Charity's Angel (4 page)

❧

Gabe leaned his shoulder against the case. Sweat trickled down his spine, though the room was not overly warm. His left thigh was starting to cramp, he'd been so still so long, and he shifted position, moving gingerly, aware that a sound could cost him his life. He rubbed at the tight muscle until it relaxed.

How long had it been? A glance at his watch confirmed that it was only five minutes later than the last time he'd looked. Not quite an hour since this situation had begun. It felt like days.

The negotiations weren't going well. In fact they were hardly going at all. He didn't have to be outside with them to know that the police were as frustrated as he was. Sal's first demand for a helicopter had been nixed when the negotiator pointed out that there was no place to land it. When he'd asked for a van, the negotiator had demanded the release of a hostage. Gabe guessed that Sal might have gone for it, but Billy and Joe adamantly opposed letting even one of the hostages go.

The last call had ended in a stalemate almost twenty minutes ago. Charity had been doing all the talking, relaying the police demands to the three would-be thieves. Gabe's admiration for her had climbed steadily as the minutes ticked by. The pressure was incredible, but her voice remained level, without a hint of the fear she must be feeling.

From where he sat, the only hostage he could see was the wounded man, who hadn't regained consciousness. His chest continued to rise and fall, his breathing reasonably steady. The others he could only hear. There was an elderly couple. The wife had asked if she could open her purse to get her husband's nitroglycerin tablets. He guessed the other couple was younger, though all he could hear was an occasional low murmur of reassurance from one to the other.

That left only the other clerk, the one who'd been so quick to inform Sal and company just who had pushed the alarm button. Gabe had a vague image of her—a brassy redhead with a rather pouty expression.

He got occasional glimpses of Charity when she came to check on the wounded man. Their eyes would meet, but she was careful to look away quickly, afraid to draw attention to his presence. Gabe's gaze lingered on the dark bruise beginning to show on her cheekbone, and his fingers tightened on the gun.

There was no reproach in her eyes, no questioning why he hadn't done anything to protect her. She knew as well as he did that the only thing he could have done was get himself killed. But that knowledge didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at Gabe's stomach. He was a police officer. His job was to defend and protect. So far he'd done precious little of either.

"Why don't they call back?" That was Billy, his voice higher and tighter than it had been the last time he spoke. "Why the hell don't they call back?"

"Chill out. They're playing a waiting game with us, that's all," Sal said.

"Well, I don't like it." Joe's voice held a ragged edge that made Gabe uneasy. Billy might sound hysterical but Joe was the one who'd shot the man who lay on the floor. "I think they're bringing in reinforcements. That's what I think."

"Maybe I don't care what you think," Sal said. For the first time, his voice was taking on an edge.

Gabe felt the adrenaline start to pump. The tension was getting to all of them. Tense people with large guns and little to lose—a potentially deadly combination. The sharp ring of the phone made him jump. From the vivid curse, he guessed he wasn't the only one it had startled.

"Answer it," Sal snarled. Gabe eased forward between the two cases. He could see the edge of Charity's skirt, a soft flow of peach cotton. She picked up the phone, cutting it off in mid-ring. Gabe listened as she relayed the conversation.

The police were willing to provide them with a van but they had to release the hostages first. Sal's reply was short and pithy—they all went together or they could take the hostages out in body bags. The negotiator suggested that a show of good faith would go a long way to resolving this situation.

And so it went, back and forth. The negotiator bargaining for time; the robbers bargaining for their freedom. The call went on, Charity's quiet voice relating the negotiator's words and repeating Sal's replies.

Gabe could feel the tension building. Something had to give soon. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He had to make a conscious effort to ease his grip on the gun. In his mind he marked where the three men were, trying to hold a picture of the store layout, judging their position from the sound of their voices.

Please, God, let them hit on a compromise. The last thing they needed was for anyone to open fire in the relatively close confines of the store. Too much chance of innocent people getting shot. But something told him his prayers weren't going to be answered.

He was right.

"Screw the damned cops," Joe exploded suddenly. Gabe heard Charity's gasp and then the crash of the phone being slammed through one of the glass cases. "I can't take this no more. If they won't give us what we want, we'll just have to show them we mean business."

Gabe heard a shriek and he knew the time for waiting was over. Whatever thin thread had been holding the situation in some tattered order was broken now.

"Police. Drop your weapons." He lunged up from behind the cases, taking in the situation at a glance. One burly gunman had hold of an elderly man, a pistol pointed at his head. The other two were ranged behind him on either side of the store.

For an instant the scene was frozen, like a tableau on a stage. No one moved, no one seemed to breathe. Gabe held his weapon trained on the man holding the hostage, wondering if there was any hope that they'd simply lay down their guns as ordered. There wasn't.

"What the—" Joe, in a reckless moment, thrust the old man aside as he turned his gun toward Gabe. Gabe's bullet caught him in the throat, and the bullet that had been aimed at Gabe's head buried itself in the ceiling as Joe's finger tightened convulsively on the trigger.

Immediately two other bullets shattered the glass counter where he'd been standing. But he was moving even as he fired, throwing himself down and to the right, his shoulder hitting the carpet as he rolled, drawing the fire farther away from the hostages. Rolling to a half crouch he snapped off another shot, the .45 slug catching a thin young man in the chest. The impact threw him backward into the front window, which shattered under the impact.

Gabe turned, rising to his feet to get the third and last gunman in his sights. But he'd misjudged. The other man had moved, even as he had. There was nothing but air where he'd been. Gabe swung around, feeling something tug his sleeve as the boom of the shot reached his ears.

And there was the third man, his face twisted with rage, his gun pointed right at Gabe's heart. For a split second, they faced each other over their drawn weapons. There was a moment, hardly more than a heartbeat, when Gabe thought the man was going to see the futility of it all; when he thought it might end right there.

Then he caught a flurry of movement out the corner of his eye. A flash of brassy red hair as one of the hostages snapped under the strain. She darted forward, shrieking mindlessly. In the instant before she came between them, the robber fired. Gabe felt the bullet brush past, a hairbreadth from his head. He dropped to his knees in a diving roll, coming up against the edge of a display case. A bullet shattered it, showering him with shards of glass. A third plowed into the wood just in front of his face.

Shaking his head, deafened by the continuous roll of sound, Gabe brought up his gun. He felt it recoil in his hand just as he heard a sharp cry.

"Sally! No!"

With horror, Gabe saw Charity stumble in front of him as she attempted to knock the other woman out of the way. Her body jerked with the impact of the bullet—his bullet. She half turned, her hands flung out, and then she crumpled to the floor.

"
T
hey said she was in surgery, Gabriel. I'm sure she's goin' to be just fine." Gabe caught Annie's worried glance as she turned into the hospital parking lot, but her words didn't ease the tension that knotted his gut. Annie hadn't been there. She hadn't seen Charity fall.

He'd sleepwalked through the preliminary report. He'd answered the questions, given all the details, but his thoughts had been elsewhere—in the ambulance with Charity, in the emergency room. The paramedics had told him nothing, and he hadn't delayed then-departure with questions they couldn't answer.

As soon as the investigating officers released him, Gabe headed out the door. He didn't protest when Annie took his arm and steered him away from his old Jag toward her more sedate four-door.

"Gabriel, you've got to believe she's going to be all right." She let a trace of exasperation creep into her voice as she searched for a parking place.

"Danny Androte wasn't."

"This ain't the same thing at all," Annie said. "You were shootin' at Danny Androte. This woman just happened to stumble in the way. Chances are the bullet just grazed her. She'll be just fine and she'll have an interesting story to tell her grandchildren."

Gabe didn't respond. She hadn't been there. The bullet hadn't grazed Charity. As soon as the car came to a stop, he was out the door. Swearing softly, Annie yanked the keys out of the ignition and snatched up her purse. She had to trot to catch up with Gabe's long-legged stride. She grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him to a stop.

"You go storming in there, looking like that, and the nurses will have you tranquilized and in a bed before you know what hit you."

Gabe looked at her blankly, and she clucked her tongue in exasperation, gesturing to his torn and blood-spattered sleeve. He'd allowed the paramedics to cleanse and bandage the shallow wound, but he'd refused any other treatment.

"Here. Put on your jacket, at least. You should be in bed, resting, you know," she scolded. She helped him into the jacket that someone had thoughtfully rescued from the back room of the jewelry store. Gabe sucked in a sharp breath as he eased his bandaged arm into the sleeve.

"Comb your hair," Annie ordered briskly, handing him a comb. Gabe obeyed, taming the unruly locks by feel. "There now, you look almost human."

"Thanks, Annie." He handed the comb back to her, his eyes focusing on her for the first time since the shooting.

"I'm just doing my part to uphold the reputation of the police force," she told him briskly. "Anybody who saw you would think we were all untamed wild persons." Her precise use of the non-sex-specific term drew a half smile from Gabe but he was already moving toward the hospital again.

Gabe's nose twitched as they stepped into the lobby. What was it they cleaned hospitals with to give them that odd non-smell? It was, in its own subtle way, as powerful as a whiff of ammonia.

The nurse at the desk informed them that Ms. Williams was still in surgery. It seemed to Gabe that she gave him a disapproving look, as if she knew he was responsible for Ms. Williams's condition.

Annie followed him into the waiting room. There were two people already there: a tall blond man of imposing proportions and a stunningly beautiful woman. Gabe barely noticed them.

"I didn't even know her last name until the nurse gave it to me just now." He and Annie took chairs on the opposite side of the room from the other couple.

"I don't see as how that makes any difference," Annie told him briskly.

"No, I suppose it doesn't." Gabe stared at his hands where they lay on his knees. "Did I tell you how well she handled herself? She was so calm."

"You've got to stop talking like she was dead, Gabriel."

Gabe didn't hear her. "I was going to ask her out. She had the prettiest smile. Sweet."

"You can ask her out when all this is over."

"If I'd just been a split second faster." His hand clenched into a fist on his knee.

"You can't second-guess yourself," she told him firmly. "You did what you thought was right."

Gabe didn't respond. He knew she was trying to keep him from thinking the worst. She kept telling him that it was probably a minor wound. But he knew better. Annie hadn't been there, hadn't seen the impact of the bullet.

He closed his eyes but he couldn't shut out the images. They were locked in his head, replaying over and over again like a film loop. He'd gone over it time and again, trying to see what he should have done differently.

Had he reacted too quickly? Maybe misjudged the danger to the hostages? Should he have waited to see if Joe would calm down? But if he'd waited, the old man might be dead now. Could he have prevented the shoot-out by revealing himself earlier? Would the three of them have surrendered if they'd realized there was a cop on the premises?

"Stop it." Annie reached out and caught his hand in hers, squeezing it to make sure she had his attention. "You saved several lives today. Don't you forget that."

"What if she dies?" Gabe asked her, his eyes bleak.

"She's not going to die."

He wanted to believe that, but he kept seeing Charity lying there so still and quiet, the bright tint of blood staining the carpet beneath her.

Seeing the taut line of his jaw and knowing there was nothing she could say that would make him feel any better, Annie sighed and stopped trying. Right now the only thing she could do for Gabe was to be here for him.

She got up and moved over to the coffeepot that sat on a low table. Pouring two cups, her eyes met those of the exquisite blonde, reading the banked fear in those wide green eyes. Annie gave her a half smile, offering the sort of wordless sympathy one shares with strangers caught up in the same situation.

Carrying the coffee back to their seats, she pressed one cup into Gabe's hand. He stared at it for a moment as if uncertain of its purpose and then murmured his thanks before taking a swallow.

The problem was that Gabriel London was basically too damn sensitive to make a good cop. She studied him openly, knowing he was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice. There were those who took one look at his easy smile and the casual way he approached most things and labeled him a lightweight.

But Annie knew differently. In the years they'd been partners, she'd learned that there was no one more dependable than Gabe. And there was no one less deserving of the title of lightweight. In fact it was her considered opinion that he needed to lighten up a bit.

Being a police officer was never easy. There was a reason cops had such a high divorce rate; why so many of them had drinking problems. The stress was unbelievable. If you were smart, you found a release before it reached a critical level. Whether it was racquetball or going out into the woods every weekend and getting in touch with nature, you needed something to keep you sane.

And you had to learn to go easy on yourself; to accept that all you could do was your best. Annie couldn't think of anyone more tolerant of others' failings and less tolerant of his own. Gabe expected very little of those around him and an extraordinary amount from himself.

She finished the last of her coffee. If this woman didn't make it... She didn't want to think about what it would do to Gabe.

Gabe was aware of Annie's scrutiny, aware of her concern. He knew he should reassure her, tell her he was all right. But the truth was, he wasn't at all sure he was all right. If only Charity hadn't run between them. The other woman had been out of the way, in no danger. If Charity had just stayed where she was...

The minutes ticked by, stretching into hours. Annie kept his coffee cup replenished and Gabe drank it, more to reassure her than because he wanted it. He forced himself to stop looking at his watch when he realized that less than a minute was going by between glances.

The couple across the room spoke occasionally, their voices an indistinguishable murmur. Most of the time Gabe forgot they were there.

As the hours inched by, even Annie ran out of optimistic words. The longer Charity was in surgery, the harder it was to believe her wound could be minor. Twice Gabe told Annie to go home. She ignored him, giving him a sharp look and telling him not to be a fool.

The hands on his watch had just crawled past midnight when someone at last came to the doorway of the waiting room.

"Are any of you here for Ms. Williams?" The man who spoke was short, middle-aged and paunchy. He wore surgical greens, his shoes still encased in cotton booties. He looked tired, but Gabe couldn't read anything beyond that in his eyes, no matter how desperately he tried.

Gabe jackknifed out of the chair, every muscle tensed. His fingers tightened over the paper cup he held, crushing it. He stepped forward, but before he could say anything, the tall blond man spoke.

"I'm Brian Williams, her brother. This is our sister, Diane."

The surgeon sent a quick glance toward Gabe but didn't question his obvious interest. "I'm Dr. Lang."

"How is she?" Diane bypassed the polite introductions, asking the question on all of their minds.

"We're cautiously optimistic about your sister's condition," the surgeon told her, not in the least offended by her abruptness.

"What does that mean?" Gabe asked.

Brian and Diane Williams looked at him, surprised. All the hours they had shared the waiting room, it had never occurred to any of them that they might be waiting for the same news.

"Her condition is stable at this point."

"But?" Brian pounced on the unspoken qualifier in Dr. Lang's voice.

"There is a bullet fragment lodged very near the spine."

Annie took the ruined cup out of Gabe's hand, closing her fingers over his forearm.

"Is she paralyzed?" Was that his voice? He sounded so calm.

"We don't see any reason to expect that," Dr. Lang said cautiously. "To tell the truth, Ms. Williams has been very lucky."

"Lucky?" Diane said incredulously.

"Considering the seriousness of her wound, yes, I'd have to say your sister was lucky. The fragment near the spine is certainly a cause for concern but it's not pressing on any nerves."

"Why didn't you remove the fragment?" Brian asked.

"There's less potential for damage if we leave it alone. Once her body has had a chance to heal, I don't think she'll even notice the fragment's presence, unless she has to explain it to an X-ray technician." His half smile went unanswered.

"But you can't guarantee that," Brian said, frowning.

Dr. Lang gave him a weary smile. "Mr. Williams, medicine is not an exact science. I can tell you, based on the experiences of myself and my colleagues, it is our opinion that your sister will make a full recovery. But only time will tell for sure."

"Can we see her?" Diane asked.

"If you want to wait an hour, then perhaps for five minutes. She won't be awake, of course. But you can sit with her."

"Thank you."

"I certainly hope those thanks are deserved," Dr. Lang said, with a smile that said he was confident they were.

The waiting room was completely still after he left. For a few moments it was all anyone could do to just breathe and feel some of the tension seep away. Of course, Charity wasn't out of the woods yet, but there was reason to hope, reason to believe everything was going to be all right.

"Excuse me."

Annie's hand dropped from his arm as Gabe turned toward Charity's brother. Now that he knew who they were, he could see their resemblance to their sister.

"I don't mean to sound nosy," Brian continued with a half smile. "But who are you?"

He heard Annie catch her breath as if to caution him. But Gabe was beyond trying to think, of a clever response. He said the only thing he could think of.

"I'm the man who shot her."

The stark answer wiped the cautious friendliness from Brian Williams's expression. He'd been prepared to share his relief with a friend of Charity's. He wasn't prepared to find himself face to face with the man whose bullet had put her in the hospital. His reaction was instinctive.

Gabe didn't try to avoid the punch. In his own mind he deserved that and more. Brian's fist connected with his chin with jarring force. Gabe staggered back and would have fallen if Annie hadn't grabbed his arm.

It was doubtful that Brian would have thrown another punch. The first had been more a result of tension and worry than anything else. But if he had been inclined to more violence, he didn't have a chance. With a shocked exclamation, Diane grabbed hold of his arm. Annie released Gabe, stepping in between the two men, her expression stern.

"Maybe y'all don't realize that if it weren't for my partner here, your sister and a lot of other people would be dead." In the heat of emotion, her accent thickened, making her sound more like a southern belle than a police officer.

"The police explained to us what happened," Diane said, her finger still clenched around her brother's arm. "We know it was an accident." But she avoided Gabe's eyes. Like her brother she was obviously having difficulty getting past the fact that he was the one who'd shot Charity.

Without a word Gabe turned and left. Their accusing gazes were more than his bruised soul could take. Annie gave the pair a last glance that combined sympathy and annoyance before hurrying after her partner. Catching up with him at the elevators, she threw a quick glance at his face but said nothing.

She grabbed his arm as they left the hospital, steering him in the direction of her car. Gabe followed without protest, though he'd just as soon have walked off into the night alone.