Midnight Hero (24 page)

Con nodded. He knew Pop had broken his leg once upon a time, but had never heard the details. “He got caught.”

“Yeah. And didn't rat me out. Big of him, huh? When confronted, he took responsibility rather than implicate Maureen or me.”

“You've carried a grudge against Pop for over twenty years for not squealing on you? Color me confused.”

Tony hit him again, and Con swore. “I am not your personal punching bag, maggot.”

“Just having a little fun before the main event.” Tony wiped his knuckles on his shirt. “Nothing happened to Private Goody Two-shoes. The CO was a broad.” Tony sneered.

Ah, DiMarco, your cards are marked, and I just figured out how to read 'em. “You have a problem with women in authority?”

“Yeah, Nancy boy, I do. Broads don't know squat about leadership. Even when lives are on the line, they're too friggin' softhearted to do what needs to be done.”

“Is that right?” Too bad he hadn't seen Bailey flattening his crew member with the Nutcracker.

“Maureen didn't hesitate to bring my name up and proclaim her beloved friend Brian's innocence, but I kept my mouth shut. So Maureen insisted it was a mix-up with the paperwork, and
tried to take the blame. The CO knew something was fishy, but couldn't prove a thing. She didn't want to lose a top-notch nurse like Maureen, and she went easy on Brian because she liked him. He'd always been a good little soldier. No black marks on his record. Not to mention that Irish charm. They got the loot back, no harm, no foul.” He raised his cigarette, inhaled, and again parked it in the dish. “No laws had actually been broken, so they couldn't press charges. Brian went into the hospital, where Maureen nursed him through recovery and rehab.” Tony sneered. “While I went to 'Nam and came back a walking cliché.”

Con scowled. DiMarco was bent long before he marched off to war. Millions of men, men like Con's commanding officer, Captain Green, and Syrone served active duty without turning into whack jobs. Every crook Con arrested trotted out the Big Excuse, and whined about it in court. Something to blame for their downfall. Everything but themselves and poor choices. “I still fail to see how this is my father's fault.”

“Are you blind, kid? He got caught red-handed, and was rewarded. He turned my woman against me, the only person I've ever loved. Then stole her out from under my nose. He got the gorgeous wife, four sons and a big-shot career as a hero. Me? Nobody ever caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but I got shipped off to hell. When I came back, instead of being hailed the hero I was, I got spit on. I lost everything. Including my dignity.”

“Maybe you should have done the right thing, instead of slinking away. You could have admitted your culpability and taken what was coming to you like he did. Like a man.”

“I'm more of a man than he could have ever dreamed of being.”

“A legend in your own mind.” Con did a covert visual sweep of the exit. No signs of the “chopper.” Keep him talking. Raise the stakes. Buy a few more minutes. “Did you follow him to Riverside after Denver fell through?”

“I tracked his whereabouts. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Brian finally got what was coming to him. So will you. I'll retire with all this beautiful money, and live the high life. The life I deserve.”

“You'll get what you deserve all right.” Con stared DiMarco in the eye. Dammit, the slimebag was dancing all around the edge of an outright admission, never tipping his hand. Con hadn't heard any viable evidence, and DiMarco knew it. Crazy, not stupid. “Did you frame and kill my father?”

“I know a rotten apple in the high-and-mighty O'Rourke family tree is unthinkable. It eats at you, doesn't it? Not knowing.”

Con gritted his teeth.
Play the game. Ignore the pain.
“I
do
know. I want you to confirm it.”

“How does it feel every time you visit that empty grave? Not knowing where his body is? Bet it rips Maureen's heart out.” Triple aces on the table.

Agony arrowed into Con's chest. “No, it doesn't,” he lied. He'd be damned if he'd give DiMarco the
satisfaction
of losing it. DiMarco hadn't told him a thing he could take to the D.A. All the evidence was circumstantial. All the “testimony” hearsay. Without a body, the murder was impossible to prove, and the bastard knew it. “We know where his soul is. We'll see him again. You won't. You think you went to hell before? Eternity's hottest wiener roast has a standing reservation with your name on the books.”

“You hang together pretty good, kid. I've kept my eye on your family all these years. Yep, Daddy
would
be proud. You want more?” He held up his beefy wrist. “See this watch?” The watch Con and his brothers had worked so hard to buy and fix up. The watch he had seen his father wearing on the last day of his life. DiMarco laughed, and bet the pot. “The hands stopped at twelve-forty-nine and thirty seconds. The second I saw Brian O'Rourke depart this world…screaming like a woman.”

Con clenched his fists so hard his short nails cut into his palms. He shook with the desire to wrap his fingers around DiMarco's throat and squeeze the breath out of him.
Hold the line, Officer O'Rourke. Stay in the game. For your honor. Your family. For Bailey.
See you and raise you one. “You wouldn't know the truth if it was tattooed on your forehead.”

Outside, the sound of whirring blades filled the air. Bright lights cut a swath through the darkness. Con risked a quick glance at the front door. Showtime.

DiMarco patted Con's cheek.
Raise and call.
“The chopper is here. Time to die, kid.”

 

Outside the theater, Bailey watched as Tony tugged a remote from a vest pocket and pointed it at the door. “Explosives disarmed.” His lips curled in an evil smile. “As soon as my crew shows up, we're outta here. In case I forget later, be sure to say hello to your father for me. Maybe I'll give my condolences to your mother personally. The lonely widow might be glad to see me.”

Terror's sharp talons sunk into Bailey's chest. Once DiMarco's crew returned, she'd be vastly outnumbered. Time to execute her hastily formed plan. What had Con called it earlier? Improvise, modify, adapt, overcome. And pray it worked. She whirled inside and pointed the gun at DiMarco. “Freeze. Drop the weapon.”

Con's startled gaze locked on her. His eyes widened and he swore.

DiMarco froze for an instant, then turned his head to stare at her. He grinned and kept the gun pointed at Con's temple. “Look who it is. Charlie's Angel. This isn't the movies, cupcake.”

“I'm not acting. Drop it.”

“Sure thing. I'm gonna drop my gun for a broad who doesn't even have the heart to kill a spider.” DiMarco peered at her. “What the hell is that in your hand?” He squinted. “A toy? A friggin' water gun?” He started to laugh. “What are you gonna do, cupcake, dribble me to death?”

The real gun was tucked into her front waistband, under her sweatshirt. She didn't know how to aim or shoot it, and Con was safer with her bearing the squirt gun. At least if she accidentally shot him with acetic acid, he wouldn't die. He'd left the pack containing the weapons stashed behind a life-size cutout of Tom Cruise at the end of the hallway. Thus, his “pleasure cruise” hint. She knew how his mind worked. He meant for her to take the weapons, hole up with Letty and Mike and hide.

“Are you so sure it's a toy?” Bailey risked a glanced at Con. Once Tony got him outside, he'd kill him. DiMarco would go psycho when he found out the chopper was a decoy and he
wasn't escaping with his precious money. He and Rico had claimed the snipers couldn't shoot in this weather. Con was unarmed and unprotected. At the mercy of a madman who would gladly die before surrendering to the police. As Con had said, SBC—suicide by cop.

“Give me a break. I was Black Ops for years. That sorry imitation doesn't fool me.”

The gun might not, but she was about to. Good thing Tony didn't know about her and Con. A huge advantage. In his wildest dreams, DiMarco would never have guessed she'd come back for Con. He had another think coming.

She'd be damned if she'd hide and cower while her man died.

“Maybe it's loaded with deadly poison.”

“Yeah, right. And I wear women's underwear for thrills.”

“What you do for jollies doesn't concern me.” Her hands were shaking like leaves in a windstorm, and she sucked in a breath. “Let the officer go and we all walk away with what we want. Your chopper is here, you've got your money. Grab it and leave.”

Tony's eyes gleamed with avarice. “Wrong, cupcake. I don't have my satisfaction.”

Whatever twisted philosophy he followed, he followed it to the max. A zealot. Her throat had turned into the Sahara, and she tried to moisten her mouth. Zealots did not hesitate to die for their beliefs. And take innocents with them. “If you kill a police officer, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth. You'll never get a chance to spend one dollar of your haul.” She attempted to swallow. “Is your satisfaction worth that?”

“Yeah. It is.” His obsidian gaze crawled over her body, making her long for a shower. With Lysol bodywash. “You're a real hot number, aren't you?” DiMarco nodded. “Yeah. You really do remind me of that special someone. Instead of killing you both, cupcake and I will get better acquainted.”

“Don't touch her, maggot,” Con snapped, drawing Tony's attention back to him.

“So, it's like that is it?” Tony smirked. “I've already touched her, and she liked it.”

A low growl rumbled in Con's throat, and Tony winked at Bailey, clearly enjoying Con's anger. “You know what kind of piddly ass wages cops make, cupcake? We could have a lot of fun. Bet you've never partied on a tropical island with a rich man.”

Con's entire body tensed, and Bailey's heart galloped in her chest. She could not look at him with that big, lethal gun pointed at his head and consider the possibility that he would again put himself between her and the bad guy. There was no Kevlar between the bullets and his brain.

“I'm sorry, Tony. I cannot let you walk out of this theater with him.”

“Damn, you are cute when you're riled.” Tony's words were playful, his demeanor dead serious. “Okay. I'll shoot him now. I only need one hostage, and you'll be a hell of a lot more fun.” She didn't doubt him. He meant to murder Con in cold blood.

Her pulse hammered in her ears so loudly she could barely hear. She was trembling all over. She'd done plenty of things tonight she hadn't thought herself capable of. But looking into Tony's eyes and making a cold, calculated decision was different. Hurting, possibly killing another human being, even a vile criminal, was much harder when done in chilling reality. Without the fight-or-flight instinct thrumming in her veins. Without her immediate survival at stake. Con made this decision every day. Then lived with the consequences. How did he do it?

“Bailey.” Con's low hail was soft, and deathly quiet. His glowing mahogany gaze caressed her, cherished her, his most treasured possession. “It's okay, baby. I love you for who you are. Always.”

Tears stung her eyes and a lump swelled in her throat. Con was staring into the jaws of death…and telling her that even if she didn't have the courage to save him, he understood. And loved her anyway.

Bailey blinked back the tears. She'd found her courage hours ago, wrapped in the faith of the man she loved. A man who loved her in return. Unconditionally. Protecting your loved ones wasn't a burden. It was a privilege.

She sent a silent message to Con.
My heart chooses you.

His full lips wobbled for a brief second, and then he pressed them into a firm line. His gaze embraced her. Message received.

She cocked her head at Tony. She only needed the gun at Con's temple to waver for a moment. “I'll go with you. But I have three conditions.” On the word three, she flashed a quick glance at Con.

Con's eyes flickered in recognition. As DiMarco chuckled and again puffed his cigarette, Bailey shifted and brushed her free hand over the front of her sweatshirt. The casual motion looked like she'd merely adjusted her stance. But in reality, she'd signaled Con, telling him where she'd hidden the pistol.

Tony returned his smoldering cigarette to the dish. “I can't wait to hear this.”

“One.” She did not look at Con, but felt the weight of his intent gaze focused on her. He would do his job. Now, she had to do hers. She watched DiMarco. She wanted, needed his complete attention. “Let the cop go. Alive. We don't need him, and I don't relish becoming a raccoon for the FBI bloodhounds.” He wouldn't even consider it, but that didn't matter.

“But he
loves
you,” Tony mocked.
“Always.”

“Mom always said it was as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.” Ellen Chambers
had
preached that sermon. At least once a week. “I guess she was right.”
Not.
Bailey shrugged. Though she feigned nonchalance, every nerve in her body shrieked and cold sweat dampened her skin.

“Typical broad.” DiMarco snorted at Con. “What'd I tell ya? They never come through in the clinch. She's throwing you to the wolves for the money, kid. Dying should come as a relief.”

“Two.”
Broad?
She'd show DiMarco a broad who came through for her man. Bailey swallowed hard and tried to stop shaking.
Stay balanced. Hit the target the very first time.
If she missed, Con died. “About the money. We leave your crew, and split the take.”

Tony grinned. “Enterprising little hummingbird, aren't you? That point is negotiable…we'll discuss it later. What's your third condition, cupcake?”

Bailey shifted the water gun from her right hand to her left.
Her fingers tightened on the grip. Her stomach rolled and nausea rose in her throat.