Steal Me (19 page)

M
argaret, baby. You don’t look happy to see me.”

Maggie’s eyes flicked to the gun in Eddie’s hand as he watched her with a Cheshire cat smile. The man she’d been married to had never been into guns that she was aware of.

But he looked comfortable with this one.

Too comfortable.

Maggie had always read about people in life-threatening situations whose minds went perfectly clear and focused.

But since Eddie had strolled into the diner, locked the door, and informed the occupants that he’d shoot anyone that moved, she’d waited for that moment of clarity.

It hadn’t come.

Her mind felt completely blank with terror.

And not just that…she felt small.

Just seeing his face again felt like a time machine, and she went back to the place when she was quiet and meek and tired.

“I’m happy, Eddie,” she said, hoping to keep
him
content.

Her eyes roamed around the restaurant for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure everyone was okay. Luckily he’d come in at a slow time. Only a handful of tables were occupied.

A couple of elderly men in the corner who came in every Wednesday for coffee and pie. A group of chatty women who’d each made about nine customizations to their order. A lone businessman on his laptop.

And worst of all, a mom and her little girl.

Gloria was the only other waitress working today, and she’d just gone out back to smoke. Maggie was the only server in the building, and judging from the silence in the kitchen, she was guessing the cooks had managed to get out the back door.

She was hoping so, anyway.

“The police are on their way, Eddie,” she said quietly. “Might already be outside.”

The mom and the businessman had called 911 within moments, before Eddie had demanded everyone hand over their cell phones.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You know all about the police, don’t you, baby?”

She closed her eyes. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Mm-hmm.” He lowered himself into one of the booths, watching her with an amused expression. “Watching you. Watching them watching you. It’s been great fun.”

She felt a surge of loathing as she looked down at his all-too-familiar form.

She’d touched him once. Loved him.

She wanted to throw up.

The worst part was, he’d never looked better. He’d always had the haggard, dry look of someone who survived on whiskey and onion rings and bitterness, but he looked vibrant and alive.

Stealing had made him this way.

Except…

She looked closer. Something was off. There was a wildness to his eyes. He was radiating energy, yes, but a strange, manic kind of energy. As though he were high on something.

If Eddie had gotten into drugs—and she wouldn’t be surprised—it would certainly explain the new changes in behavior.

Not to mention his creepy grin.

“Are you really doing these things? Stealing?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, studying the gun in his hand. “Who else could elude the cops for this long? Moretti in particular; I’ve heard he’s sharp, but…” He shrugged, then grinned. “I outsmarted him, didn’t I?”

“He’ll find you,” she said.

He snorted. “Well, of course. I all but delivered myself to him.”

Maggie opened her mouth, then shut it, surprised by the truth of his statement.

“So you’re here to turn yourself in?”

“God no. Why would I do that?”

“Then why are you here?”

His look was pitying. “Why do you think, Margaret?”

The terrified fuzz around her brain was starting to clear. “Me. You came for me.”

“Correct.” Now his smile was gentle, and even more creepy. “I did it all for you. I understand why you left, you know. Because I couldn’t provide for you with everyone else keeping me down. It’s why you changed your number and left home, abandoning your friends. And even your family. Your dad says hi, by the way.”

Maggie put a hand to her jumpy stomach. “You talked to my dad?”

“Several times. Visited him when he got out of the hospital. He was all too happy to take me up on my offer to cover his bills after you couldn’t.”

Her hand moved to her mouth. She was going to be sick.

Eddie had gone to see her dad. Who hadn’t said a word.

“Have to take care of my people, and Charlie’s still the closest thing to a dad. He called me son, you know.”

Maggie’s eyes closed. “Eddie…can you…will you let these people go?”

He glanced around. “No, I don’t think so. Not until you agree.”

“I agree,” she said quickly, her eyes flitting to the little girl, eyes wide and confused as she rested against her mom’s chest, just a tad too young to understand what was happening. “Whatever you want, I agree.”

He studied her face before sighing. “No, you don’t, Maggie. You don’t understand yet.”

“Then tell me,” she said, slowly lowering to the seat across from him. “Because I’ve got to tell you, Eddie. You sound like a crazy person.”

He stiffened, and over his shoulder, he saw the businessman give her an incredulous-warning look.

But she was acting on instinct now. Eddie clearly saw her as the same meek, pushover wife she’d been before, who’d be all too happy to do his bidding in exchange for even the merest thank-you.

She needed to establish that she wasn’t that woman anymore. Never again. Needed to show that she wasn’t Margaret Hansen any longer. Margaret Hansen had been a people-pleasing fool, easily controlled by a guilt trip and the hope of praise.

Maggie Walker was…

Self-sufficient.

A writer. Waitress. A dog owner. A friend. Lover.

Maggie Walker was
whole
.

“Do you have any idea how pathetic a cop’s salary is?” he asked, his expression returning to its neutral cheerfulness.

She frowned, confused at the change in topic.

“Even captains,” he continued. “I mean, they can support themselves, but he’ll never take you to Paris.”

Paris?
What the hell? She’d never had more than a passing interest in Paris. The way he was talking, it was like he was in some sort of fantasy world.

“Where have you been living?” she asked, trying to keep in control of the conversation before he could delve any further into his weird crazy place.

He laughed then, happily. “A hotel over on Fortieth, between Ninth and Tenth. Can you imagine? These fools have been bugging every one of our friends, checking security cameras in the fucking Plaza, and I’ve been living under their noses in a boring chain hotel just steps from Port Authority.”

Eddie leaned forward then, his hair falling across his forehead boyishly. “Do you have any idea how many cops swarm around Port Authority? How many I walk by, looking them in the eye, who don’t have a clue?”

He slumped back again laughing, having cracked himself up with his cleverness.

“You broke into a senator’s house,” she said.

He held up a finger at that. “Now, in my defense, I didn’t
know
it was a senator’s house until I broke in. Saw a couple framed photos with the president and started to snoop through their mail—oh, speaking of mail, did you get my note?”

She pressed her lips together.

“I hoped the Morettis appreciated my effort on that one. Sending it to the surly homicide detective while making sure that Mr. Self-Important would get it.”

“How do you know so much about the Morettis? Why do you care?”

He rolled his eyes. “Margaret, honestly. You used to understand me better. I care because you
care
. I’ve been coming by Sunday morning for a couple of months; watched the way you fawned over their tables. Watched you panic when you tried to not so subtly flirt with the captain by dropping bagels in his lap and whatnot. You did the same to me when I was courting you.”

She frowned. “I did not—”

“The ketchup packet, remember?” His voice was earnest now.

“What are you—”

There was a flash of rage on his face. “Don’t play coy with me, Margaret. I’m not in the mood. I know you remember.”

She forced a smile. “Of course I remember.”

She didn’t.

He sat back, mollified, and to her relief, he didn’t ask her to recount an incident for which she had no recollection. For all she knew, it had never happened. His grasp on reality was tenuous at best.

“Oh look,” he said, glancing out the window. “The cavalry are here.”

Her head turned, glancing out the window to see a barrage of cop cars. Her eyes skimmed for Anthony, but Eddie had already stood, jerking her arm and dragging her backward away from the windows.

“Eddie, please,” she said, her voice pleading. “Let these people go. They haven’t done anything, they’re just—”

“Okay,” he said simply, shocking her.

He waved his gun in the direction of the people seated at their tables, terrified eyes on every last one of them. “Outside. All of you. Don’t try anything heroic; I’d hate for anyone to upset me and my gun here.”

They all scrambled for the door. One of the elderly men looked at her, then straightened his shoulders and took a step toward Eddie, but Maggie caught his eye and gave a firm head shake.

He hesitated, his expression sad, before following his companion outside.

“You.” Eddie stopped the mom carrying the little girl when she was steps away from the front door.

The woman and Maggie both tensed.
Please don’t let him hurt these innocent people.

“You go find Moretti—any Moretti—tell them that I’m taking her with me, one way or another. Make sure they understand that.”

The woman nodded, and Maggie had a feeling she didn’t understand, but Maggie did. She knew that Eddie was saying that if anything happened to him, he was taking Maggie with him. Dead or alive.

Who
was
this man? He’d always been possessive, maybe a little
off
toward the end of their marriage, but never violent toward her.

The door closed behind them, and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, just as Eddie gently pushed her toward the floor behind the counter. He followed her down so he was sitting across from her, cocky grin on his face, the gun stopping its haunting aim at her chest.

“Gotta avoid the window,” he said. “Just in case their snipers are more competent than the rest of them,” he added with a pleasant smile.

“How does this end, Eddie? If you wanted us to run away together, barging in here with a gun wasn’t the way to do it.”

“You know, I thought of that,” he said. “Better to find a way to sneak you out from right under their very noses, disappear forever. I could do it, you know. Easily.”

Yeah. Definitely off his rocker.

“So what’s with the circus?” she asked, gesturing to his gun, to the likely ever-increasing police activity outside.

He pursed his lips, looking sulky. “I’m tired of being anonymous.”

“Hasn’t that been your entire point? You’re Smiley. Your MO was a stupid
sticker
.”

Eddie grinned, looking pleased. “I knew you’d like that.”

Again with the nausea. “Tell me you didn’t do this for me.”

“Of course I did. Although it was just a game at first. A way of testing myself. And why shouldn’t I have had what those people had? I only hit people that had plenty of extra.”

“Yeah, you’re a real Robin Hood.”

His eyes flashed again, that deranged, angry look. “You know I’ve never cared for sarcasm, Margaret.”

She pressed her lips together but refused to apologize. She was done apologizing.

“But then,” he said, good humor returning. “
Then
I started to watch the way he’d go to your house.
Stay
there. Saw the way you’d smile at him when he came to the diner. And then you went to his house…” Eddie clucked his tongue reprovingly. “You stayed the night, Margaret. Here I was busily outsmarting the police, and were you admiring me? No. You were choosing the loser in the match.”

The terror was completely gone now, clarity setting in.

Eddie was crazy. Deluded. Jealous.

Armed. Definitely armed.

But he was careless too. His grip on the gun would loosen frequently. He hadn’t tied her up. Didn’t even seem to be watching her all that closely.

He underestimates me.
It isn’t occurring to him that I’ll fight back.

“I needed you to see the real man in all of this, Margaret.”

She lifted her eyebrows condescendingly. “So you corner yourself in a diner with two doors, both of which undoubtedly have dozens of officers on them right now?”

He blinked, as though surprised that she didn’t get it. “None of that matters, Margaret.”

“What
does
matter?”

Eddie leaned forward, his smile gentle. “That I
have
you. And that he sees that I have you. It’s the checkmate he’ll never see coming.”

“Because he didn’t even know there was a game,” she said. “Anthony Moretti doesn’t care about me. He’s been trying to catch
you
.”

Eddie blinked. “But—”

She leaned forward, her voice mocking. “I did stay over at his place, yes, but I slept on the couch. Did you bother noting that his sister was over at his place too? We watched movies, had too many glasses of wine—”

“He wants you!” Eddie barked. “I came here to show him that you’d always be mine.”

“Wrong, Eddie. He wants
you
. And you walked right to him.”

Eddie’s look of outrage was priceless. But it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as his look of complete shock when she grabbed the gun out of his slack hand and turned it on him.

“Margaret—” His hands went up.

“Don’t bother, Eddie,” she said, climbing to her feet, the gun trained on his chest. “Just one question. Have you
always
been this crazy?”

W
here’s the Goddamn negotiator?” Anthony bellowed, his voice turning several heads even amidst the chaos.

Sergeant Corvalis pointed. “Dorfman’s over there being briefed by the fry chef. The cook was there, saw Hansen in person, so Dorfman wants to know his mental state.”

“I don’t want fucking Dorfman,” Anthony growled. “Where’s Evans?”

Christina Evans was the best damn hostage negotiator the bureau had.

“Evans just got married last week. She’s on her honeymoon.”

Anthony opened his mouth to snarl that someone needed to bring her
back
from her honeymoon.

That he needed her
here
, because Eddie Hansen had Maggie locked inside a diner.

With a gun.

He ran two hands over his face, only to realize that they were shaking.

Get a grip. She needs you.

“Anth.”

He turned, saw his brothers and Jill, faces somber.

“We heard on the radio,” Luc said. “Is Maggie—”

“In there,” he said gruffly.

“Do we know it’s Smiley?”

Anth jerked his chin in the direction of the distraught-looking chefs. “The cooks got out the back door, but one of them saw the guy. Description is a match for Hansen.”

“Someone’s coming out!”

They all turned toward the shout, guns drawn as the door slowly opened.

An elderly man stepped out, white as a sheet, hands over his head. Several others followed, each more terrified than the last.

Anthony’s heart lurched when he saw a woman clutching a little girl. Christ, a
child
had been inside.

The cop in him mentally cataloged the wellness of each person coming out, saw as each person was promptly moved away from the diner.

The
man
in him continued to watch the door, which had slammed shut behind the mom and her child. His heart was thudding madly as he waited for the one face he needed to see.

But she didn’t come.

“He’s not going to let her out.” Remarkably, his voice was calm. Steady.

It had to be.
He
had to be. For her.

An officer he didn’t recognize approached. “You guys the Morettis?”

“What of it?” Vincent snarled.

Jill laid a hand on her partner’s arm. “Yes. We are.”

In another circumstance, Anthony might have smiled at the way Jill Henley quietly asserted herself as part of the family, but he was a long way from smiling now.

The officer jerked this thumb over his shoulder. “One of the hostages wants to talk to you.”

It was the mother with the little girl.

Anthony moved over to where she was reassuring the paramedics that both she and her daughter were fine.

“Ma’am, I’m Captain Moretti.”

She nodded, her eyes wide, probably still in shock, although her voice was steady. “That man…the one with the gun. He said to tell you that he was taking Margaret with him, one way or the other. I think Margaret must have been the other woman…the one he kept.”

Anthony gave a terse nod. It was all he could manage before turning back to face the diner.

“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” Luc asked.

His chest seized up at the very thought. He blew out a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”

But if he does, I’ll kill him.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Luc was saying. “The guy’s been so…tepid up until now. What changed?”

“My guess?” Vin said, coming to stand on Anth’s other side, both brothers flanking him. Supporting him. “This latest string of successful break-ins pushed his ego over the top. He thinks he’s infallible. Invincible. He’s probably a little nuts.”

Anthony shook his head to clear it, trying to think of this the way he would any other hostage situation. One that didn’t involve the woman he—

“He’s got to know this doesn’t have a good ending for him,” he muttered. “What the hell are you up to, Eddie?”

“Moretti.”

He turned, saw his boss moving toward him. “Snipers are a go if shit goes south. No sign of Hansen or the woman. Not since they were seated by the window when we first got there.”

“Shoulda put a bullet between his eyes when we had the chance,” Anth said savagely.

Mandela shook his head. “Without knowing for sure he was armed? Would have started a media firestorm.”

Anthony jerked his head backward. “Yeah? And what do you call that?”

Mandela glanced over his shoulder at the ever-growing mass of the press. “Goddamn vultures.”

“Do they know it’s Smiley inside?”

“Not unless someone talked,” Mandela said.

“So probably,” Anthony said.

“Yeah. Probably.”

Anthony pulled out his phone, dialed Maggie’s phone for at least the twentieth time. Luc watched him with a sympathetic expression. “She’s not answering, bro.”

He let it ring all the way to voice mail anyway. Again.

“
Goddamn it
,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “What the hell kind of idiot takes someone hostage, but doesn’t make demands and doesn’t even give us a damn way to talk to him.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t want to talk to us,” Vincent said. “This is all about
her
.”

Anth didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think of her at the hands of a madman who was high on his own assumed power.

“If he touches her—”

Then the diner door moved. Opened.

Anthony didn’t know if the area actually fell completely silent, or if his ears just blocked out all sound, but he’d never known fear like he felt when he saw Eddie Hansen emerge from the diner.

Alone.

Unbidden images of Maggie lying in a puddle of blood flashed through his mind. Hansen wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble only to walk away from Maggie…

“Hands up,” someone shouted at Smiley.

Eddie ignored the order at first but then gave a quick snarl over his shoulder, and then slowly, incredibly, raised his hands over his head.

Seconds later, a woman in a bright orange waitress uniform emerged, gun pointed at Eddie’s back, looking remarkably calm.

Maggie
.

Everything happened fast then.

Eddie was pushed to his knees by a half dozen officers, then to his stomach on the ground, silent and sulky as he was cuffed.

Someone took the gun from Maggie, and incredibly she pointed at it and said something with a laugh.

A
laugh
.

She’d spent at least half an hour with an ex-husband and a gun, and she was laughing.

He didn’t know if he wanted to hug her or shake her.

He couldn’t move.

And then she saw him. Her eyes scanning the dozens of uniformed officers but finding him.

She smiled, wide and warm.

She was safe; it was over.

Vincent and Luc were already there, Luc wrapping Maggie in a bear hug, just seconds before Vincent did the same.

Anth wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by the hug. Maggie, or Vincent himself.

And yet, Anthony’s feet stood rooted to the ground.

“Captain.” The impatient, confused tone of Mandela’s voice told him it wasn’t the first time his boss had said his name.

“Yeah.”

Anth never took his eyes away from Maggie, who was now chatting animatedly with Jill, her hands gesturing wildly. No doubt adrenaline was still coursing through her body.

Later, she would crash. The reality would set in and he would need someone to hold her.

He wanted to be that person. Needed to be.

And yet…

“The press wants a statement,” Mandela was saying. “I think it should be you.”

He jerked in surprise. “Shouldn’t it be you or Jozlin?”

“It’s your case. Nobody’s put in more time than you. You’ve earned it. And I’ve already told the guys you should be first to question Hansen. Figured you’d like that.”

He did. Or he
should
like it.

Anth gave one look at Maggie. She was watching him, although her smile had dimmed. Her eyes hesitant and confused, no doubt completely baffled as to why he’d yet to take so much as a step toward her.

It was déjà vu all over again, and he was on the verge of making the same mistake he’d made then. Of not going to her.

But he
couldn’t
. Knew that if he did, he couldn’t be cool and professional. He’d pull her toward him and wouldn’t let go, and there would be no doubt in
anyone’s
mind that she was more than an informant.

More than a family friend.

More than—more than anyone had ever been to him, ever.

“Moretti. They’re waiting,” Mandela said, jerking his head toward the salivating reporters. “Go.”

Here it was. He’d known it was coming. He’d felt it coming for months.

This was the fork in the road.

One path led toward Maggie.

The other toward recognition and crucial face time with the press. With as high a profile as this case had been, this statement would be all over the news, perhaps nationally.

It was a make-or-break moment for his career; the higher one rose in the NYPD, the more important camera skills were. This was his chance to show he had what it took to represent the department confidently, professionally.

He could turn toward Maggie…

…or he could turn toward his future.

He turned.

Faced the press. Walked toward the waiting microphones, the hungry reporters, the cameras, and the flashing lights.

Walked away from the woman who mattered. For her own sake.

Anthony told himself he didn’t hear her heart break to pieces behind him. And that his own didn’t break right along with hers.