My Spy: Last Spy Standing (12 page)

He got back up and climbed again, this time making sure he got a better hold on the man. He got Jason out halfway, then all the way, lowered him to the ground, slipped down next to him then dragged him a safe distance from the gasoline fumes. On a hot day like this, the sun alone could be enough to ignite something.

“Hey, wake up.” He pulled up the guy’s eyelid to check his pupils.

And then the man was coming to at last, moaning as Jamie searched him.

No weapon.

“Where is your gun?”

Another moan came in response. Not altogether helpful.

Jamie swore. They were going to need the murder weapon. He wanted a conviction. He wanted to make sure the guy could never come after Bree again. So he ran back to the pickup, climbed back up again, down into the cab and looked for a gun.

Nothing.

Maybe Jason’s weapon was still at the hotel. Maybe in his rush to escape he didn’t have time to grab it. Or maybe he’d discarded it after the hit, thinking it’d served its purpose.

Did he even know that he’d hit the wrong woman?

Jamie scampered out of the overturned vehicle and went for Jason, who was sitting now and holding his head, still moaning. “Help.”

“Stay down.” He called Bree. “I got Tanner.” He gave his location and a brief explanation. Then he called 911 and asked for paramedics.

* * *

G
RIEF
AND
ANGER
swirled inside Bree as she watched from behind the two-way mirror as Delancy and another officer questioned Jason Tanner. He’d changed since she’d last seen him. He’d grown taller and filled out, and a five-o’clock shadow covered his face. He fidgeted on his chair, his eyes darting around the room. He was definitely off his meds. When he was taking them, he had an eerie sort of vacant look.

Since she was personally involved in the case, she couldn’t go in there. Conflict of interest. At least they had him. And she had Jamie Cassidy to thank for that. She could have kissed him when she’d caught up with him by the side of the road.

The paramedics had already been checking Jason out when she’d arrived. He was scraped up and shaken but hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. They’d pronounced him well enough to be taken in.

And now here they all were. Delancy didn’t pull her punches as she questioned him.

“I had nothing to do with that,” he whined. “My head’s hurting.”

Jason had admitted to the stalking and photos, even to the vandalism, within minutes. But he denied the shooting. Of course he would. He might have had some mental issues, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to admit to murder.

Bree itched to march in there and confront him. Eleanor was gone, dammit. For what? A decade-old obsession? If she was the crying type, she would have cried over the unfairness of it.

She pushed to her feet and might have barged in on the interrogation if Lena hadn’t opened the door and whispered, “We’ve got a problem.”

Bree hurried out to the hallway. “What is it?”

“Bank alarm just went off. Got a cell-phone call, too. There’s someone at the new bank with explosives.”

Explosives.
Bree stared at her.
Seriously?
Now?
“A bank robbery?” She wanted to stay and watch the interrogation unfold.

“Don’t know. Sounds like it.”

Mercury must have been in retrograde. She glanced around the office, trying to pick who to take with her. There was nobody around. Brian and Delancy were with Jason. The others were out on calls. She couldn’t take Lena. Somebody had to stay and man the station.

The insanity never stopped. Welcome to a cop’s life. Well, she couldn’t complain. She was the one who’d chosen it. And she did love it. On most days.

Chapter Eleven

Her gaze landed on Jamie, who was coming out of the break room with a cup of steaming coffee, watching her.

He’d come in with Jason Tanner. She didn’t think he would have waited, but he had, apparently. And he’d heard everything Lena had said. He was walking straight toward them.

“Who’s your bomb expert?” he wanted to know.

“Pebble Creek is too small to have its own SWAT team or bomb squad. We call in the pros.” Bree nodded to Lena to do just that, then took off running for her car.

If she had to go alone, she had to go alone. Crime didn’t stop just because they were at full capacity.

But Jamie was running behind her. “Hang on, I’m coming.”

“Not your jurisdiction.” She should have stopped him, but she didn’t want to spend time arguing. She jumped into her car and took off for the bank, leaving him to do what he wished.

A cruiser was already waiting in front of the bank by the time she reached the building. Mike Mulligan’s. Then she saw him, a thirty-year veteran of the force, pushing bystanders back and making sure everyone was safe. Bree parked her own cruiser strategically, so the two would begin forming a barricade to take cover behind.

Jamie, pulling in behind her, did the same. He jumped out and ran toward her. “I can help if you need someone. I know something about explosives.”

Of course he did.

“Start evacuating the adjoining buildings,” she told Mike, then turned to Jamie. “All right. Fine. Stay back here. I might have to call for you.” Then she rushed forward in a low crouch toward the bank’s entrance.

She ducked down outside the front door, opened it a crack, held her badge up so whoever was inside could see.

“I’m Bree Tridle, deputy sheriff. I’m here to give you whatever it is you need.”

“Too late,” came the response from inside—an older male, judging by the tone. He sounded raspy, maybe a smoker.

She didn’t recognize the voice, and couldn’t see inside very well through the UV-protection film that covered the glass. All she could make out were shapes.

“How about I come in so we can talk about this?”

“No.”

“I can help.”

“Can you help me get justice?”

Oh, damn. One of those.
Why couldn’t it have been over something easy, like money? Justice was a very subjective thing.

“Is killing innocent people justice? Women and children in there?” She could make out two smaller shapes, she thought. Might be kids clinging to their mother.

A moment of silence passed. “Why should I care about them? Nobody cares about me.”

“I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Let them go. We’ll trade. Me and whatever I can do to help, for them. I’m a cop. I signed up for this. Those people in there didn’t. One injustice won’t erase another.” Whatever it was he thought had been done to him.

More silence stretched between them.

“Those people can’t do anything. They can’t order anyone to do anything. They have no contacts. No power. I do. I’m the deputy sheriff.”

“No trade.” His voice shook a little this time. He was getting frustrated.

Okay, no time to waste.

“Then just let me come in. You’ll have one more hostage.”

And, after an interminable moment, the man said, “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “You come in, hands in the air. Leave your gun outside. I see a weapon and we all go to Jesus today.”

“Forget her,” Jamie called out a foot behind her, scaring the living daylights out of her. How on earth had he snuck up on her? “You don’t want a woman in there who’ll faint in panic at the first thing that goes wrong. I’m coming in to help. Unarmed.”

She shot him a death glare and whispered, “Go away.” She could have killed him. They were in the middle of a hostage situation. This was no time for meddling.

“Who the hell are you?” the man inside wanted to know.

“Jamie Cassidy. I work for the United States Government. I can get you things you’ll never get from a small-town deputy.”

Oh, no, he didn’t. Did he just disparage both her sex and her position within the space of a minute? She sent him a Texas death glare.

“Both of you, inside!” the man ordered. “Hands high above your heads.”

She turned back to the bank, pulled her weapon from the holster and dropped it on the ground, pushed the door open wide enough to step inside and tried to kick Jamie backward but missed. “We’re so going to talk about this,” she said under her breath, in a hiss.

He pushed in after her anyway.

In the middle of the main area of the bank, in front of the teller booths, an old man sat in a wheelchair, holding a panicked woman in her twenties in front of him, a handgun pointed at her.

Her eyes wide, her face pale, she looked to Jamie instead of Bree. “Help me!” Her high-pitched voice echoed under the extrahigh, ornately decorated ceiling.

The old man shook her to quiet her. “Untuck your shirts, pull them up and turn around in a slow circle,” he ordered in his raspy voice.

Behind him, about a dozen civilians lay face down on the pink marble floor, hands over their heads. Bree sincerely hoped none of them carried concealed weapons and had a mind to start trouble. An amateur shootout was the last thing she needed.

Then again, if someone did have a weapon, they would have probably done something by now.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she said to the man with the gun, as much to as the hostages, as she reached for the hem of her shirt.

Jamie did the same, showing off the fact that he’d come in unarmed.

“You should let these people go,” Bree said as she tugged her shirt back down. “Whatever complaint you have, I’m sure it has nothing to do with anybody here.”

The man watched her for a long moment, exhaustion and desperation in his eyes. He might have thought about what he was going to do here today, but reality was always different. She hoped he was beginning to see at last that this wasn’t his best idea.

“Listen. Why don’t we just end this now, peacefully, before anybody makes any mistakes? Everybody’s scared and tense. But honestly, nobody’s hurt.” She flashed an encouraging smile. “This is a damn good place to quit.”

“You go over there.” The man gestured toward the corner with his head, appearing not the least touched by her plea and sound reasoning.

She did as she was asked, and so did Jamie. They slid to the floor next to each other, kept their backs to the wall. The old man in the middle swung the gun to point it at Bree, but he still hung on to the young woman with his other hand, ignoring her whimpering.

Bree stayed as relaxed as she could under the circumstances and prayed that Jamie would put aside his macho commando instincts for a minute, stay still and not do anything stupid.

Don’t escalate.
She glanced at him, trying to send him the telepathic message, hoping he got something from the look in her eyes before she turned back to the man in the wheelchair.

“I’m Bree Tridle, as I said, and this is Jamie Cassidy,” she added, very nicely. “Would you mind if I asked your name?”

“Antonio Rivera.”

She drew a slow breath. Like Angel Rivera? What were the chances it was a coincidence? Very slim.

“You took my son away from me,” he yelled at her weakly. “You shot him.”

Connection confirmed. Now what?
How could she use this to her advantage?

“Only just barely,” she said. “Flesh wound. And he shot at me first. He’ll be fine.” She widened her smile and did her level best to look positive.

“He’ll be in jail. His brother is already in jail. What do I have left?”

She had no idea. No wife, she guessed, and scrambled to come up with something.

“Bank’s taking the house,” the man went on, his face darkening. He adjusted his grip on the gun.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I can work something out with the manager. Do you know Cindy Myers? She sure has a lot of pull at this place. She’s very nice, actually. She has two boys, too. Younger than yours. We went to high school together. She’ll help you if she can. She’s very good that way.”

The old man spat on the polished marble floor. “You’re just saying that so I let everyone go. I ain’t stupid.”

“You’re holding an entire bank hostage. I know you can figure things out,” she said to placate him, while she tried to see what kind of bomb he had.

She spied half a dozen sticks of dynamite. They weren’t difficult to come by, unfortunately. Ranchers used them for all kinds of things, including clearing large boulders from their fields.

However, she couldn’t see what kind of setup he had under the duct tape that ran around his chest, holding everything in place. She had no idea what he was using for the trigger mechanism, and no idea what to do even if she could spot it, honestly.

She glanced at Jamie, hoping he was catching more than she was, maybe even working on a plan. They sure could have used one of those. She had no idea whether the SWAT team had arrived yet or when they were coming.

The young woman Antonio held was trembling.

“And what’s your name?” Bree asked. Making Antonio realize that she was a real person with a name, somebody’s daughter, might help somewhat.

“Melanie.”

“Do you have anybody from your family here?” Bree pushed further.

Melanie shook her head and began to cry.

“Shut up,” Antonio barked at them.

She couldn’t do that, Bree thought, so she took a gamble. “What happened to your legs?”

He might get mad, or he might start talking. Either way, it would gain her time until reinforcements got there.

“What’s it to you?” He glared at her, but then he said, “Wire mill.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.” She acknowledged him and his troubles. “But you came through it. You’ll come through this. Your sons will get out of prison. I’ll help you find housing if we can’t talk sense into the bank. There’s always help available.”

“I don’t want help,” he said darkly. “I just want this to be over with.”

The way he said that, the tone of his voice, the bleak look in his eyes, troubled her. Because she knew he meant it. His coming here had never been about getting the bank to change their minds. This was suicide, pure and simple. He just didn’t want to go alone.

She drew a slow breath, trying desperately to think of a way out of this, something, anything she could say or do so the standoff didn’t end with a bunch of mangled bodies.

“Do you want to speak to Angel? I could probably get him on the phone.” She had Agent Herrera’s number. “You tell him to cooperate. I’ll do anything I can so that he gets a fair deal. Maybe even a reduced sentence.”

“Too late.” His voice was cold with determination, as bleak as his face.

Melanie sobbed out loud. Some of the hostages squeezed their eyes shut; others stared wide-eyed. A middle-age man was hyperventilating. There was a new kind of tension in the air and they all knew it.

At least there weren’t any kids in the bank. She’d been mistaken about that, thank heavens.

But they were out of time.

Jamie shifted next to her.

No, no, no.
Her gaze went to him.

He probably had a hidden backup weapon somewhere on him. He would go for it, then Antonio would set off the bomb, for sure, and they would all die.

* * *

E
VERYTHING
HE
WAS
pushed him to attack. He’d been trained to charge forward and take down the enemy. He was a warrior. He’d been trained to fight with guns and explosives. His brain and body were weapons.

Jamie shifted again, looking for an angle, a split-second opportunity.

But if he tackled Antonio, the man would set off the bomb. Bree and Jamie were sitting the closest. They’d be toast, for sure. He wasn’t as worried about himself, especially if he thought a move like that might save the hostages, but he wasn’t willing to risk harm coming to Bree.

“Let me tell you something,” he began, and couldn’t believe he was talking. It didn’t feel even half-right. He was a soldier. He’d been rough and tough pretty much from the beginning and, all right, fine, he might even have been overcompensating a little since he’d been cleared for active duty again.

He didn’t have a softer side. For him, to show softness meant to show weakness, which was the dead-last thing he wanted to show, wanted to be.

And yet when Bree’s life was at stake...

His usual M.O. of pushing harder wasn’t going to work here.

“None of us are here because we want to be,” he said. “I’m guessing you’d be doing something a little more fun if you had other choices.”

The man glared at him.

Not exactly progress but, hey, they were still alive.

“Between the three of us, we should be able to figure a way out of this,” he said, even as part of him was still looking for the man’s weak spot, a way to rush him.

* * *

S
HE
SAW
HOW
he was looking at Antonio Rivera. Bree was pretty sure Jamie would attack, and soon. She wanted to warn him not to, but he wouldn’t look at her, and she couldn’t say anything out loud for fear of setting off Antonio.

But instead of making his move, Jamie kept talking, his voice low and calm. “I know what you mean. I’ve been where you are now. Hell of a place.”

Other than his words, there was dead silence in the bank, the hostages pretty much knowing this was a Hail Mary effort.

Antonio shot him an angry look. “You haven’t. So shut up.”

“All right. I’ll shut up.” He raised his hands into the air, then pushed to his feet slowly. “But let me show you something.”

She held her breath, along with the rest of the hostages.

Antonio moved his gun to point at Jamie’s chest.

Slowly, carefully, Jamie reached to his belt, unbuckled it, then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and let them drop to his ankles.

Antonio stared, along with pretty much everybody.

Jamie’s shirt came down to the edge of his boxer shorts, but left the end of his stumps in open view, the skin puckered, white and red scars crisscrossing his skin. For the first time, she got a good look at the straps that held his prosthetics in place.