Midnight Hero (11 page)

Con and Bailey ran past the fountain to Santa's sleigh, which had tipped on its side. Water droplets beaded the intricate metal runners. Fallen reindeer lay drunkenly in the soggy cotton batting that was supposed to resemble snow. She peeked around the reindeer toward the access panel.

Oh no!

Stunned, she turned to Con, widening her eyes into a
what now?
look.

He peered around her. She watched disbelief, frustration and anger chase over his face as he saw the North Pole workshop had tumbled to the floor. The sides and roof of the twenty-foot cottage had split and collapsed. Giant shattered toys and dismembered elves littered the floor like war casualties. Candy Cane Lane leading to the cottage had fallen like dominoes, and ten-foot candy canes lay stacked across the end of the mall. A snarled fortress of cracked support platforms, torn, tangled strings of lights and wet, broken plaster. Sealing off the panel. Blocking their escape.

The display must have become unstable when soaked by the sprinklers, and then the concussion from the vault explosion had knocked everything down. That explained the smaller, secondary crashes. There was no way around the piled debris, no path through it, and no way to quietly move it aside.

They had no choice. Con signaled to backtrack.

Another long, cold and exhausting duck-and-run through the dark. The hunted feeling on the back of her neck was growing eerily familiar. With the heavy vest weighing her down, she barely made it up the escalators to the third floor. Con had to boost her with a hand in the small of her back the last ten steps.

“I have to catch my breath.” Shivering with cold, and nearly too weary to stand, she leaned against the balcony railing.

“Hang on just a few seconds longer.” He steered her into a craft store and behind the sales counter.

Her legs gave out and she sank to the damp floor.

“I need to go let the team know the number and position of hostages and suspects.”

“You saw? How are Letty and Nan holding up, and Mike? How did they look? Are they scared? Are they hurt?”

“They looked tired and stressed, which is to be expected. But healthy and all in one piece, sweetheart. And nobody is freaking out. That's the most important thing right now.”

She heaved a relieved sigh. “How many bad guys are there?”

“At least four in the lobby. There might have been some in the vault and one or two more could be out hunting us and Syrone.” He stroked her hair. “I'll go signal SWAT from the sky bridge, scout around up here for unfriendlies and be back in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. Okay?”

“Okay.” He slipped out, and she stacked her forearms on her raised knees, pillowed her head on them and closed her eyes. The bleak, silent third floor felt far removed from the bank robbers, like a protective cocoon. An illusion Bailey willingly indulged. At the moment, she could not handle one more minute of fear, one more stint of running, one more dashed promise of rescue.

She might even have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was Con's gentle voice.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

She looked up. Con stood with his muscled arms spread wide, and a wary yet hopeful expression on his handsome face.

She pushed to her feet and went willingly into his embrace. In spite of the fact that his clothes were soaked and his skin chilled, the hug was warm and reassuring. She rested against his broad chest, letting his solid strength restore her flagging spirits. “Con, I'm sorry for the way I acted after the fight.”

“There's nobody on this floor but us. While we wait out the next phase of the plan, let's get some food into you. Then we can talk.”

The brief nap had recharged her batteries slightly. “No, first you change into dry clothes,
then
we eat. You're going to catch pneumonia.”

“You're wet, too, from crawling on the floor. We both need to change.”

Figuratively speaking, she thought he was fine exactly as he was. She, on the other hand, was changing by the moment.

Keeping one arm around her, he guided her into JCPenney. He extracted a flashlight from his pack and shone the beam over
racks of clothing. Cloaked in shadow, everything looked creepy and weirdly out of proportion.

She'd fantasized about being alone in the mall, able to shop at leisure with no crowds, noise or distractions. The real thing didn't quite pan out. She visually tracked the light, trying to get her bearings. “I'm disoriented.”

“A combination of shock, hypothermia and lack of nourishment. When you're dry and fed, you'll bounce back.” He grabbed unisex black jeans, black turtlenecks and black sweatshirts in his size and hers from a bottom row of wooden cubbies sheltered from the sprinklers. “We'll layer to stay warm.”

He opened a bag of thick wool socks and retrieved women's lightweight lug-soled boots from a shoebox underneath the boot display to replace her sheer hose and feminine leather slip-ons. “You'll not only be warmer, but able to move faster in these.”

Dry undergarments were also a necessity. Embarrassment tweaked her, but Con's matter of fact attitude in the men's department banished her self-consciousness. Until they headed to women's lingerie and he plucked a frothy, pink silk teddy from a rack. “It's your favorite color.”

“That doesn't look very warm.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, wearing this little number, you would not be cold. My personal guarantee.”

“It's wet.”

“In some cases, that's not considered a disadvantage.”

She smirked at him. “Take my word for it, Irish. I doubt you'll need any help there.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk naughty, slugger.” Laughing, he extracted a package from a bin, tore it open and brandished a pair of tiny black lace panties. He stretched them across his hands. “Hmm. These feel…comfortable. Look sexy, too. I can picture you wearing them. Great picture.”

The erotic sparkle in his eyes made heat bloom in her cheeks. He caressed her with his glowing mahogany gaze and the heat spread, tingling through her limbs. The man smoldered. It was impossible to remain disheartened bathed in the light of his open
appreciation. Not to mention the uplifting effect of his flying quips and flashing grins.

She snatched the underwear from him. “Get your hands out of my pants.”

He laughed. “Spoilsport.”

She found a packaged black stretch lace camisole to go with the panties, and Con expressed his enthusiastic approval.

Arms piled high, they entered a fitting room. Con propped the flashlight on a chair so it partially illuminated the first two cubicles. He shot her a mischievous grin. “Need any help?” He flexed his fingers. “All the better to undress you, my dear.”

If only he knew how tempting his offer was. How overwhelming the desire to have his hands on her. “Remember what happened to that wolf.”

“I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow—” He snorted. “Nuh-uh. I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”

“Braggart. Anyway, you're mixing up your wolves. That was a whole other story.”

“I'll reenact any story you want. I've always been partial to the
Kama Sutra.
”

“Have you seen some of the impossible positions…” Flushing, she trailed off.

“So you
have
read it.”

“I consider myself a well-read person in every area of life.”

“Glad to hear it.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Now, about those positions…care to name your top five?”

She'd seen a few that looked intriguing. Had imagined her and Con entwined in intimate, exciting love play. Adventurous O'Rourke would take her anywhere she wanted to go. And then some. “I'm game if you are. I do yoga exercises every day, so I'm pretty flexible. Think you can keep up?”

“Just try and keep me down, darlin',” he drawled.

When Con looked at her like that, all sparkling mischief and smoky sex appeal, she wanted to pounce on him. Gobble him up like a hamster on a Cheeto. Unfortunately, this was the wrong time, wrong place. Arching a brow, she returned his grin. “Maybe you can show me that upstanding flexibility later.”

He tweaked one of her curls. “You're racking up quite an account, you know.”

“I'm good for it. I have excellent credit.”

Chuckling, he strode into the second cubicle, leaving the first for her.

She struggled out of her damp clothing. With only a thin, three-quarter partition between them, she could hear the rustle of fabric as Con also stripped. Her stomach dipped and her knees went weak, and not from lack of food. The knowledge of him so near, naked, sent longing spiraling through her. If only they could escape. Talk things out. Laugh and love together like other couples on New Year's Eve.

Instead, they might die together.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she staggered.

“Hey, you okay over there? I was teasing before, but if you really need help…”

If he joined her in the cubicle, she'd wrap her arms around him and never let go. The last thing he needed was a clingy, whiny woman. “I'm doing fine.” She wiped off the vinyl bench with her blouse, then sat and tugged on the jeans, turtleneck and sweatshirt. She loosened the black velvet ribbon securing her hummingbird charm and retied it over the turtleneck, and then donned socks and boots. “What should we do with our wet stuff?”

“Leave it. We don't need anything else to haul around.”

They exited the fitting room. “Except for these.” Con grabbed three comforters sealed in vinyl bags on the way out of the store. “We need something dry to picnic on.” He reached for her hand.

Her chilled fingers tucked securely in his big, already warm ones, she walked beside him toward the food court. “I feel so small and insignificant in this huge, eerie bubble of silence. Just the two of us, trapped inside, like caterpillars in a jar.” A tremor shivered up her spine. “Only there are praying mantises on the loose.”

Con squeezed her hand. “Don't worry. Dozens of patrol cars will respond to the call-out. They'll import an army of cops.”

But up here, they were alone. At least she hoped they were.
The eerie thought sent goose bumps prickling along her skin. “Are you sure no one else is up here?”

To her left, a sudden movement, followed by a resounding crash sent her heart leaping into her throat.

Before she had time to form coherent thought, Con dropped the blankets, shoved her to the floor and flung himself on top of her. “Don't move!”

6:00 p.m.

A
drenaline rocketed from Bailey's toes to the top of her head, and her heartbeat exploded in her ears. “What was that?” she whispered.

“Stay put.” Con eased off her and drew a squirt gun from the back waistband of his jeans. Appearing surprisingly deadly considering he was packing plastic instead of steel, he pivoted in a half crouch and pointed the makeshift weapon toward the crash.

Nothing happened. No movement. No sound. The taut moment stretched out, enveloped in heavy silence.

He noiselessly prowled across the floor toward Outdoor Outfitters. Squirt gun sweeping from side to side, he crept inside the store. Then he disappeared from sight.

She held her breath and prayed.

Suddenly, his laughter rolled out the doorway and over her. The low, husky chuckles undulated inside her, both stirring and confusing.

Laughter?
“Con?” she called. “Who is it?”

“Maxwell Moose.”

“What?”

“Outdoor Outfitters mascot, Maxwell Moose. There's a huge replica of him in here. Got wet in the sprinkler storm like everything else, and toppled over, taking a couple tents down with him. Looks like the collapsed tents have been holding up his considerable weight for a while. The fabric finally tore.”

“Gad. Moose-induced heart attack. A unique cause of death for the coroner to list on my certificate.” As the adrenaline tide swept out, she sat up and pressed her palm over her galloping heart. “So, other than Maxwell, we really are alone up here?”

He emerged from the store and returned to her side. “As reasonably sure as I can be. Three spread-out floors is a lot of territory for six or eight…” He grinned. “Now reduced to four or six…guys to track.”

“I'd be happier if there were less.”

“If I have anything to say about it, there will be. Eventually.” He offered his hand and helped her up. “You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No.” She glanced at the floor. “Fortunately, I landed on the packaged comforters. Geez, Officer Sexy, I don't mind if you throw me down and leap on me, but issue a warning first.”

“Sorry, no time for a warning. Or to cushion your fall. Good thing the blankets dropped where they did.” His grin broadened, white and wicked in his beard-stubbled face. “I promise next time I jump you, it will be under more pleasant circumstances.”

She'd give her right arm for Con's confidence. Armed only with a squirt gun and his wits, he was sure he could handle anything that came their way. Had no doubts they'd escape in one piece. At least no doubts he was sharing. She'd caught glimpses of the doubt he'd tried so hard to hide. After the fright, his good humor was appreciated…and contagious. She chuckled as her heart lightened. “Something else to look forward to.”

“You know what I'm also looking forward to?” He squeezed her hand. “I'd barter one of my brothers to a tribe of Amazon women for a hot cup of coffee.”

Relief and ebbing fight-or-flight response, combined with the prospect of food, made her giddy. “Mmm. Piping hot cocoa sounds heavenly. Maybe we can manage some, and without compromising your brothers' virtue.”

He chuckled. “Not that they have any virtue to compromise. Or like they'd complain.”

“A definite case of the lascivious pot calling the carnal kettles black.”

“Hey, are you accusing me of being a hound dog?”

“If the flea collar fits…” she teased.

He growled at her, a low sexy rumble deep in his throat. Her
bones melted and she nearly dissolved into a puddle at his feet. He tugged her close and gave her a quick love-nip on the earlobe.

Amazing how he could shoot her pulse into the stratosphere with a mere look, the barest touch. The scent of him—warm, lusty male—made her hormones break into a celebratory riot. “Yum. You want Milk-Bones with that coffee, Fido?”

He nuzzled his face into her neck. “I'd rather have you.”

Her celebrating hormones kicked the party up a notch, and she eased back, breaking the contact. Not a good time to let desire run rampant over common sense. “Unfortunately, I'm not on the menu at the moment.” If the man were any more compelling, they'd have to slap a warning on him like the ones on the MRI machines at the hospital.
Irresistible magnetic field. Please remove all metal objects before entering the vicinity.

Breathless and distracted, she stared at the tent-jumbled doorway he'd exited. The lure of steaming, fragrant hot chocolate snapped her fuzzy thinking into focus. The only thing she wanted more badly than Con right now was food. “Outdoor Outfitters has tents and camping lanterns. And boy, does Maxwell Moose owe us one after scaring us half to death.” Her empty stomach grumbled. “Do you know how to work a butane lantern? I don't.”

“You bet. Having a former Boy Scout around comes in handy.”

“Somehow, I have a hard time picturing you as a Boy Scout. I didn't know they gave merit badges for flippant flirting.” Not to mention naughty double entendres and scorching intensity.

“I'll have you know I was top-notch.” He winked. “At scouting, not flirting. Didn't make it to Eagle Scout like Aidan, but I had my strong suits.”

“Starting fires, for instance?”

He held her gaze, his beautiful eyes smoky. “There are fires, and then there are fires.”

Heat shimmered in her bloodstream. “Don't I know it.”

“Let's scrounge up some grub, and come back.” He tucked his pack and the blankets under a wooden bench inside Outdoor Outfitter's doorway. “Stash your stuff here.”

The lure of sustenance drove them to the food court. The first
restaurant in the loop was a fast-food outlet and offered raw frozen meat patties, frozen fries and packaged condiments.

Bailey shivered. The mall was growing so cold, if she didn't get something hot in her stomach, she'd end up as stiff as the white-frosted fries. She considered a foil ketchup packet. “I saw Lucy make tomato soup with ketchup and hot water on TV once, but I don't want to go that route unless we have no other choice.”

“I'm hungry enough to eat just about anything, but that sounds as bad as Grady's Can-do Casserole.”

“What is Can-do Casserole? I haven't had the pleasure.”

“Lucky you.” Con grimaced. “When it was Grady's turn to cook, what the rest of us called Desperation Casserole was his favorite dish. First, he'd dump random canned goods into a baking dish. Then baby bro would sprinkle the concoction with frozen Tater Tots, grated cheese, and cayenne pepper and bake it until he remembered to take it out, or his homework was done. Whichever came first.” He shuddered. “Sometimes we renamed the crud Cajun Blackened Char-Tots.”

“Blech.” Grady's adventurous cooking didn't surprise her. Con had said that Grady was forever experimenting as a kid. Taking apart Con's alarm clock. Setting Con's bedspread on fire with wacky chemistry experiments. A reserve SWAT officer and part-time paramedic, Grady was the only medicine man in a long line of cops and soldiers, and was jokingly dubbed the black sheep of the family. Grady suffered from an incurable urge to fix everyone and everything. He was always hauling home stray dogs and birds with broken wings.

Con's mom had doled out age-appropriate household chores from the time her sons were knee-high. She'd told Bailey that no woman would need to look after one of her boys. Unlike Bailey, who hadn't been allowed near a stove, or “dangerous” household chemicals and appliances. After leaving home, she'd taught herself everything she needed to know from reading books.

“Can-Do Casserole sounds so Grady.” Laughing, she pointed at the restaurant across from them. “Good Earth Café. Hopefully, we'll find something more palatable.”

The refrigerator inside the café was loaded with treasure. Bailey stuffed bags with sourdough rolls, sliced cheddar, a big, moist chunk of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting for herself, and a generous piece of Con's favorite apple pie. Con used his Swiss Army Knife to coax open a vending machine. If he wasn't such a great cop, he could have a stellar career as a cat burglar. Vegetable soup, cocoa and coffee were still warm inside the insulated compartments.

Trying not to feel like a looter as they hurried back toward Outdoor Outfitters, Bailey mentally calculated the cost of the food to add to her notebook tally. She shifted her bag for better balance. “I love hearing about your adventures growing up. Your rowdy, dominantly male household was so different from mine.”

“Life with your mom and Nanny Nightmare was suffocating, huh?”

Suffocating was the exact word to describe her stilted existence with her mom and the Wagnerian Valkyrie German nanny Ellen Chambers had insisted on hiring to ease the burden of being a single parent. When Bailey had protested she was too old for a live-in baby-sitter, the strict, humor-impaired woman had been dubbed her “tutor.” Bailey had then been force-fed German.

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh yeah. Frau Herrman was about as cuddly as one of those frozen meat patties.” Bailey had endured the dour woman's stranglehold until she had turned eighteen and determinedly struck out on her own.

Con's dark eyes warmed with sympathetic golden lights. “I'm sorry you had such a rough time, sweetheart.”

“Hey, compared to kids with real problems, I had nothing to complain about. I was fed, healthy and cared for. Tell me more. When it was your turn to cook, what was your specialty?”

“Guess.”

“Spaghetti and tossed salad with garlic bread?”

“Got it in one.”

He'd cooked spaghetti dinners for her before. Served with Chianti and candlelight, the simple meal had become one of her favorites. The food was even more delicious because Con lovingly prepared it with his own hands. “What about Liam and Aidan?”

“Liam went for the preparation ease and one-pot cleanup of chili dogs. Aidan enjoyed mucking around with ingredients and recipes, and unlike Grady, actually possessed some talent. Other than Mom's cooking, which can't be beat, we got our most tasty meals from Aidan. His macaroni-and-cheese isn't half bad. And he makes a mean meatloaf.”

She longingly pictured the O'Rourke clan gathered around Maureen's sturdy oak dining set. Teasing and laughter would have accompanied banter about the day's events over filling, homey foods. As she'd told Con, she had no reason to complain. She'd never gone hungry. However, after Bailey's dad died, meals at the Chambers' household became damask and china affairs with menus designed for sophisticated palates. With emphasis on intelligent conversation and using the proper fork.

Ellen Chambers had invested considerable energy into raising Bailey in preparation for what she called “marrying well.” A serious, refined, Armani-clad financier or respected corporate lawyer would do nicely. Blech again. That kind of stiff sounded less appetizing than Grady's Can-Do Casserole.

Bailey, who'd escaped her rigid, no-nonsense home life through books and make-believe, had always had a thing for gallant knights in shining armor.

Con gestured with his bag. “Here we are.”

He retrieved the packs and blankets from their hiding spots beneath a wooden bench inside the doorway. “Let's set up camp in one of the big tents in the back. It will be warm, dry and hidden.” He piled the supplies on the bench and indicated for her to do the same. “Safety first. Come with me.”

He strode out to the mall walkway and yanked down a length of fir swag from the balcony railing. He detached a handful of glass ball ornaments from the swag and passed them to her. Then he grabbed another handful and began throwing them to the floor outside the store. The shards tinkled musically over the faux marble. “Start chucking Christmas balls, darlin'.”

She watched him, her brows knit in puzzlement. “You get a sudden, inexplicable urge to commit vandalism?”

“Listen.” He stepped on the shards, and they made a distinct
crunching sound under his boot soles. “Early warning system. We can cozy up in a tent in the back, and if anyone heads our way, we'll hear. To them, it will simply look like the swag fell under its own weight and the ornaments scattered and broke.”

Amazed, she flung ornaments. “You are one smart cookie.”

“Aidan gets credit for this maneuver. He knows damn near every survival trick in the book.”

“Speaking of your capable, hard-headed-as-a-rock big brother, what are he and the SWAT team doing now?”

“First they'll secure the incident site and gather as much intel from as many different sources as possible. About the mall, suspects and hostages. Next, establish communication with the bad guys. Acquire a list of demands and bargain for hostage release.”

They finished smashing ornaments and moved into the store. Inside, Maxwell Moose sprawled like a petrified hit-and-run victim across three collapsed tents, his hooves pointing straight up.

There were no emergency lights, and farther in, the hushed blackness was thick and inky. Bailey retrieved a flashlight from her pack and angled the beam in a slow circle. The store was huge. The vaulted ceiling was painted like a night sky, complete with glow-in-the-dark stars and northern lights. Wall murals gave the impression of a secluded Alaskan clearing surrounded by forest. Gave the perception of solitude. Safety. A fantasy she desperately wanted to buy into. Dripping fake trees sat around the room, along with water-beaded tents. Shelves bulged with camping and survival equipment. As a hiding place, it had merit.

“How will they contact the robbers? Yelling through a megaphone seems counterproductive to peace talks.”

Con handed her the food bags and then picked up the packs and blankets. “The negotiator has a throw phone. A mobile unit he tosses out. The suspects retrieve it and take it inside. Meanwhile, armed officers have surrounded the building in both a tight inner and outer perimeter, and snipers are in position. They've got a miserable job. Lying on the ground, no matter the weather, waiting. Watching, staying alert, immobile for hours.”