had been a long time ago, that business with Sharon. Hell, he’d heard that their marriage had ended as well, just last year.