Into the Dark (2 page)

“I can’t tell.”

Sweat stung Nathan’s eyes. The heat made him feel heavy and sluggish. He shook off the discomfort and looked at the blueprints he’d just been given.

“Emilie, there three entrances, including the front door,” Nathan said. “One in the rear and one on the west side.”

“Right.”

“We’re going to get all of you out safely, but I need you to be strong. The others are going to look to you for guidance. You’ve got to keep them calm. Can you do that?”

“I can try.” Her husky voice broke for the first time.

Talking to a victim was always emotional and took far more out of him than negotiating with psychos like Joe. “I promise you’ll walk out of there. Just stay calm and do what they say.”

“He wants the phone back.”

“Then give it to him. And remember what I said.”

“I’m sure she will.” Joe had returned. “Happy now? You got to talk to Red. She’s a pretty thing—not all skinny like a lot of chicks. Curves in all the right places, dark-red hair, nice skin. Smells good too. I’m enjoying the view.”

Nathan didn’t take the bait. “Thanks for letting me talk to Emilie.”

“Emilie, huh? Nice name. Fits her.”

“Joe, I’m going to talk to my boss now and see what I can do about getting you out of there. I’ll call back in twenty minutes. Will you answer the phone?”

“Maybe. I might be busy with Red.”

Nathan struggled to keep his voice even. “That definitely wouldn’t help your cause, man. Gotta think about the future here, Joe.”

“Just get me out of here.”

The line went dead. Nathan spoke into his shoulder mic. “We’ve got to get eyes in there now. This guy’s a loose cannon.”

“Tech says five minutes,” Johnson said. “What’s your plan?”

“Keep him talking. He’s edgy and impatient. I don’t think he’s made for the long haul.”

“What about the partner?”

“He’s the one I’m worried about.”

Chapter Two

Crazy Joe hung up the phone and resumed his pacing. His footsteps ground the shards of security camera glass into the expensive tile floor.

Emilie glanced at the area where the bank employees sat huddled. Miranda shook with silent sobs while Mollie held her. Emilie took a step in their direction. The creepy, quiet man hissed and jerked a nod at the spot beside him. Emilie’s gut clenched, but she forced herself to go and sit beside him.

Joe stomped across the lobby. The sole of one of his boots had come loose and flapped against the floor as he walked. Creepy turned to watch him. Emilie studied her captor. His nondescript black boots were new, and the scent of floral fabric softener clung to his clothes. Completely relaxed, he hummed a soulful tune, moving his head to the beat. He was nothing like his fidgety colleague, who looked and smelled like he’d just crawled out of a dumpster.

Creepy caught her staring. He held her gaze. “Did you like the flowers?”

A shockwave tore through Emilie. “Excuse me?”

“The lilies, did you like them?” His looked at the vase sitting on the kiosk. “Casablanca lilies mean ‘celebration.’ A perfect flower for today’s occasion.” His carefully controlled voice slipped, and Emilie heard the slightest of accents. She couldn’t place it.

“You sent those lilies?” Nausea built in Emilie’s stomach.

“Yes. Did you like them?”

A scream clawed its way up her throat. The flowers weren’t a mistake. This man, this freak posing as some kind of old-fashioned gentleman had sent them to her. How had he known of her love for William Blake?

Emilie swallowed her building panic. She had to stay calm. “They were lovely.”

His eyes turned up—he was definitely smiling. “I knew you would. Those were just the beginning, Miss Emilie. Just the beginning.”

* * * *

“We’ve got eyes,” Chris said.

Nathan flipped his mic back on. “What do you see?”

“Hostages are in front of the teller counter. Joe’s pacing the lobby. Looks like he’s packing a standard nine mil. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. Might have another weapon stashed.”

“What about the other guy?”

“He and Davis are separated from the others.”

“You sure it’s her?”

“Got a copy of her driver’s license right here.”

Johnson’s voice came over the radio. “She might be in on this. I’m trying to get a warrant to seize any records we can find on her.”

“I don’t think so,” Chris said. “She’s got her head in her hands, rocks back and forth sometimes.”

“He’s fixated on her, then.” Nathan stared at the bank’s front windows. Instinct told him to move quickly. “We need to get a hostage out, find out exactly what’s going on.”

“Madigan, get back on the phone. Holt, you got audio yet?”

“Working on it.”

“Get it done.”

* * * *

Crazy Joe stood with the phone jammed against his ear arguing with Nathan about releasing a hostage.

Emilie didn’t have a chance at being chosen. Was Creepy Guy here for her, after all? Did he intend to waltz out of the bank with her as his personal hostage? She’d seen things like that on television. The victim’s story never ended well.

“Did you know Las Vegas was founded as a city on May 15, 1905? Before then, this whole area was agricultural. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

Emilie stared at Creepy Guy rambling as though his partner wasn’t screaming five feet away.

“But the railroad came and changed everything, as it often did. One hundred ten acres of land between Main Street and Fifth Street—which is now Las Vegas Boulevard—were auctioned off.” He fiddled with his gloved left hand, turning what must be a ring.

Emilie focused on the tile floor and counted the blue flecks in the pattern.

“One of the city’s original buildings sat on this very spot—the Wildwood Hotel. Fifty rooms, a huge parlor, and a breakfast room. Very popular among the travelers riding the new rails.”

“Listen to me.” He laughed. “You must think I’m a boring well of facts. But I do love history. It’s such a vital part of who we are as a people and as a culture. Don’t you agree, Miss Emilie?”

Her lips pursed, fighting an inner battle. Common sense said to keep her mouth shut and not play his games, but her quick-tempered, irrational side wanted to demand answers.

“Miss Emilie, are you listening?”

“How could I not?” She chewed the inside of her cheek. This man was stupid. He was a psychopath, and talking to him would only fuel his rambling nonsense.

“It’s fascinating, no?” He sounded pleased. Emilie finally peeked at the man.

Of course he was staring at her. “Now, after World War II, the Wildwood fell behind the times,” Creepy Guy continued. “It resurged in the eighties with new owners but just wasn’t glamorous enough. The hotel sat empty for several years before it was purchased by your bank.”

He messed with the ring again. “It’s a shame the city didn’t refurbish it. The Fremont Street Experience is nearby. The old hotel would have fit perfectly into the antiquated theme.”

Emilie wet her dry lips. If Creepy Guy wanted to talk, she’d oblige. Maybe she’d stay alive longer. “The place was falling down. It was an eyesore, with cracked windows, rotting floorboards, and faded paint. Millions would have gone into repairing the place. Nobody wanted the burden.”

“Such a shame. Far too often, the great historical pieces of this country are tossed aside because of financial burden. Or because no one can see their potential.”

He leaned toward her. His hot breath leaked from the tiny pores of the face mask. “We know all about burdens, don’t we, Miss Emilie?”

“All right,” Joe shouted. “You get one damned hostage, but don’t ask for another. I’m going to open the front door just wide enough for the hostage to get out. If I see a cop trying to ambush me, I’ll blow his head off. And you won’t get a second chance.”

He slammed down the phone and tramped across the lobby. Emilie wrinkled her nose as his stink overrode the already putrid odor of stale perspiration. Beside her, the partner sat up straight. He reminded Emilie of a dog protecting its new toy.

Crazy Joe ignored them and stopped in front of the small group. None of the hostages looked up. Miranda sat stock-still, her face white with fear. Emilie prayed they’d release her.

Joe kicked a thirtyish man sitting closeby. “You. Get up.”

He’d chosen a customer and a potential threat. The man looked to be in good shape and could probably put up a decent fight. Anyone with a name tag was far too valuable.

Joe grabbed the customer’s collar. Emilie saw the man’s fists clench.

Don’t fight, Emilie silently begged. Just get the hell out of here.

“Unlock the door,” Crazy Joe ordered. “Open it real slow.” He waited until the door was just wide enough for the man to fit through and then shoved him hard. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The door slammed shut again. The lock slid home, the ominous finality of it echoing through the lobby.

Creepy Guy relaxed. “Don’t worry, Miss Emilie. I’ll take care of you.”

Joe kicked a planter over, scattering dirt over the floor. “Stupid cops. Think they can outsmart me.”

“So clueless.” Creepy Guy sounded amused. “He’s not walking out of here a free man.”

“What about you?” Emilie kept her voice low. Her heart pounded, her head ached. She wasn’t going to like the answer.

His dark eyes bore into hers. “I have other plans.” He touched her arm with a gloved hand. “
We
have other plans.”

Fear squeezed her throat shut. The man’s gaze never wavered. He enjoyed her terror. She swallowed hard and glared back. Emilie wasn’t going down without a fight.

Somehow, she had to talk to Nathan again.

* * * *

Nathan sat alone on the bumper of the SWAT truck, an unopened bottle of water dangling from his hand. The heavy Kevlar vest clung to his body with a slimy layer of perspiration.

To his left, a reporter spoke into a news camera.

“The standoff at WestOne Bank on Fremont Street has entered its third hour.” Doing her best to fit in with the gravity of the situation, she’d pulled her styled blond hair into a sensible ponytail and shed her tailored coat. Her bright red top stood out like a beacon against the police cars and black, steel walls of the bank. “One hostage has been released, but nine remain inside. Police are working fervently to bring a peaceful end to the crisis.”

A peaceful end. That was primarily Nathan’s responsibility as hostage negotiator. But success hinged on talking to the individual in control, and Nathan was beginning to think he’d yet to do so today. Joe didn’t have brains or self-control to pull off a job like this. The partner knew where all the security cameras were. He’d shot them out immediately. He’d managed to stay almost completely out of sight of SWAT’s surveillance cameras, which meant he was damned familiar with WestOne’s infrastructure.

“Madigan.” Johnson and the released hostage stood in front of him. “This is Tim Landry.”

Nathan got to his feet and shook Landry’s hand. “Tell us what happened in there.”

Landry pulled out a pack of Marlboros. His hand trembled as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and dug for a lighter. Johnson lit the smoke.

“Thanks.” Landry recounted the men’s entrance into WestOne, verifying what SWAT already knew. “Joe’s crazy. I thought he was going to start shooting.”

“What about his partner?” Nathan asked.

“All he cares about is the branch manager,” Landry said. “She tried to sit with the rest of us after she talked to you, but he wouldn’t let her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Landry.” Johnson waved an officer over. “Get checked out by paramedics.”

He turned to Nathan. “Warrant came through. Detective Avery’s going through her records but nothing sticks out so far. Looks like the partner’s obsessed with Davis.”

“Avery’s working the case? God help us,” Nathan said as Landry and the officer walked toward the ambulance. He pushed his issues with Detective Avery aside. “So partner’s all over the one woman guaranteed to be at the bank today. That’s no coincidence–he’s after Emilie.”

Johnson lit his own cigarette. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a ploy. Could be the men think acting separately will make our jobs tougher.”

“Not in Joe’s mind. He thinks he’s running the show.”

The crackling static of the radio filled Nathan’s ears. “Davis is standing up, talking to Joe,” Chris said. “Partner jumped right up like he was glued to her ass.”

“Damn,” Nathan cursed. “She’s going to get him all riled up.”

“She just pointed to the phone.”

“You get a better look at the partner?” Johnson gnawed on his cigarette.

“Not really. He’s tall. And agitated. Took a couple steps to follow her and then stopped. Joe’s pointing at Davis, yelling something I can’t make out. She just sat back down and covered her face. Partner sat next to her.”

“Why’d she try to use the phone?” Johnson asked. “She’s got to know Joe wouldn’t let her.”