Capture the Night Read online

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  Alexa gasped. In the pit of her belly, she knew what McShane’s intent was as she watched their struggle in silent, fascinated horror. Unable to move for that instant that seemed like hours, she realized that somehow, she had jumped to her feet and started toward the two men locked in their deadly embrace.

  She had to do something. The Prime Minister’s men were helpless, tied as they were, but somebody had to do—

  Brendan Roberts’s fist closed around her arm, jerking her back. She stumbled and collapsed beside him and Pete. “I’ve got to go—I’ve got to do something!” She yanked at his grip, near tears, her eyes flashing green sparks at him.

  “Alexa—” He gave her a sharp shake, glancing at the ongoing battle. “You stay back. I’ll handle it.”

  Alexa stopped struggling and he released her wrists, rising to his feet. His blue eyes were filled with a grim purpose, a sudden reminder of those other blue eyes.

  “I’ll take care of this, Alexa. You get over to the stairwell door and open it.” Pete raised a brow. The Prime Minister gave him an apologetic look. “Guess it’s time we find out just what’s in Pandora’s box, Peter.”

  Pete nodded, moistening his dry lips. “Yeah. It is.”

  Alexa stood up, starting toward the stairwell door. The Prime Minister put the detonator into Pete’s hand with a careful touch. “Godspeed, son.”

  “You…too.”

  Roberts started toward where Johnny and McShane grappled with each other, McShane trying to roll toward the edge, Johnny holding him fast…but slipping. Roberts began to run, intent on reaching them before Johnny’s strength played out entirely and he and McShane plummeted over the edge. Twenty floors…not much chance either of them would survive that kind of fall.

  Pickens’s leg shot out in front of the Prime Minister, tripping him. He sailed through the air in a gangly, awkward fall. His head hit the rough stucco finish of the roof hard, his neck bearing the brunt of his landing with an ominous crunching sound.

  The triumphant shout McShane gave let everyone know where the battle stood. The Prime Minister lay motionless on the rooftop, only a few feet from where Johnny and McShane still grappled. Help was not coming.

  Chapter 40

  Johnny had known this moment would come, eventually; he’d also realized there was no way to prepare for it. He’d always figured that when Death came for him, it would be through violence, only because of the nature of his work.

  Before, it hadn’t mattered so much one way or the other. He had no wife, no children—no one, really. Now, everything had changed. Now, he would sell his soul for just one more day—and night—with Alexa Bailey.

  He’d seen Roberts headed for them, heard him running—followed by the sickening sound of him hitting the ground, hard. Just then, his own arms faltered, the adrenaline finally playing out, and in that instant, he resigned himself to the inevitable.

  McShane gave one last mighty shove. He and Johnny both rolled to the edge, clutching at one another, McShane slipping over the edge and out of sight of the others. But still he held on, trying to drag Johnny with him, trying to take him down when he went.

  Johnny was able to check his forward movement, forcing himself to roll back toward solid purchase. The wound in his side strained and pulled open as McShane grabbed for him, locking his hand around Johnny’s forearm. The Irishman didn’t seem to be so keen to pull him over, now, Johnny thought…Now that there was nothing under him but air. Johnny held McShane’s wrist tightly, but his grip wouldn’t last long. He had no strength left.

  Johnny inched back until he was finally able to grasp the stub of brown railing protruding from the roof. The hard area beneath his upper body was no more than four inches, but he also had the railing to stabilize him.

  McShane struggled to hang on, but his other hand was going for his pants pocket.

  The detonator. Even if McShane wasn’t wired for the bomb up here on the roof, wherever else they had one planted in the hotel would be just as good at bringing it down, Johnny surmised. The only thing better would have been for him to have both detonators. That answered the question as to why he’d agreed to the fight so readily…why he kept reassuring himself that whatever was so important remained in his pocket.

  At this point, Johnny couldn’t be sure of anything. Maybe some of the SWAT team had defused the bombs—and maybe not. If McShane pressed the button, they may all be blown to hell despite what he’d tried to do here to save them.

  The only way he could ensure that McShane couldn’t get to his pocket was to let go of the railing and take his other hand. And if he did that, McShane would be able to pull both of them over.

  The gun was jammed in the back waistband of his jeans. He couldn’t let go to reach it, either.

  McShane grinned up at him, his face darkened with drying blood. “Wonder how long you can hold on, in your condition, John T.?”

  Johnny looked past him to the ground below. It began to turn beneath McShane’s dangling feet, and the nausea started to build in the pit of his stomach.

  McShane laughed. “Got it figured yet, Officer?”

  Johnny nodded, sweat beading his brow. “Yeah. I’ve got it figured.”

  “Are you a betting man? Think I can get it out of my pocket and push the button before I—hit the ground?”

  “Don’t know…” Johnny muttered. “Guess we’re about to…to find out. Somehow, I don’t think…you’ll be worried about…that…on your way down.”

  McShane’s eyes widened, the smirk leaving his ravaged face. “Pull me up, John T. You have to. You’re an officer of the law.”

  McShane’s fingers clasped even tighter. Johnny sensed someone behind him. Someone injured, breathing hard.

  “Pete?” he muttered.

  Pete put his head over the edge, gasping for breath. “Had somethin’ to say to the bastard.”

  “I’m not entertaining now,” McShane replied tightly.

  “Eileen was… She wanted me to tell you that she was wiping every trace of you out, McShane. You, your baby, and her—”

  McShane looked up into Pete’s swollen face and smiled. “Two out of three ain’t bad. They want me alive down there. I’m betting your brother makes certain I get down safe.” He winked at Pete. “Haul me up, John. Prison awaits. Looks pretty good right now.”

  Johnny shook his head. “Go to hell, McShane. You’re right. Prison looks too good—for you.”

  McShane grabbed for Johnny’s arm with his free hand, forgetting all about the detonator in his pocket. “Damn bastard Yank! Pull me up!”

  Johnny released his grip on McShane slowly. He wanted him to realize what was happening. Wanted him to know he was going to die. He’d already faced that himself, just seconds earlier. It was terrifying. Each person McShane had murdered had suffered through this moment of shock…the instant of knowing life was over…knowing their dreams would never be.

  He wanted McShane to have an extra long time to think about his painful death—on his way long way down.

  McShane’s eyes filled with terror at Johnny’s deliberate release. “Logan! Pull…me…up! Son of a bitch! You’ll lose your fuckin’ badge—”

  “Don’t bet on it, McShane. You haven’t been so lucky lately.”

  “This is murder!” McShane’s own grip was weary, trembling; and Johnny’s was gone.

  “I like to think of it as ‘collateral damage’,” Johnny murmured.

  McShane’s fingers faltered, then slipped, and with a scream of rage, he began his descent.

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  Daniel stood up slowly. He’d found what he was looking for. Now, maybe, he’d go have another look-see at that bomb. Maybe he could defuse it. He started across the room, detouring at the last second to go around the wall to the right—back to his corner…his home.

  The place was just as he’d left it, after O’Brian had come in on his path of destruction. He knelt beside the microwave and ran a finger across the top. This little ol’
oven had been a good friend—cooked lots and lots of popcorn, that’s for sure.

  His little refrigerator had been ruined, too. He hated Sorley O’Brian. Mama wouldn’t like him saying that—that he hated someone.

  He thought about how, sometimes, it was hard to remember Mama’s face. She’d been dead a long time…and Daddy, too. He didn’t try to remember Daddy’s face too much, but he wished he could remember Mama’s.

  Sometimes, when he’d go down to the Bobby’s Burgers, he’d pretend he was one of those little kids in the balls, and that Mama was one of the young mothers watching them play. If they’d had Bobby’s Burgers when he had been little, Mama would’ve taken him and Ronnie, he knew.

  Daniel stood up and looked around the devastation of his home.

  “I love you,” he whispered. He meant that more than he ever had meant anything in his life. He closed his eyes for a moment, and said it again, wishing he could hear someone say those words to him, just one more time.

  A whisper, almost like an echo settled on the air around him. “I love you.” It seemed magic, all of a sudden, just standing here in the ruins with his eyes shut, that whispered “I love you” so familiar…like a woman’s voice. He smiled in recognition, afraid to open his eyes. He wouldn’t disturb the magic. He didn’t need to see, anyhow. He might have to think hard to remember Mama’s face, but he always remembered how she sounded.

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  Alexa stood transfixed, her fingers on the handle to the stairwell door. McShane’s shout knifed through her. She turned to look.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Johnny very nearly go over, too, catching himself at the last possible moment, then inching back to wrap an arm—the wounded one—around the remnant of the metal railing.

  Pete had made his way to where his brother lay at the edge of the roof, and now lay beside him, but Alexa could see Pete had made no move to put a hand out to McShane.

  Alexa hurried toward the two brothers. As she passed by the other hostages, several of them called out to her to untie them. But who to trust? She ignored them, stopping where the Prime Minister lay.

  She knelt beside him, turning him with gentle care. He was not dead. There was no blood, as far as she could see. She looked over her shoulder at the Englishmen.

  Pickens gave her a satisfied smile. “It was an accident,” he said calmly. “I hope he’s not…dead.”

  Alexa didn’t answer. She reached into Brendan Roberts’s pocket and touched the familiar shape of the gun—Johnny’s .38.

  “Of course, you’re not in much shape to help him one way or another, are you, ma’am?” he goaded.

  Some of the other Brits made threatening comments to Pickens, but Alexa didn’t look around. Roberts hadn’t known which of them he could trust; it would be incredibly arrogant—and stupid—on her part to think she could discern which of them were traitors.

  Looking down at the kind elder statesman, her heart filled with pity for him. He had only wanted a holiday. The same thing most every other person who had been in the hotel had hoped to enjoy. Only, Kieran McShane had decided to make a name for himself—and that had changed everything.

  Although the Prime Minister still lived, it didn’t take a trained physician to see that whatever injury he’d suffered was serious. Alexa touched his wrinkled cheek in a gentle caress. Stealthy footsteps from behind her grabbed her attention, pulling her from her thoughts.

  One of the Englishmen cried, “Look out, ma’am!” at the same moment Johnny shouted her name.

  Alexa pulled the pistol from Roberts’s pocket, turning to the left, and found herself looking up into Albert Pickens’s smug face.

  The look changed as he realized the .38 was leveled at his testicles, and he took a step backward. “Just coming to offer a hand,” he mumbled.

  “Sit down, Mr. Pickens,” she told him with deadly calm, “or you may lose something more than you ever bargained to ‘offer’.” She motioned him back, and he stepped away, lowering himself to the ground, his eyes riveted on her. The feel of the gun in her hand made her nervous, but as long as Pickens was convinced she would pull the trigger, that was all that mattered.

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  Johnny settled back in place, seeing that Alexa had things under control. He watched as, below him, paramedics hurried to load McShane’s shattered body onto a gurney. In the distance, the chopper was getting closer as its propellor beat through the morning air.

  “Helluva note,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?” Pete asked.

  “His ride gets here before ours does.”

  Pete grinned. “Yeah. But he’s goin’ home dead.”

  Johnny laughed. “C’mon. Let’s make a place for that bird to land.” He stood up, offering a hand to Pete, and they leaned together for a long moment, a thousand memories in the touch.

  “Let’s go,” Johnny said gruffly.

  Pete gave him a faint grin. “You thinkin’ ’bout the first time you ever said that to me?”

  Johnny nodded. “I’ve been sorry ever since,” he teased.

  Pete’s breath caught in a painful gasp. Johnny tried to take more of Pete’s weight, but he couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Johnny murmured. “I think we’re both…ready for a doc—”

  “Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Pete muttered.

  “Yeah.” Johnny gave a short chuckle. “We’re a pretty rough-lookin’ pair right now.” He glanced around, making sure there was enough space for the helicopter. The space would be close, but if the pilot could maneuver to the far edge of the building, there would be room.

  Johnny turned and motioned to Traci to bring the baby. She stood up and came toward him. The chopper set down in the place Johnny had figured, and in seconds a four-man medical team got off and headed straight for him and Pete.

  “Can you walk, sir?” one of them asked Johnny.

  “Yeah, but—take this one first,” he said nodding toward Pete, “and the Prime Minister—”

  “This your blood?” the young doctor asked, looking Johnny up and down.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, sir. You’re badly wounded if all of this is yours—”

  “Doctor, please—load up the others first.” He motioned Traci toward the chopper once more, one of the medics taking the baby from her and carrying him aboard. “There’s someone I’ve got to find.”

  “You’re in no condition—” the doctor began, but Johnny cut him off.

  “I know, Doc. I know.” He watched as Alexa moved aside for them to put Brendan Roberts on a stretcher and carry him aboard. “But—I’ve got to do this. I’m a cop, and—I can’t leave until I find him.”

  The doctor eyed him. “We’ll catch you on the next trip, Officer.” He glanced toward the group of Englishmen. “We’ll come back for them—and the two of you—”

  “Where’s the other one?” Johnny asked quickly, his gaze going to where the Brits sat. “Short guy— gray suit—”

  “He’s already on,” another doctor replied, coming up behind the one Johnny was talking with. “Says he’s Mr. Roberts’s personal secretary.”

  “No,” Johnny muttered, pushing past them. The black ops guard who stood beside the doorway of the chopper reached to catch Johnny as he nearly dropped to his knees. The guard steadied him and began to try to help him up into the body of the aircraft.

  “No!” Johnny shouted. He had to make him understand. “Listen to me! That short guy—he’s wearing a gray suit—he’s a prisoner—”

  The stoic guard looked at Johnny impassively. “Are you talking about Brendan Roberts’s attaché?”

  “Yes! I mean—he’s not who he says—he’s the one who hurt him—he’s one of McShane’s men!”

  “He’s telling you the truth, sir,” Alexa said as she came up behind Johnny.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Alexa Bailey, and this is Johnny Logan—”

  “Sorry sir! I—I didn’t know.” The guard stuc
k his head inside and called for one of the other military men. Within seconds, they had Pickens bound and in their custody.

  Alexa looked at Johnny and grinned. “It’s all in who you know,” she teased. “Here. I have something of yours you might want back.” She handed him the .38, obviously glad to be rid of it.

  He took the gun from her, weary to his bones, wishing this was all over. He couldn’t leave yet, but Alexa—he needed to know she was safe— “I want you to get on the chopper, Lex.”

  She was already shaking her head. “No. We’ll go together on the next one.”

  “Alexa, I have to—”

  “Shh. I know. It’ll be easier to find him together. I don’t want to leave without him, either.”

  “Pete—”

  “He’s in good hands, Johnny.” She leaned close to him. “Hey, I’m beginning to think maybe you’re trying to get rid of me, Officer.”

  “You know better. I promised you a fantastic Mexican dinner—and a life to go with it.”

  Alexa took his hand in hers. “Come on, then. The sooner we find Daniel, the sooner we can blow this joint.”

  Johnny stood looking down into her eyes for a moment. He was not going to change her mind; he could see that, as the green fire of teasing became determination—and stubbornness.

  “Officer?”

  Johnny glanced up at the medic. They were ready to fly. He shook his head. “We’ll catch the next one.”

  “You sure? We’ve got room for one more.”

  Johnny gave him a weary smile. “Just look after that cranky passenger that’s all banged up. He’s my little brother.”

  The doctor smiled in return. “Don’t worry, Mr. Logan. He’ll be fine. I’ll see to him personally.”

  “Thanks.”

  Johnny walked toward the metal door, Alexa beside him. He put his hand on the handle and swung it open. Then, together, they stepped into the place where this nightmare had all begun—only yesterday.

  Chapter 41

  Ray Carter would have given just about anything he possessed to have been in the squad car with Tony Lambert and Ronnie Williams, racing toward the hospital.