Love is Murder (11 page)

She answered on the first ring.

“You’re inside the chapel wing,” he stated flatly.

“Right outside the chapel door,” she whispered back. “Is everyone there?”

“Yup.”

“Good. I need to speak to the primary hostage negotiator. Tell him I’m acting as a third party intermediary. Then find out everything you can on the bride’s ex-husband, Ted. He’s the offender.”

“Sloane, I know how good you are,” Derek replied. “But you’re in there without a gun, without backup and practically without clothes.”

“All the better. I’ll look less threatening. Please, Derek. The guy isn’t even sober, and he’s desperate. We’ll debate my decision later.”

“Fine. Just be careful.” Derek lowered his phone and signaled to Special Agent Fitzpatrick. In as few words as possible, he explained the situation.

Fitzpatrick took the phone. “Ms. Parker?” His tone was as pointed as his form of address. “This is Special Agent Fitzpatrick. Based on your husband’s explanation, the child and his mother aren’t in immediate danger.”

“But the maid of honor is,” Sloane replied. “If the offender knows you’re out there, he might act irrationally and kill her.”

“I realize that. I’ll try to talk him out.”

“You’d have to get a throw-phone in. That would tell him the FBI is here, which would freak him out. He might shoot Claire before even opening the door. Please, let me try first. I can take a more personal approach.”

“And maybe get yourself killed in the process.”

“That won’t happen. Give me ten minutes. If I can’t make headway by then, you can take over.”

A reluctant pause, during which Sloane could hear Derek saying, “She’s damned good, Fitzpatrick. Give her the time.”

“Fine,” Fitzpatrick said. “Do it.”

* * *

Sloane waited until Derek had filled her in on everything he’d learned about Ted Benton, plus an interesting tidbit about the suddenly quite intriguing Claire Hedgleigh. Then, Sloane turned off her phone and took a deep breath. Things were getting heated inside the chapel. Sam was crying. His mother was comforting him. And his father was losing patience—fast.

“Get over here, Claire!” he shouted. “We’re getting out of here.”

“How?” Claire asked. “I’m sure they’ve sealed off all the hotel entrances by now.”

“I mapped out a route through the basement. The door locks from the inside. I know what I’m doing.” A bitter laugh. “You’ve always thought I was an idiot. But I’m not.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Now let’s go. We’re walking out the inside door. And you’re walking in front of us. My gun will be aimed at your head.”

Judging from the proximity of his voice, Sloane estimated that Ted was about halfway across the chapel. She wasn’t sure if Kim and Sam were with him, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

She knocked. “Mr. Benton?”

There was a flurry of motion from inside. “Who’s there?” Ted demanded. “And how do you know my name?”

“A few of the guests recognized you,” Sloane said calmly. “They’ve called the authorities. I wanted to talk to you first. My name is Sloane Parker. I’m a guest here at the hotel.”

“And why would I talk to you?”

“Because I used to work for the FBI. I’ve seen situations like yours. And I understand what you’re going through. I want to help you all get out safely.”

“Well, that doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen. Especially if the cops and the FBI are on their way.”

“You want your wife and son with you, is that right?”

“They’re my family, so, yeah.”

“You love them very much. You want to protect them. Am I still on track?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you really think that holding them in a locked room with a gun in your hand is the best way to keep them safe?”

A pause. “I just want to get us out of here.”

“I understand that. And I believe it can be done. But not at gunpoint.” Sloane heard Sam’s sobs. “Your son sounds frightened. Can’t you let him wait in the hall while we talk this out?”

“You’ll turn him over to the police,” Ted stated flatly. Angrily.

“No, I won’t. The outside doors are locked. He’ll stay right here and wait. The only problem is that he’ll still be scared. He’ll want his mom. So why don’t you let your wife and son both come out? You can talk to them through the door and make sure they haven’t moved.”

Sloane could hear his wheels turning.

“Is this a trick?” he demanded at last.

“How can it be?” Sloane asked. “You’re still holding Claire. I’m not about to jeopardize her life by grabbing your family and trying to run away.”

“You’re not gonna jeopardize your own life, either. I’m sure you’re armed. And you’re playing games to keep me talking till the cops get here.”

“First of all, I’m not armed. I told you, I’m no longer FBI. And why would I play games? To put all of you in danger? That would be counterproductive.”

Pausing, Sloane moved to the next step.

“You’re the one with the gun, Ted. I’m just a regular person who believes that families should be together. If you don’t believe me, unlock the door and check for yourself. I’m wearing a bathing suit and an open shirt. In two seconds you’ll see I’m unarmed. If I’m lying, you can shoot me. If I’m not, send Kim and Sam out and take me instead. You’ll have two hostages to bargain with.”

Another silence.

From inside the chapel, Sloane heard Kim implore, “Please, Ted. I won’t do anything stupid. You and I both love Sam. Neither one of us would risk his safety with gunfire. At least open the door and see if the woman is legit. We’ll stay back until you’re sure.”

“And if she is?”

“Then Sam and I will wait right outside the door. You can keep calling out to check if you don’t believe me. And when all this is over, you and I will talk.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. “You’d actually consider going with me by choice?”

“Like I said, we both want Sam to be happy. And if you’re willing to go to such dramatic extremes…how could I not be open to what you have to say? It all depends on what happens when you talk to this person.”

Good girl,
Sloane thought silently. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to go.

“What do you say, Ted?” she asked. “Will you do this for your family? Let me in so we can talk.”

“And when the cops show up?”

“I’m former FBI. I can talk to whoever’s in charge. They’ll listen to me. And they won’t put my life in danger. You’re a lot safer if they know you’re holding me at gunpoint than you are if I’m standing out here in the hall.”

“Fine.” That obviously prompted his cooperation. “Stand behind me,” he ordered his ex-wife and son.

A rustle as they complied. Sloane took that time to drop her tote bag and snatch her BlackBerry, changing the ring status from silent to loud.

“I’ve got a gun on Claire Hedgleigh,” Ted announced to Sloane through the door. “So if you try anything…”

“I won’t.”

A hard click, and the door opened a little—enough so Ted could scrutinize Sloane, and Sloane could see the woman Ted grasped before him, his pistol pressed to the side of her head.

“Turn around,” Ted ordered.

Sloane pivoted slowly, hands raised, so he could see she had nothing to use as a weapon.

“Why do you have a BlackBerry?”

“To talk to the FBI and tell them to hold their fire. I’ll put it down as soon as I’m inside. I won’t touch it unless you let me.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He angled his head slightly. “You two wait outside,” he told Kim and Sam. In one motion, he flung open the door, pushed his family out, and yanked Sloane in. He slammed the door shut, then leaned past her and flipped the bolt.

“Put down the phone,” he commanded Sloane. He waited until she’d complied. “Now talk. My plan was to take my family and get away before the cops got here. Now this bitch—” he jabbed Claire’s forehead with his pistol “—screwed everything up. How do I get out of here without killing her?”

“To begin with, you think about your wife and son.” Sloane was assessing him as she spoke. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk. He was average height and build. With her skills in Krav Maga, she could take him easily. All she needed was the right opportunity.

“You’re not a killer,” she continued. “You proved that by releasing the guests. Plus, your son is obviously fond of Claire. How do you think he would react if you shot her? He looks up to you. You’re his dad.”

That caused a slight softening of his jaw.

“Let me negotiate with the FBI,” Sloane suggested. “I’ll convince them to hold off while you reunite with your family.”

“And then what? They’ll storm the place and take me away the minute I’m not holding you and Claire at gunpoint.”

Sloane drew a slow breath, as if she were struggling with a big decision. “If I were still with the Bureau, I’d say yes. But I’m not. And, like I said, I think families should be together.” Another pause. “I assume you have an escape route?”

Ted nodded.

“Good. Then use it. That phone is going to ring any second. At that point, I’ll know the agents are in place. I’ll keep them talking. You take your family and run. I’ll buy you enough time to get away. In return, you leave Claire and me here, unharmed. Fair enough?”

He scrutinized her warily for a long time. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Fair enough. But I’ll be taking my gun with me. So if you decide to change your mind…”

“I won’t.” Sloane’s gaze flickered to Claire, hoping against hope that what Derek had just told her about the clairvoyant was true. If there was ever a time to pick up on life-or-death energy, now was it.

Claire gave an almost-imperceptible nod.

At the same time, Sloane’s phone rang. No surprise. Her ten minutes were up.

Quizzically, she looked at Ted, waiting for permission.

“Get it,” he directed.

She squatted slightly, reaching behind her and groping for her phone. On cue, Claire whimpered as if in pain and sagged. Reflexively, Ted’s head snapped around toward Claire.

In two lightning-quick strides, Sloane was on him. Simultaneously, her arm came up and she turned sideways so the trajectory of the gun would miss her if Ted took a shot. With her right hand she grabbed the top of the gun’s barrel while her left hand came up under the slide and grip, completing the trap. She snapped the gun up and back, intentionally breaking Ted’s trigger finger.

He gave a scream of pain and released Claire, who darted away the instant she was free. With Claire out of danger, Sloane yanked the gun from Ted’s hand, moved back and rotated the weapon until it was aimed directly at him.

“On the floor,” she ordered. “Slowly. Hands behind you.”

“You lying bitch!” he managed, clutching his throbbing hand.

“I said get down.
Now
.”

Her laser stare convinced him. He did as he was told.

“Claire, answer my cell,” Sloane instructed, walking over and straddling Ted from behind, shoving the gun in his back as she grabbed his wrists. “Tell Agent Fitzpatrick I’ve neutralized the offender. His team can take it from here.”

* * *

Derek made his way through the crowd, pulling Sloane to him as he gave a relieved but exasperated sigh.

“Only you,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his wife. “A honeymoon hostage negotiation at gunpoint. I don’t have to tell you how many Bureau rules you broke.”

Sloane leaned back, her lips curved into a teasing smile. “I’m not back at Quantico yet. So breaking the rules doesn’t count. Only the outcome does. I’d say things turned out right.”

“And
I’d
say you’re going to age me before my time.”

A twinkle. “I know a way to keep you young.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Derek shot her that sexy grin of his. “Shall we get back to the honeymoon, Mrs. Parker?”

“Lead the way, Mr. Parker.”

* * * * *

SPIDER’S TANGO

William Simon

The premise is brilliant. When I realized what the conflict was, I thought, “Oh, my God!” It’s scary on numerous levels. ~SB

Here’s a piece of advice you won’t find in any manual, leaflet, monograph, self-help book, or national talk show: when an agent with the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit opens an email, then spends the next ten minutes vomiting in the men’s room,
do not under any circumstances
lean across the desk and look at the screen…

* * *

At 4:00 a.m., the FBI’s Cyber Crime Division looks like any other office space, despite the inventive imaginations of Hollywood screenwriters. Computers and computer equipment dominated the floor, but it’s hardly the high-tech toy-land television would have us believe.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I walked in, Visitor badge clipped to my hastily snatched laptop bag, after receiving an abrupt cell phone call from the man standing in front of me.

“Kidnapping,” Jeff Keyes, the Special Agent in Charge of the office replied. “Missing child.”

My nerves twisted. Missing children were the worst.

“You have the manpower to handle that,” I said, referring to a time not so long ago when the CCD consisted of individuals who could turn a computer on and not much else.

We came to a stop in front of a double cubicle. Four monitors connected to four computers, their screens flashing with data. A woman with ash-blond hair was there, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

She paused and stood.

My heart kicked into an off-key but sincere version of the
William Tell
Overture. I couldn’t help smiling.

“Supervisory Special Agent Elizabeth Canton,” Jeff said. “Nicholas White.”

Her eyes flashed. “Nicholas.”

“Beth, it’s nice to see you.”

“You’ve met?” Jeff asked.

Beth looked at him, then back to me. “I knew him when his last name was Bianco,” she said. “He’s my ex-husband.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know you’d ever been married.”

“For about three hours,” I said before Beth could reply. “In college. It was a long time ago.”

“Elizabeth’s the Behavioral Analysis Unit Coordinator out of Quantico,” Jeff explained. “She was here yesterday, giving a class.” He broke off and nodded his head at a younger man who walked in. “This is R. P. Bristol, Violent Crimes, recent transfer from Washington.