Midnight Hero (23 page)

Bailey's stomach clenched. He was going to hurt her again.

“Oh! You! Leave her alone!” Letty spat out, half rising from her chair by the parking lot door. Tony had positioned the old woman and the cowering, catatonic bank manager between the robbers and the police outside. The wheeled, enclosed metal cart loaded with bags of money sat in front of the concession counter. When Bailey had first arrived, Tony had made her sit with Mike and Letty while he and Rico finished bolting a clear, bulletproof windshield to one side of the cart. She'd overheard them congrat
ulating themselves for being prepared for any eventuality with their specially made armored cart and Kevlar suits with hoods. The robbers were thrilled that the wind and sleeting rain made it impossible for the snipers to shoot accurately. They also planned to use the hostages as temporary protection to get to the chopper and take off. Emphasis on the temporary.

Letty huffed. “You're a toughie, all right. Picking on little girls. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Tony bared his teeth at Letty. “For the last time, shut your mouth!” He held the cigarette close to Bailey's face. Heat prickled her cheek, and she braced herself. She would not make a sound this time. “Once more. Where is my crew?”

“Do you believe in karma, young man?” Letty asked in a falsely pleasant tone. “You've got a bucketload of bad stuff coming your way. You can bet your sorry buns it won't be pretty.”

Tony growled. “I've had it with you, Grandma! One more word, and you're next.” He paused, half turned. “In fact…” He slanted a sly look at Bailey. “Maybe there's more than one way to make this hummingbird sing.” He pivoted and strode toward Letty.

Trembling, Bailey gripped the charm at her throat.
Oh no!
He was going to burn Letty! “Wait! Don't hurt her.”

Tony stopped in his tracks. “So, you can speak. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Hummingbirds don't sing. Don't say a darned word.” Letty scowled at the robber, but her voice quavered slightly, revealing the fear undercoating her brave stand. “I'm a lot tougher than him. Had five babies, at home, with nothing but my own grit for the pain.”

“Your men are all dead,” Bailey declared.

Letty flinched as Tony lowered the glowing cigarette tip toward her wrinkled arm, and a tremor rippled over her. Tony snorted. “Try again.” He dangled the cigarette millimeters from Letty's skin. A small gasp escaped, then she pressed her lips determinedly together.

“Stop!” Bailey shook her head. She could not let him hurt her friend. Perhaps it could serve a double purpose. Tony would send Rico to free the others.
And then there was one.
One less
armed bad guy for Con and SWAT to handle. “Two are in the restrooms down by the main entrance. The other is…” Alarm jangled her nerve endings. Where had Con said he put the guy Nan had knocked out? “He's…uh…” Her memory flashed, wrenching her heart. Con rocking her in his arms, soothing her, while holding back his anger over the attack. Would he ever have the chance to hold her again? “In the bookstore storeroom.”

“Rico, go fetch.” Tony ordered. “And pick up Jace after you're done.”

“You got it. Don't give away my share of the dough while I'm gone. Ha, ha.” The burly man who had captured her trotted out.

Letty frowned. “You shouldn't have told him.”

“It will be okay.” Con had jammed the doors, and getting the men out and unbound would take a while. Hopefully, long enough. She couldn't wait to see SWAT burst inside. She peered expectantly into the stormy darkness beyond the front door, empathizing with every hostage Con and his team had saved over the years. How many people were alive and rejoicing? How many criminals behind bars, thanks to them? Heroes? You bet. Every single one. Every single day.
C'mon, guys. Now would be good.

An answer to her silent plea came almost immediately, as the blue walkie-talkie at Tony's belt crackled.
Not
the response she'd expected. Tony didn't have a headset, so Con's voice echoed inside the theater. “I'm ready to turn myself in.”

The air froze in Bailey's lungs. She couldn't breathe.
No!
Impossible! He'd said he would never do that!

“Sign in, Mr. Mystery Guest,” Tony replied, his smile wide and triumphant. “Join the game. It's just getting interesting.”

“Release the hostages, first. Me for them. A one-shot deal. Take it or leave it.”

Dizziness washed over Bailey and she gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling. She would rather die right here, right now, than see Con hand himself over to Tony. The grisly trophy of Brian O'Rourke's watch told her the robber would not release Con alive. The man carried a grudge to deadly extremes. Every instinct she possessed cried out in horror.

“Why would I accept those terms? What's to stop me from
offing them right now?” Tony gestured at Bailey with his cigarette. “Starting with cupcake, here?”

Do it. I dare you.
She bit back the words. If Tony killed her, Con would lose his head and charge in, running on blind rage. And probably get shot.

“Go ahead. You'll die, too.” Con paused just long enough to ramp up the tension. “I'm betting that watch on your wrist says you want the
satisfaction
of meeting me before you go, DiMarco.”

Tony went absolutely still for a moment. Slowly, he nodded. “I'll be damned. Isn't fate a wily bitch?” Amusement creased his craggy face. “Satisfaction comes full circle, at last. To which O'Rourke do I have the honor of speaking?”

Tightly controlled rage simmered in Con's voice. “Conall.”

“Ah, the number two son.”

“Do we have a deal, DiMarco, or do I storm in there and blow you to hell?”

“And if you miss?”

“I don't miss.” This time, Con's reply was icy calm. “On the chance I'm having an off night, my brothers will transport your cold, dead body to the morgue. Makes no difference to me.”

Bailey bit her lip. Since Con was speaking over the blue walkie-talkie, the SWAT team couldn't hear the conversation. Con must have conveyed his plan before contacting DiMarco. The fact that his brothers were outside backing him up ignited a flicker of hope. Aidan, Liam and Grady were as good at their jobs as Con. If the O'Rourke brothers couldn't get them out of here, nobody could.

A long, wrenching pause ticked past. Tony flicked ashes from his cigarette into a dish on the counter. Finally, he spoke. “Deal.”

No, no, no!
Bailey's mind shrieked as Tony herded the trio of hostages into the main hallway at gunpoint.

Con sauntered down the opposite side of the corridor, exuding courage, strength and command. Though his posture appeared casual, the planes of his handsome face might have been cast in granite. His muscles were tense, his lean body alert. Power and grace, a tiger on the hunt. Sharp resolve glinted in his dark eyes. His taut jaw worked rhythmically—chewing gum.

Her warrior was in full battle mode.

“Get them moving,” he demanded.

“Hands on your head,” Tony shouted back.

Con complied, and Tony waved his pistol at Bailey. “Go.” Then he trained his gun on Con.

Ensnared in the icy shroud of her most horrifying nightmare, Bailey slowly walked forward. Letty followed, leading a stumbling Mike by the arm. With each step, Bailey walked farther from danger. With each step, the man she loved walked toward it. The man who would sacrifice everything for her. Even his own life.

She couldn't blame him. She understood exactly how he felt. As she passed him, he held her gaze. Across the distance separating them, his dark eyes conveyed love. Sorrow. And something he'd gone to extreme lengths to control. Fear. Not for himself. For her.

“You said you'd never do this,” she whispered.

He smiled, a wealth of love shimmering in his gaze. “My heart chooses you.”

Her heart broke on a sob. “Turn around. Run!”

“Don't worry, baby. Go hide out till it's all over. It's gonna be a pleasure cruise.” He emphasized the last word slightly, and his gaze quickly flickered to the left.

She couldn't dissuade him. Perhaps she could tip the odds somewhat in his favor. “The money cart is armored,” she whispered.

“Stop flapping your jaws and keep walking,” Tony ordered.

When Bailey reached the bend in the corridor, she turned around. Con shot a glance over his shoulder. His gaze drank her in…one last, lingering look. His face softened with compassion. “I love you,” he mouthed. “Be strong.” He turned and strode into the theater at the point of Tony's gun.

 

Inside the theater, DiMarco shoved Con against the wall next to the concession stand and patted him down, then spun him face front. “No weapons. Good boy. Daddy would be proud.”

“I stuck to the terms.” Con was armed only with his wits and training. The man who had spent the entire night trying to kill him packed a 9mm, and was bulked up, hard and fit. Despite the
fact that Con had twenty-plus years on the guy, he would be a formidable combatant.

“You can keep the Kevlar vest, for all the good it will do.” DiMarco pressed his weapon to Con's temple. “A head shot followed by a five-mile freefall from the chopper will do the job right.”

Con kept his face expressionless. Let the bastard gloat. The freefall wasn't gonna happen, because there was no real chopper. The SWAT team planned to lure the robbers outside and take them down, away from the civilians inside the mall. No chance of stray bullets or escaping bad guys hurting the ex-hostages. It was gonna be close-quarters battle because the snipers couldn't get an accurate shot in this weather. A 9mm point blank to the skull would do the job, though.

DiMarco was combat-honed and battle savvy. If he squeezed off a shot before the team could neutralize him, Con's brains would be spattered all over the parking lot. Con had to take his chances on the ambush distracting DiMarco enough for Con to disarm him and take him down. He refused to consider the not-so-hot odds of survival. He'd saved Bailey, his top priority. He also planned on living through the night. On going home.

DiMarco's dark, contemptuous eyes locked on Con's face. “You look just like your old man.”

Con nodded. All the O'Rourke boys resembled their father. “So, you did know him.” A man who wore a worthless watch as a trophy for years after the fact had a lot of hatred simmering inside. Con was bargaining DiMarco would want to brag about what he'd done to Con's father before he killed Con.

In fact, he'd bet his life on it.

“Yeah, to my everlasting regret.” DiMarco lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Con shuffled the cards and opened the highest stakes poker game of his life. “What does that twisted mind of yours think he did to you?”

“You can't begin to imagine, kid.” DiMarco exhaled smoke. “You know, you could have been my son.”

Red-hot rage boiled through Con's veins. “My mother wouldn't get near you without a biohazard suit, you freak.”

Tony set his cigarette in a dish on the counter beside him. His movements deliberate, he drew back his arm and belted Con across the face. “You'd be surprised what your sainted mother did, back in the day.”

Con swiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and fought down his rage. Tony's willingness to chat played right into his plan. Many standoffs ended after the suspect aired their grievances with the hostage negotiator. Sometimes, all they wanted was someone to listen. Sometimes, they killed the hostages and/or themselves without anyone learning their motives. DiMarco would never surrender, but he obviously had things he wanted Con to know. All Con had to do was rein in his temper long enough to win the game. He could do that. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“The truth hurts, kid.”

“Yeah?” Con mentally counted minutes. DiMarco was a wild card. If the “chopper” didn't arrive soon, he could blow a gasket and decide to shoot him here and now. Every minute Con kept him talking was another minute he stayed alive. “What's your warped version of the truth?”

“Your dad, mom and I were best friends. Until Maureen chose Brian over me.”

“Mom's always been a supremely good judge of character.” DiMarco clubbed him again. Con shook off the blow. “So, what happened?”

“I'll tell you. But only because I want you to die with the truth about your ‘perfect' parents gnawing at your guts.” DiMarco's eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and cold chills shivered up Con's spine. Wild card? The guy was a buttload of fries short of a Happy Meal. A certifiable lunatic. Which made him totally unpredictable. But crazy like a fox. DiMarco had ripped off banks and evaded the cops for nearly a decade—in two different cities. Nuts, but not stupid…a highly lethal combination. Thank God Con had bargained Bailey out of his clutches.

“I can live with that.” When all you have is a pair of deuces, bluff like hell.

“Not for long.” DiMarco's smile was slow…and nasty. “Mau
reen and I were an item. I wanted to marry her before I went to war, but didn't figure she would have me without any money. Broads love their diamonds. When we were out on the town, she mentioned a load of medical supplies the hospital had received by accident. That stuff brought big bucks on the black market. Brian borrowed a truck from the motor pool, and loaded up the swag.”

“Mom and Pop wouldn't have gone along with that scheme.”

“Maureen didn't realize she'd passed on valuable intel. I told Brian that she had arranged for us to deliver the supplies to the airfield for transport to another hospital. I knew he was hot after my girl. He would have done anything for her. To make a long story short…and your life as well…” DiMarco's smiled widened into a chilling grin. “The MPs caught up with us, and I rolled the truck. I told Brian to run, and took off on foot, assuming he would do the same. Only he couldn't, on account of a broken leg.”