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  But his work wasn’t finished here. He wondered for the millionth time if Johnny and Pete Logan were on that helicopter. If not, they’d be on the next one—he hoped. They’d received sketchy information regarding exactly who was on that first lift. Ronnie Williams was betting his brother was on his way to safety, and had insisted on riding with Lambert. Carter sighed, wishing he could just talk with one of the freed hostages on that first chopper. He needed to know if Pete and Johnny were okay—if they were alive… He could risk a call now, but the safer thing to do would be to wait until Ronnie Williams got there. He’d said he would call Carter, and of course, Lambert would be sure to call and let him know.

  Waiting for something had never been so hard. The other pressing matter was that of the corrupt members of Alpha Team. People Johnny would think he could trust—they would prove more deadly than the terrorists.

  He wished he had a cigarette right about now. His nerves were gone. Completely gone. He’d picked a helluva time to give up smoking. He’d been doing well, too—up until the past forty hours or so. He’d slept in his car, a few rough hours, and woken feeling more exhausted than before he’d laid down.

  When he’d received the report of McShane falling to his death, he had hurried back to the other side just in time to check McShane’s pockets as they had loaded him up onto the gurney. He’d found the detonator, and the bomb squad had disabled the device before they’d been given the go-ahead to get into the hotel and search out the other two other bombs that were planted. He’d also found Johnny Logan’s cell phone—which meant he wasn’t going to be calling Johnny any time soon to check on the status of things.

  He shook his head. Helpless. That’s what he was—what they all were. McShane was dead, but how many were left? There was no way of knowing—not until Lambert was able to debrief the first chopper-load of hostages. And God knew, he’d be fighting Evan Sanders all the way.

  His phone began to vibrate and he grabbed for it.

  “Carter.”

  “Cap, it’s Tony. We’re here in the emergency room. They’re just bringing ’em in from the landing pad.”

  Carter’s heart jumped, then pounded, as he asked, “Is Pete Logan there?”

  Lambert hesitated a moment. “Yes. They beat him pretty badly. They’ve already taken him into surgery.”

  Lambert took a deep breath before he continued. “The Prime Minister is injured, too. Some kind of neck or head injury—and—”

  “Is it serious?”

  Lambert was silent a moment. “He’s unconscious. That’s all I know.”

  “What about Johnny?”

  “He’s not here, Captain.”

  “Damn it!” Carter put his head back, breathing deeply, getting control.

  “Captain, there’s something else. Daniel Williams wasn’t in this group of passengers, either.”

  Carter shook his head. “Are any of them coherent enough to tell us what happened up there?”

  “Yeah, I think so. There’s a girl—a young woman—let me try to talk to her, and I’ll call you back.”

  The line went dead. Carter rubbed his eyes, and snapped his phone shut. Then, he sat down and began to wait…again.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Alexa followed Johnny through the portal, cautiously letting the door close behind her. Johnny swayed on his feet, putting a hand to the nearby wall stanchion to keep steady.

  Alexa placed her palm at his back. He seemed to straighten, and, taking a deep breath, started forward once again. She was right behind him, her steps careful, her eyes still adjusting to the dark interior of the huge open room

  The smell of death was all around them. Her eyes strayed to O’Brian’s body, away…then back again. Something was different. Before, his jacket had been closed in the front. But now, the material gaped open, unsnapped entirely—one of his pants pockets turned inside out, as well.

  She said nothing, but Johnny looked at her, then headed across to O’Brian’s body. He leaned over, hands on his knees, studying the corpse.

  Finally, he straightened, unable to suppress a muffled groan. Before Alexa could say anything, he started forward once more.

  He was headed back to the tubing. Back to the dark haven that Daniel might feel he needed desperately right now. Back to where the bomb was secreted.

  They made their way to the bottom of the steps, keeping close to the walls until they had no choice but to cross the empty space of the open floor. Johnny’s steps were slower now, his breathing labored. He grasped the railing at the bottom of the stairs and stood for a moment, his glance going to the opening at the top.

  “You can’t do this,” Alexa whispered.

  He leaned against the railing; his knuckles gone white with the effort just to remain upright. Alexa put her hand on his arm.

  “Wait here,” she said quietly. “Let me go up and see if he’s in there.”

  He looked at her as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t have the strength left. His eyes searched hers, a faint smile curving his lips at last.

  “I don’t have much choice, Lex. Be careful.”

  She nodded, reaching to kiss his cheek. “I will.” She started up the stairs, forcing everything from her mind except getting to the opening and finding Daniel in that tunnel.

  As she started to step inside the encompassing blackness, she turned to look at Johnny once more. He sat on the bottom step, his head leaning against the metal railing of the stairway. His eyes were closed, and for an instant, Alexa’s heart jumped.

  Was he unconscious? She watched a moment more, the pressure in her chest lessening as he reached for his wounded side, as if to ease the pain. Alexa moistened her lips, forcing herself to turn away from him and go on into the darkness.

  “Daniel?” she called softly. “Daniel, are you in here?”

  Only the silence answered her, and she moved forward into the black unknown.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Johnny didn’t know how long he sat there, his mind drifting, weaving from one thought to another—never straying far from Alexa Bailey. He cursed his own inability to finish this; yet, he knew even as he did so that he was damn lucky to be here at all.

  Even so, that didn’t help matters right now.

  And Daniel—if only he had just stayed out on the roof! They’d all have been safer out there—what had made him come back inside? Johnny put a hand to his throbbing temple. Maybe it was the comfort Daniel felt inside these walls, but Johnny couldn’t help but believe their odd companion had had something else in mind.

  By now, everyone in his own family would be rushing to the hospital to be with Pete. Aunts, uncles, cousins…their mother… Rosa. Their sister, Rosa…did she know her son was dead? No. No, how could she? His fingers went to the St. Christopher medallion that Alexa had placed around his neck, and his thoughts drifted once more to his nephew.

  He pulled himself up, holding onto the railing. “Why didn’t you protect him?” He muttered, and then he wondered if he was talking to the stone-faced saint or to himself.

  What got his attention was not so much a noise, as the change in the air from the opened door at the far end of the room. During the hours he’d spent in the equipment room, he had become accustomed to the normal sounds around him—the constant off and on noises of the compressors, the thrum of the air rushing through the ventwork—and the subtle change in air pressure when the outside door opened. Even though there had been no noise, there was a change in the way the room felt.

  No time to climb the stairs. He couldn’t manage it, anyhow. He rose and moved toward the shadows of the wall, grimacing with each painful jolt, barely concealing himself before the SWAT officer stepped cautiously around the corner. “Creston,” the patch on his clothing read.

  Johnny took a deep breath and was just about to come forward, but something stopped him. Richter and the others had been dirty. Men he would never have suspected…and he had to admit, his perception was impaired even more at this point, with the pain, blood loss, an
d fatigue. He wasn’t acquainted with this man, Creston. He would wait. In here, he could be killed and no one would be wiser. He wouldn’t risk that, even though he could feel his grip on reality slipping. If they didn’t find Daniel soon and get out of here, he stood to lose his own life—and Alexa’s.

  He held tight to the stanchion to keep from sliding to the floor, trying to breathe quietly. Creston would have already heard him by now if the young man hadn’t been breathing so hard himself.

  What was he doing in here alone? Where was his back-up?

  Creston’s eyes were everywhere. He was afraid. He scanned the walls behind him, and Johnny stood completely still in the shadows, not daring to breathe for an impossible moment. As the young officer’s eyes went to the tubing at the top of the stairs, Johnny saw his expression turn to resolve, banishing the fear. He squared his shoulders and took the first step.

  Daniel and Alexa appeared, just at that very moment, and Johnny’s hand moved backward, reaching for the gun.

  Watching Daniel’s hailing smile of welcome slowly fade, Johnny muttered an oath. Daniel reached to pull Alexa behind him—foolish, but exactly what Johnny would have done had he been in Daniel’s shoes.

  The compressors had turned on, and their deafening roar drowned out the sounds of Creston’s booted footsteps on the metal stairwell as he ascended. He had reached the mid-way landing, pausing for an instant, then starting forward again with calm surety.

  Johnny pulled the pistol. He had roughly half a clip left. Plenty to do the job, but Alexa and Daniel would soon be in his line of fire, and he was going to have to aim for Creston’s head to avoid the bullet proof gear…

  Creston had done nothing but climb the stairs. He was a police officer—one of his “brothers”— Yet, the doubt wouldn’t leave him, blooming to a full-fledged, undeniable fear as Johnny watched Daniel.

  Daniel’s gaze flicked down to the identifying patch on Creston’s camo shirt. His eyes widened, and in that moment, Johnny knew he recognized not the man, but the name. The one he had tried so hard to recall when he’d told of his conversation with the dying officer, Taylor.

  The compressors shut off, leaving the open room in oppressive silence. The young officer smiled, bringing his gun to bear on Daniel’s chest.

  “Step out of the hole, Mr. Williams—you and the woman.”

  “Why?” Daniel asked.

  Creston’s grin widened. “So I can get a cleaner shot. You…don’t want a lingering death, do you? I know I wouldn’t. I want you to die quick—before you have a chance to tell anyone what happened to you.”

  “You can’t kill everyone, Officer,” Alexa said, taking a step forward. Daniel moved in front of her again. “McShane is dead, you know.”

  Creston laughed. “You must take me for a complete idiot, ma’am. They’d have radioed to let us know, if that was true.”

  Alexa peered around Daniel’s hulking form. “Not a ‘complete idiot’, Mr. Creston. Just a desperate one. They’ll know, by now, that some of your squad were traitors.”

  Creston pulled a wry face, chuckling again. “‘Traitors’? That isn’t a word we prefer. We call ourselves ‘opportunists’.” He shrugged. “At any rate—your time is up, ma’am. Yours, and this dimwit you’re hanging with.”

  Johnny stepped out, raising his gun, but Creston was blocking Alexa’s and Daniel’s view of the ground floor.

  “Wait!” Daniel exclaimed. “If it’s money you want, I’ve got something here—” He reached quickly to his pants pockets, his hand disappearing. Creston’s finger was ready on the trigger, in case Daniel was going for a weapon of his own.

  Daniel pulled out the roll of quarters, his treasure, and extended it to Creston. “See? It’s all them state quarters. Every one, up to Colorado! One of each—but there’s two of Rhode Island—”

  “You idiot! A fucking roll of quarters—you think that’s worth something? Do you? I’ll tell you what to do with your quarters, you stupid moron—stick ’em up your ass!” He reached to push Daniel’s hand away, but Daniel came at him with an animalistic growl.

  In the next instant, they were toppling down the stairway, rolling one over the other, coming to a temporary halt on the small landing.

  Somehow, Creston managed to hold onto his gun, the metal barrel clanging against the railing with every roll they took.

  Johnny was aware of the smell of gunpowder in the air, remembering the sound of a rapid burst of gunfire as Daniel had tackled Creston. The stairway, with its coat of red paint, prevented him from being able to tell if either man was wounded. They fought like wild animals, each grappling for better purchase on the other.

  Alexa stifled a scream at the sudden surge of unexpected action. Johnny glanced up at her. She had had the good sense to step back inside the tubing where she’d be safer. She stood, slightly bent, her hands at her mouth as if to keep herself silent, eyes wide with terror.

  He tore his gaze away from her, back to the two men. Raising his pistol, he waited for the moment. He tried to steady his hand. His general state of fatigue and the blood loss he’d suffered made him anything but the expert marksman he had always been.

  Up until now. Up until the moment when he needed that skill more than he ever had before. His mouth tightened to a grim line, and he waited—just as he had with O’Brian.

  Finally, Creston and Daniel came to rest in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairway on the concrete. Blood—he could see bright red in the dim light on Daniel’s khaki colored shirt, but he wasn’t sure who it belonged to.

  Creston rose up, straddling Daniel, his face a mask of death and terror—the gun in his hand. He levelled the pistol at Daniel’s head.

  “Hold it!” Johnny yelled. “Make a move, Creston, and I’ll blow your head off.”

  Creston stopped, the gun raised, then turned to look at Johnny. “Who the hell are you?” he panted. Johnny did not mistake the wary caution beneath the question.

  “Logan. Officer John T. Logan,” he said through gritted teeth. “Put that fuckin’ gun down.”

  Creston hid the surprise well, but not quickly enough. He smiled. “No. I can’t do that.” He was still breathing hard.

  “Then consider the farm bought and paid for, Officer.” Johnny’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  “You’d kill…a…a cop?”

  “Not a real one.” Johnny’s expression was set. He didn’t waver. His own gun was aimed dead straight at Creston’s face. Peripherally, he could see that Daniel was hit—and bleeding buckets where he lay. He was very still—unconscious, Johnny figured. “Put it down.”

  “Like I said, I can’t do that,” Creston responded conversationally. “If I do, they’ll kill me—McShane’s people.”

  “If you don’t, I will.”

  “Not much choice—but you see, I don’t believe you’ll do it. I don’t believe you’ll kill me—” he looked down at Daniel, his eyes brimming with contempt, “—for him.”

  “That’s your mistake, Creston.”

  Creston rolled off of Daniel, gun in hand, aiming for Johnny. But before he could squeeze off a shot, Johnny pulled the trigger of the Glock, killing Creston instantly. The noise reverberated throughout the empty space, then faded to silence.

  Johnny slowly walked across the floor to where Creston lay, his own hand still tingling from the kick of the pistol. He kicked the gun out of Creston’s lifeless fingers before crossing to where Daniel was sprawled. One look at Daniel told him there was no chance for him. He knelt beside him, seeing the bullet hole in Daniel’s side first. Another one, lower in his abdomen, flowed crimson, and Johnny put his palm over the bloody river, applying pressure to the more serious wound.

  Daniel’s eyes were cracked open a slit, the knowledge of his own death in them.

  “Thank you,” Johnny murmured, realizing he was thanking him for saving Alexa more than anything, but there was so much—he didn’t know where to begin.

  Daniel seemed to understand what he meant. He nodded. H
e was slipping away. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do…Johnny.”

  “No.”

  Daniel smiled despite the pain, his eyes bright with moisture. “You…You came back for me.”

  Johnny nodded. “Had to. Couldn’t leave you here—”

  They sat silent a moment. “Never leave a man behind,” Daniel murmured. Then, “Here…take my quarters.”

  Johnny reached for the roll of coins lying next to Daniel’s outstretched hand. He held them up for Daniel to see, and Daniel nodded again.

  “Is this what you came back inside for?”

  Daniel gave him a bloody smile. “Prob’ly seems crazy, don’t it?”

  Johnny shook his head. “No. It wasn’t crazy. These belonged to you—not those damned Irishmen.”

  “They’re yours, now.”

  Johnny looked hard into the other man’s eyes, wanting to understand exactly what Daniel was telling him. “What about your brother?”

  “No, Johnny.” Daniel’s breathing was labored. “Only thing I’ve got to give…a friend. You came back. You…are my…friend. My…brother.”

  Nothing was more right than that, and he couldn’t find the words to answer the simple statement for a long, still moment. Daniel’s gray eyes held Johnny’s, waiting for the affirmation he knew would come. Johnny nodded. “Yes. I am.”

  Daniel took a last deep breath. “I knew…you were.”

  Chapter 42

  Johnny sat back onto the floor unsteadily, putting his hand down to keep his balance. He brought his other arm up, wiping Daniel’s blood on his jeans. He looked past Daniel, past Alexa, who was coming toward him, and focused on Creston for an instant…then, beyond the dead officer’s body, into nothingness.

  In an automatic gesture, he reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes, and felt the wetness of a fresh bloody streak across his forehead. The room was as quiet as it had ever been, the only sound that of Alexa’s and Johnny’s collective breathing.

  Alexa reached across Daniel to lay her hand on Johnny’s arm. He looked at her, and seeing the silent question in her eyes, shook his head.