Midnight Hero (22 page)

For the first time, Bailey completely understood that compulsion. She would not hesitate to give her life to keep
him
safe.

In fact, she might be about to do just that.

She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs, oxygenating her muscles. Her timing had to be impeccable, her execution flawless. She wasn't stupid enough to embark on a suicide mission. She could and would make it. For Con. For their future.

She watched Mr. No Neck execute another methodical patrol, and stretched her weary muscles. Prepared for the scariest race of her life. Sweat slicked her palms and her nerves jittered. Too bad she didn't dare return for the pack, a weapon might come in handy later. No time, though. She couldn't risk leading the robber to Con. And the extra weight would just slow her down anyway.

The robber started his third sweep, and she swallowed hard.
Ready or not. Ollie, ollie oxen free.
The ludicrous phrase from a childhood game of hide-and-seek popped into her head. Except this was no game. This was a race to the finish, in every sense of the word.

Balanced on the balls of her feet, Bailey took another deep breath, and hit the exit running full out. Irresistible bait.
Catch me if you can.
Unless he was blind, deaf and comatose, No Neck couldn't fail to see her.

He didn't disappoint.

He tore after her, a bull charging the red flag. Her arms and legs pumping, she dashed down the mall. Having raced up and down this stinking hallway fifty times tonight, she knew every inch.

She hurtled past deserted stores, flashes of dimness breaking the pervasive gloom. Her pursuer lagged behind. She didn't stand a chance going head to head with him in a fight. But in a long-distance run, a greyhound would leave a bull in the dust.

Supercharged by adrenaline, she ran. Her plan was to lure the robber into the tree wreckage. With him entangled in debris, she'd follow the maze she'd cleared to wheel Con out. Then she'd circle the escalators, double back and head for the bank end of the mall. Once she got far enough ahead, she could veer into a store.

If No Neck didn't see where she went, he'd have the devil's own time finding her. The hunt would keep him busy—and away from Con—until she radioed SWAT. They'd send in the cavalry, and everyone could finally get the hell out of here and go home. It was a good plan. Not bad for a bookstore clerk.

The escalators lurched into view. Her mistake with Glacier Eyes had taught her not to look back, no matter how tempting. Her pursuer's harsh panting echoed through the corridor about
thirty feet behind. She leapt over the first hurdle and rushed headlong into the wreckage. Several moments later, crashing sounded behind her. So far, so good.

She located the path and zigzagged through the ruins. Thrashing and inventive swearing from No Neck—right on schedule. Clearing the carnage, she vaulted the last barrier. The robber tried to bulldoze out of the epicenter, with no luck.

A fierce grin creased her face. Greyhound, one…bull, zero. Now, circle back, and then get the heck outta Dodge. She tore around the bank of immobile escalators. Her pursuer was out of sight, which meant he couldn't see her either.

Keeping her eyes on the corridor ahead, she instinctively skirted the mounded batting. The last leg of the marathon loomed in front of her. One long, last dash for freedom. For Con. Her blood pumped hot with resolve. With victory.

Something snagged her right ankle. She stumbled, flailed and tried to extricate her foot. For a moment, she teetered in midair. Then gravity caught hold and slammed her to the floor.

She lay stunned, trying to find her bearings.
Up. She had to get up.
Panting, she pushed to her hands and knees.

And came nose to nose with Glacier Eyes' malevolent face.

“What goes around comes around, Fairy,” he gritted. He waved a tree branch he'd used to trip her. “Not so smart now, are you?”

She didn't have time for a war of wits with the weaponless. She shoved to her feet and started running.

“Gotcha!” No Neck growled, and she was jerked backward by the hair.

She yelped as the whiplash snapped her neck back.

“Good going, Jace,” No Neck gloated.

“I owed the bitch one.” Glacier Eyes…she couldn't think of him as anything else…smiled his nasty smile.

No Neck smirked. “If she hadn't covered you up all nice and cozy and left the packages laying around, I would never have known which store to search.”

Bailey clenched her teeth on a scream of frustration. She could kick her own butt. Trying to help a fellow human being had backfired, big time. Double backfired. If she hadn't covered
Glacier Eyes, No Neck wouldn't have found her. If Glacier Eyes had gone into shock, he wouldn't have been conscious enough to trip her. She didn't regret covering him. She
did
regret screwing up and leaving behind the blanket packages—emblazoned with the store's name and logo. Exhaustion, worry and her rush to get back to Con had cost her.

Glacier Eyes stared up at her. His face was contorted with pain, but he still found the energy to sneer. “Even with two broken legs, I took you down. What do you think of me now, Fairy?”

She kept her face expressionless. “You're not worth thinking about.”

He scowled. “Oh, hey, Rico, watch yourself. There's a—”

Bailey's heart stuttered. He was going to tell No Neck about Con! She nudged his left leg with the tip of her boot and winced when he screamed. Then he passed out. She cringed. Who knew he'd faint? She'd merely intended to stop him from ratting out Con.

“What'd you do that for?” No Neck…what had Glacier Eyes called him? Rico sounded incredulous. Obviously, not the sharpest crayon in the box.

“He got on my last nerve.” She hadn't wanted to hurt the man. But protecting Con was her number-one priority. Now, she needed to redirect Rico's attention from his buddy's cryptic message. She tugged against his grasp on her curls. If one more Neanderthal yanked her around by the hair, she would break his fingers. “Let go of my hair, you cretin.”

Amazingly, Rico complied. Bailey spun to face him. She wasn't scared. She was heartily sick of being afraid. She was mad. No, mad didn't do how she felt justice. She was livid. Raging.

Breathing fire.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her captor. She was outgunned. Outmaneuvered. Out of options.

“Take me to Tony,” she demanded. “Now.”

3:00 a.m.

C
on jolted awake, his heart thundering in his chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He struggled to sit up. Where was he? Darkness pressed in from every corner. A hammer clanged inside his skull. Dizziness and nausea broadsided him, making him reel. His instincts were screaming. Bailey's face hovered in his thoughts.

Bailey!

He didn't search. Didn't call out. The vast emptiness, the frozen despair in his guts told him she was gone.

Where?

Loyal to the point of death, Bailey would never desert him. He flung off the blankets, as thick and heavy as the fog muddling his thoughts. Had Syrone radioed for help while Con was out? As much as he'd like to think so, he didn't believe it for a second. Syrone wouldn't endanger Bailey's life. Under any circumstances.

He peered at his watch, the illuminated dial stark blue in the icy gloom, and his queasy stomach pitched. He'd been dead to the world over an hour. Was Bailey with Nan? No. He'd barricaded mother and baby inside the salon. Bailey couldn't get to them.

That left one possibility. One he couldn't bear to consider.

Like an answer from his worst nightmare, the
receiving
light on the blue walkie-talkie blinked. A surge of adrenaline blasted his sluggish reflexes, and he attached the headset with unsteady hands. Dread jittered inside him as he turned on the unit. He didn't have to say anything. The corresponding light on the robbers' unit would show he'd connected.

“About friggin' time,” Tony's graveled voice said. “I've got someone here who wants to speak to you.”

Con's heart stopped beating.
Oh, Lord. Please, no!

“C'mon, cupcake. Deliver the message,” Tony demanded.

Taut silence hummed over the line. Con held his breath.

“Noncompliance. We're gonna have to do this the hard way.” Tony sighed, but he sounded almost pleased.

Without warning, Bailey screamed. A high-pitched blade of pain, slicing Con's skin, drawing blood.

His heart slammed into his rib cage and tried to hammer out of his chest. What had the bastard done to her? His throbbing brain conjured up half a dozen horrifying images, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It didn't help. “You sonofabitch,” he snarled into the mic. “Plan on having a closed casket. Because when I get done with you, what's left won't be recognizable.”

“Aha. The anonymous thorn in my ass speaks up at last. I want you. Unarmed. In the multiplex. Ten minutes…or the cupcake dies.” Tony laughed, low and ugly. “And I'll make sure it hurts.” He broke the connection.

Bile surged into Con's throat. He was shaking like a rookie in his first firefight. Bailey must have gone willingly with Tony's men. Even zonked out by the head injury, a struggle would have awakened Con. She had protected him. At great cost to herself. Maybe the ultimate price.

He clenched his fists against the slap of grief.
Hold it together.
Bailey's life depended on his actions in the next few minutes. He sucked in a breath. He had hard choices to make. Fast.

He exchanged walkie-talkies and called Command. Aidan's voice transmitted into his headset. “I was just about to contact you. Alpha Eight snagged a visual on the crew leader through his scope. We've ID'd him. DiMarco, Anthony C. Six foot one, two hundred pounds, age fifty-five. He owns a security company in town. Appears squeaky clean on the surface, no rap sheet. His business trains and supplies guards to banks and armored cars.”

“And acquires inside intel to pull bank jobs. Nice setup.”

“Ten-four. Unsolved crimes in Denver follow the same MO. When Denver got too hot, he moved to the Pacific Northwest.
Here's another news flash. He joined the army about the same time as Pop. They attended basic together, and were both in the twenty-fifth infantry. They were stationed in Hawaii for three months before Pop was injured and mustered out, and Tony went to Vietnam.”

Con's intuition twitched. Their mother had also been in Hawaii, working as a civilian nurse at the army hospital during the war. Coincidence? Not on your life. “There's more to this story.”

“A lot more.” Aidan paused. “DiMarco did two tours of duty. Black Ops. He's a trained killer.”

Con would bet his right arm DiMarco had murdered his father. Now he'd captured Bailey. Hot anger welled in his chest. When Con finished with him, the slimeball's war years would seem like the freaking Mardi Gras. “So am I.”

“Not like DiMarco, bro. He did things the military doesn't even want to know about. You've seen the crime-scene photos on those unsolved bank jobs and home invasions. He's a butcher. One who enjoys his work.”

“I'm canceling his butcher's license. Now.” Con briefed Aidan on the current scenario, and his quickly formed plan.

When Con finished, he didn't have to see his brother's face to know Aidan was scowling. “Going kamikaze won't help anyone.”

“I don't intend to crash and burn.”
Unless I have to.

“You're breaking every damn protocol, and you know it. Greene will skewer your ass for shish kebab.”

“I don't have a choice.”

“Aw, hell.” Aidan's gusty exhale oozed frustration. “For what it's worth, I'd do the same.”

Con grinned. “I know.”

“The weather is hell on wheels out here. We're having trouble getting the equipment situated. If the timing doesn't click, if you don't catch the right break…” Aidan's voice deepened with suppressed emotion. “No. We'll do it. Come back breathing, bro.”

“That's the plan.” Con ran his hand over his hair. “Listen, if…well…Just tell Mom…” He shook his head. “Tell her I know I was always her favorite.”

“You wish.” Aidan's chuckle sounded ragged. “Good fortune
be yours.” His brother invoked their grandmother's Irish blessing in a not-quite-steady voice. Gran had said the blessing over them each time the family had departed the Emerald Isle after a visit. “May troubles ignore you each step of the way.”

Con swallowed the lump in his throat and finished the blessing. “May the saints protect you. And your joys never end.” He set his jaw. “I'm glad you've got my back. All of you. Give my regards to Alpha Seven and Doc Holliday.” With the final farewell to Aidan, Liam and Grady, Con signed off. “Over and out.”

His hands now rock-solid steady, Con removed the blue unit from his belt and stowed it in the pack beside the loaded squirt guns. He wouldn't need to contact the team again. Palming the pistol, he made sure there was a round in the chamber. The clip held twelve more. He released the safety and slid the gun into the pack. Ignoring the pain clamoring for attention in his temples, he tossed a tab of cinnamon gum into his mouth and strode into the mall. A walking weapon.

Locked and loaded.

Keeping to cover, he sprinted toward the multiplex. A frozen, greasy ball churned in his stomach.
Fear.
Not for himself. For Bailey. His woman. His soul mate. He'd never been afraid before a mission. Sure, a part of him always knew he might not come back. Cops died every day in the line of duty. He didn't dwell on it. You couldn't. Not if you were gonna survive.

He made a wide circle around scattered jawbreakers outside Toys Galore. His throat tightened. His girl had fought valiantly beside him. Untrained, she hadn't flagged. Unprepared, she'd never failed. Not one complaint had passed her sweet lips. Not even when she'd been attacked and cruelly beaten. He pressed a fist to his aching chest. Now he knew why surgeons didn't operate on members of their own family. Bailey was being tortured at the hands of the madman who had very possibly brutally murdered his father. Con couldn't stop it. Couldn't help her. The thought razored his insides. His objectivity was shot to hell. A liability he couldn't afford.

He passed Bedroom Furniture Emporium and sent a silent salute toward Syrone. With any luck, the big guy would soon re
join his family.
Family.
A cop's most valuable asset. Con would have self-destructed without his mom's wise guidance, his brothers' loyal friendship. The awareness that his brothers were outside, backing him up, twisted inside him. They wouldn't let him down. But they also shared his danger. Shared his distress. As he shared theirs.

The knowledge was both comfort and torment. Bittersweet. After Con's dad was murdered, he'd witnessed his mother's anguish, his brothers' suffering. And hadn't been able to stop that, either. He'd hated feeling helpless. Despised his vulnerability. Didn't ever want to feel that way again. Instead, he'd become Super Cop. Putting his body between innocents and the criminals who would tear them apart so other families wouldn't suffer.

The love of his life had just done the same for him.

As he prowled down the dark corridor, the lightbulb in his brain switched on, illuminating his heart with bone-chilling clarity. He finally realized why Bailey had tried to break them up. Finally understood her fears. She'd hit the target dead center.

He
had
wanted to be everybody's damn knight in shining armor.

Bailey had pointed out the chink in his chain mail. He didn't take foolish chances, but he
had
shrugged off what he considered acceptable risks. Only now, from Bailey's viewpoint, those risks didn't look nearly as innocuous.

Con grimaced. Saving the world
wasn't
his responsibility. Wasn't in his control. In spite of what he liked to believe, he was as vulnerable as every other mortal man. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs. Well, hallelujah. He'd seen the light. Not a great revelation to whammy him with before going into combat.

Counting, he slowly released the breath. He would not go off half-cocked and do anything to jeopardize Bailey's safety. Or his own. Not unless he was forced to. He had brand-new incentive. He wanted to come home to the woman he loved. Every night for the rest of his life.

And if he lost her?

Like an invisible brick wall, the horrible thought slammed him to a stop. He'd lose his perspective. His balance.

His reason to live.

He stood immobile, struggling to master his feelings. He could
not
lose control. Bailey's scared face wavered in his mind's eye. He rolled his taut shoulders and shoved down his emotions. Froze them beneath a layer of icy determination. He stashed the pack in its hiding place. Phase one of the op complete.

The fight of his life was ticking down to the final bell.

 

Inside the theater lobby, Bailey pressed her spine against the concession counter, determined not to shrink away as Tony again approached her. Instinctively, she realized he respected her—in his own warped way—because she hadn't shown the fear raging inside.

Even when he'd burned her with his cigarette.

Terror crouched inside her, ready to pounce and tear her composure to shreds. She clung to anger, using it as a welcome shield to beat back the fear. She touched trembling fingers to the blister on the side of her neck. Tony hadn't been able to force her to talk to Con and arrange Con's surrender. She'd walk into hell barefoot and naked before letting herself be used as bait.

Tony towered over her, obsidian eyes snapping. The blood-red theater lights creased his rugged face in hard lines. “In spite of your denials, I knew you weren't alone out there. You're a quivering little librarian. You couldn't even kill a bug, much less take out my crew, cupcake.”

The burly man named Rico, the one who had captured her, snorted. He and Tony were the only bank robbers left standing.
And then there were two.
She and Con had leveled the odds. “I don't know, boss. You should ask Jace about that.”

Tony ignored him and moved closer to Bailey. “Who is it? Who's been helping you?”

She gritted her teeth and remained silent. As she had earlier when Tony had taunted her—and backhanded her across the face. She didn't regret protecting Con by turning herself in. Con had said he'd never trade himself for a hostage; it was stupid and against procedure. She'd bought him over an hour to rest and recover. Time to plan and summon SWAT. One hour that could mean the difference between life and death. For him. For all of them.

She held Tony's gaze. Unlike the man who had attacked her in the mall, Tony's eyes glittered with fervor. A fanatic, dedicated to his cause. Not afraid of anything. There was no compassion in those crackling black orbs. No trace of humanity.

So this was what uncompromising evil looked like.

Bailey bit the inside of her cheek, battling despair. If only she hadn't screamed when he'd burned her! If she'd seen it coming, she could have been prepared, gritted her teeth and held it in. Considering how Con had reacted when Glacier Eyes hit her…she shuddered. Her scream of pain would be the one thing that might make Con ignore his training. Make him burst in, guns blazing. Cause him to react instead of act.

Get him killed.

She raised her chin.
Keep the faith.
Faith in Con's intelligence. His integrity. His love for her, love that would hold him steady. Hold him to his training. It was their only hope.

Tony pinched her cheek, which, judging from the lingering sting, probably bore his handprint. “Let's try another question. Where are my men?”

Bailey shrugged. If she didn't speak at all, no information would slip out by accident. No way could she tell him. If Tony's crew returned, Con would be vastly outnumbered. The SWAT team would face five armed men instead of two.

“You've got more backbone than I thought, I'll give you that. But you're not too bright.” He extracted another cigarette from the pack on the counter and lit up. The noxious smoke attacked her sinuses, mingling nauseatingly with the smell of stale popcorn. “Or you like pain. You bent that way, cupcake?”