Guns 'N' Tulips (2 page)

They pulled the stockings over their heads
and picked up their weapons. Connor slipped the backpack containing
his tools on his shoulders, and when the van door slid open, he and
Owen jumped out. A brisk March wind tugged at Connor’s trench coat,
threatening to yank it open and reveal the MP5 he held hidden
inside. The day’s cloudy gray skies reflected his mood as they sped
across the oddly empty sidewalk.

In the distance, he heard the cheering of a
crowd. Brows furrowed, he pushed open the entrance door to the bank
and came face to face with a cardboard leprechaun. St. Patrick’s
Day. The bank was only a few blocks from the parade route where all
the Irish and Irish wannabes in the city of Chicago were lining
along Columbus Drive, shivering in the cold lake air and drinking
gallons of beer and whiskey. Last year, Lily had insisted on
attending both the river-dying ceremony and the parade, and he’d
had a blast snuggling with her under a Bears blanket to keep her
warm.

But that was a lifetime ago. Lily hated him
now, maybe for good.

Pushing down the emotions clogging his
throat, he nodded to Owen, raised his gun and charged inside.
“Everyone, listen up! Get face down on the ground with your hands
above your heads. Now!”

A security guard and the bank patrons, three
women and two men, stared back at him. One of the women, a lady in
her sixties, screamed. Another rushed forward, white-faced and
tight-lipped, and helped the older woman get on the floor. Connor
felt two inches tall as he continued to point the MP5 at them while
shouting instructions.

Owen rushed over to the tellers. “Move it!”
he bellowed, gesturing with his weapon for them to join the others
in the lobby.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spotted
a teller reaching below the counter as she turned to exit the
restricted area. Good woman. At least the cops would be alerted.
Whether Captain Morris would be able to get here in time was
another question. If he recalled correctly, their original target
was smack-dab in the middle of the parade action. He should have
paid more attention, should have investigated the location, and put
two and two together. If he died in this bank, bleeding out on the
mud-streaked tile, he’d deserve it. But he wouldn’t fold without
giving it his best shot.

When Rourke’s informant called, Neil was
going down.

Rourke and Frank added their voices to the
chaos while Neil guarded the door. Like a bull on steroids, Frank
charged through the lobby to help Owen herd the staff from behind
the counter. But Rourke split off and weaved his way to the back
offices, no doubt looking for the loan manager. Ever since his
mortgage refinancing had been turned down and he’d lost his home
and business, Rourke had a hard-on for loan managers. In the last
six months, every bank the Bandits had hit, the loan manager had
eaten a bullet.

That more than anything is what had convinced
Connor to accept this undercover assignment. Robbery was one thing;
murder was another. Thank God, Lily was just a teller. Besides, she
was safe in Schaumburg.

The security guard lying on the floor to his
left slowly inched his hand toward the gun holster on his hip.
Connor stepped forward, pointing his weapon at the man’s head.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. He admired the man’s
courage, but it would only get him and maybe a few other innocents
killed.

Pale faced, the guard returned his hand to
its former position above his head. Connor took the man’s gun,
shoving it into the back of his jeans. He swept his gaze around the
room. “That goes for the rest of you. No heroics.”

A commotion coming from the offices
interrupted the whimpering of the women lying near the counter.
Connor’s heart sank. Rourke must have found the loan manager.
Seconds later, Rourke appeared in the lobby, shoving a woman in
front of him. The strawberry-blonde hair hiding her face reminded
him of Lily. Christ, he missed her. Not seeing her everyday had
been the single most difficult part of this assignment.

“Let me go, you Neanderthal,” the loan
manager shouted as she struggled to wrest her arm from Rourke’s
hold. The woman’s voice turned every drop of blood in Connor’s body
to ice. He stood frozen, unable to move, unable to believe.

It can’t be
.

She raised her head, and all the oxygen was
sucked out of his chest, as if he’d plunged into Lake Michigan, the
cold water closing in over his head, cutting off light, cutting of
sound, cutting off escape.

Lily wasn’t supposed to be here. Lily was
supposed to be in Schaumburg. Lily was supposed to be safe.

Lily lunged forward, trying to wrench her arm
from the man’s iron grip. He yanked her to a halt, and jabbed his
weapon into her temple. If the stocking on his head and his
manhandling hadn’t convinced her of the seriousness of the
situation, having the business end of the man’s machine gun pointed
at her did.

“Do I have your attention now?”

When she nodded, he lowered the gun. She
scanned the room. The restricted area was empty. Where were all the
front staff? Muffled cries reached her from the lobby, but from
where she stood, she couldn’t see anyone. The man pushed her
forward.

A few steps later, she froze, her feet
refusing to move, her heart refusing to beat. The tellers, Joe…,
were lying… For a second, she thought they were dead, but she’d
heard no shots, saw no blood. Then Joe moved, and she could finally
take a breath. It was a hold-up, not a massacre.

At least not yet.

Lifting her gaze from the floor, Lily counted
five men, all masked and holding identical weapons, pointed at her
fellow employees. Her clients. Oh God. These guys weren’t just bank
robbers; they were the Bank Bandits.

Hearing a
rough inhale, she jerked her head toward the sound. She narrowed
her eyes at a Bandit standing a few yards away from her; he was
staring and breathing hard.
No way, buddy.
She might die today, but none of these monsters would rape
her.

In drills, the cops had always arrived within
three to four minutes of the alarm sounding. If they’d remembered
their training, at least one of the tellers would have tripped the
silent alarm. She just needed to keep the Bandits talking, delay
them until help arrived.

“Hey, Conman. Stop fucking gawking and do
your job,” said the man holding her arm.

The other man cleared his throat. “Yeah. I
got it, Rourke.”

She couldn’t see his face clearly, but that
voice… And what had the boss called him? Conman? Hadn’t Connor
mentioned that nickname when he’d told her a story about growing up
on the South Side? Could Connor really have sunk so low?

She ripped out of Rourke’s grasp, her gaze
never leaving Conman’s face. “You!” she shouted, closing the gap
between them. Conman took a step back, shifting the barrel of his
gun away from her. When he turned his head sideways, depriving her
of the good look she needed, she poked his chest with her finger.
“I know you.”

That got his attention. Conman’s head whipped
back to her, his eyes wide, ping-ponging between her and the other
Bandits. This close up, she could see Connor’s strong jaw and
sky-blue eyes through the nylon shielding his face. Her chest
squeezed painfully, betrayal piercing her heart, cleaving it in
two. She wanted to cry, scream, pound some sense into him. How
could he do this? How could he join a gang of ruthless killers?

The blood seemed to drain from his face as he
clasped his fingers around hers, pulling her hand away from his
chest. “You don’t know nothing.”

The message was pretty clear. Connor was
hiding information from the others. Were they even aware he’d been
a cop? Then again, if they did know, why would they trust him? She
certainly didn’t. He’d been no better than a smarmy used-car
salesman, feeding her all the lines he’d known she’d wanted to
hear, igniting her dreams about a future with him, a family. She
felt a flutter in her belly and pressed a hand there to feel their
baby move.

After he’d been kicked off the police force
and thrown in jail, she’d tried to visit him, to tell him about his
impending fatherhood, but he’d refused to see her. Without giving
her any explanation, he’d completely shut her out.

Connor
could have his secrets and she’d have hers; he was never going to
know about this child. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from giving
him a piece of her mind. “I know exactly who you are. It was all
over the news last Christmas. You’re that scum-sucking no-good
traitor who turned your back on your badge. I wish they’d shot you
instead of putting you in jail.” She jerked her head toward Rourke.
The man was obviously the leader of this merry band. “Did he pay
for the slimeball who got you off on a technicality? You should be
feeding worms for what you did.”
Whoa.
Maybe she’d bottled up a little more anger toward her
ex-fiancé than she’d thought.

Rourke laughed, but his eyes were sharp as
knives. “The lady seems to have you pegged, Conman. Maybe knows a
little more than she should?”

Oh crap. What had she done?

Connor met Rourke’s gaze and sneered. “Lady?
All’s I see is a foul-mouthed whore dressed up in fancy
clothes.”

“
How dare
you—” She gasped, shock swallowing her words. Connor swore, but
he
never
disparaged
anyone, especially women. Even considered it a point of pride. He’d
never call her such a nasty word. Unless…
Foul-mouthed.
That was it!

Connor looked down at her, his hard eyes
drilling into her skull. His full lips curled into a sneer that
turned her stomach. “Bitches who talk too much get killed. My
suggestion? Shut the fuck up.”

Connor studied Lily’s face. A flash of
something passed through her eyes before she blinked and turned
away. He hoped to God she remembered the discussion they’d had
about trash talk. Shifting his gaze to Rourke, he cocked a brow.
“Is this job still on or what?”

“Frank, go with him,” Rourke said before
turning to Lily, his eyes traveling the length of her body. “In the
meantime, I’m gonna have me a little fun.”

Lily’s chin rose in defiance, and she crossed
her arms as if to ward Rourke off. Bile rose in Connor’s throat at
the thought of Rourke touching her, but the only outward reaction
he allowed himself was to tighten his hands around the gun’s stock.
Anything to keep from smashing his fists in Rourke’s lecherous
face.

Unable to
help and unable to watch, he spun away. The faster he cracked the
safe, the sooner he’d be back to distract Rourke from Lily. He’d
barely taken two steps when a phone rang. He squeezed his eyes shut
and said a quick prayer to St. Patrick.
Don’t let it be Rourke’s
informant
. He just
needed a few more minutes.

But St. Patrick was too busy with the parade
to listen to his prayers. “Hold it right there, Conman.”

Connor stopped where he was, but turned to
gauge Rourke’s reaction as he listened. After a curt, “Got it,”
Rourke hung up, his murderous gray eyes stabbing into Connor. “My
guy says ‘employees’ are leaving the CitiBank in droves.”

All eyes turned to him.

Make it good, Kavanagh.
Looking at the clock on the wall, Connor shrugged. “Must be
quitting time.”

“You fucking set us up.”

Time to put Plan B in motion. He cut a glance
toward Neil. Maybe he could make this work. The man was huge, but
he wasn’t the smartest bear in the woods. “The cops hauled Neil in
last week. How do you know he didn’t spill?” They’d been planning
this heist for almost a month, so his question wasn’t
unreasonable.

Neil turned beet red. “Fuck you, Conman. I
ain’t no snitch.”

“Prove it.”

Eyes round and wild, Neil rushed at Connor,
his gun held like a baseball bat. “I don’t got to prove
nothing.”

Lily screamed and Owen yanked her behind him,
cutting her off. Thank God, because Connor suspected she’d been
about to scream his name. His real name.

Owen’s help made Connor feel like even more
of a shit. His friend wasn’t like the rest of the crew. He had a
soft side, was dedicated to helping his family, and loved his
girlfriend. Falling in with the Bandits must have felt like a
natural progression of what they’d done as teens. Ironically,
Connor had always suspected he’d be the one to end up in prison,
not Owen. And he would have if Captain Morris hadn’t talked sense
into him the last time he’d been arrested. So instead of becoming
the gangster he was pretending to be, Connor had become a cop.

He ducked and deflected Neil’s blow, grabbing
the weapon at the same time and disarming the man.