Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,41

arms. His expression unreadable, he checked himself. “I know it’s been tough, and you’re feeling rocky. But the cavalry is here. We’ll get you out to them, and then you can stand down.”

Shame washed over her. She’d reacted badly to the fight, and Con was suffering the effects. Yet, as always, his thoughts were focused on her safety. If only they had time to work things out. “Con, listen…I—”

“No time to talk.” He pivoted away from the doors. “Let’s go.”

Frustration and unhappiness churned inside her. No time for anything but endless flight, unceasing fear. Another crouching sprint up a gloomy corridor. Though the sinking pit in her stomach already told her the answer, she had to ask. “Are you coming out with me?”

“SWAT needs eyes and ears inside. I’m elected.”

She couldn’t leave with everything unresolved between them. What if the worst happened and she never saw Con again? She didn’t want his last thoughts of her to hurt. She drew a shaky breath. “Too bad you can’t decline the nomination.”

“Other than the fact we won’t be together, I don’t want to. This is what I do.”

Yes, it was. She’d learned in the last few hours exactly how capable he was at his job. And how hard and gritty the work. Bailey stomped down her roiling emotions. She could not, would not, think about how awful it would be walking out that door without him. She refused to be further hindrance. She’d have to snatch a few seconds to tell him her feelings before they separated. Once outside, she could indulge in a nice, quiet, private nervous breakdown. For now, hold it together. “What’s the plan?”

“A couple of armed team members will be waiting for you outside the access door. The negotiator will create a distraction, and you’ll be free before you know it. Run to them. Don’t hesitate, don’t stop and don’t look back.”

Another sprint up the mall, another fifty-yard dash toward freedom. Panting, she leaned against the shoe store. Running with the heavy vest on was exhausting her rapidly dwindling resources. The going was also slower and tougher now that the floor was wet. Behind her, Con was barely breathing hard.

She shivered and rubbed her arms through the thin silk blouse. The chill was growing more bone-rattling by the moment. She hoped the robbers spared a thought to Letty’s age and were keeping her warm. Of course, if Con was right and they didn’t plan to let her go, they wouldn’t care. Bailey squelched the horrible thought. Concentrate on here and now.

“No talking from here on. We’ll have to use hand signals.”

In order to reach the hidden access panel, they again had to cross the wide open space by the back doors. Logically, one would think that after hours of constant terror, a person would get used to it. Maybe grow numb.

She could testify that wasn’t the case.

Bailey in front, Con behind, they crawled on hands and knees under the bank windows. Rustling sounds, rapid footsteps and the sharp tang of cigarette smoke drifted out the open doorway.

“Filthy habit, smoking,” Letty’s calm soprano reprimanded. “It’ll kill you one of these days, young man.”

Bailey wanted to laugh and weep at the same time. Her friend was alive, and still very much in possession of her indomitable spirit.

“Pipe down, Grandma.” The graveled Bronx accent belonged to the man she’d encountered in the parking lot. “I got enough problems, I don’t need any more grief from you.”

“I need to use the restroom.” Nan’s soft request was also calm.

“We’re kinda busy at the moment, lady,” Bronx snarled.

“I really can’t wait very long.”

“I can escort her,” Mike supplied, sounding a lot shakier than the women.

“Oh, right. Like that’s going to happen in this century.”

“Hey, Tony, you were right about the C-4.” A second man’s voice, steeply pitched with excitement broke in. “Popped that vault slicker than snot on a banister. As soon as we get the dough loaded, we can finish it and get the hell out of here.”

C-4? That must have been the explosion and first crash they’d heard. The robbers had grown desperate and blown the vault open. Finish it? Did that mean what she suspected? Bailey shivered again.

“Attention, in the bank!” Wyatt Cain, the hostage negotiator, shouted from outside. He must be using a megaphone because his mellow baritone echoed through the deserted mall, loud and clear. “This is Riverside PD. The SWAT team has the mall surrounded. There is no way out.”

A chorus of vile epithets spat from the men