Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,42

inside the bank.

“Dammit! Doesn’t it just figure?” the man identified as Tony swore. “My last, biggest and most brilliant job. My farewell bash, and there have to be mouse turds in the punch bowl.”

“Put down your weapons and surrender,” Wyatt continued. “Nobody will get hurt, and we’ll all go home.”

That was the signal. While the robbers were distracted by the announcement, Bailey and Con crawled around the corner of the bank.

“Surrender this, pig,” a different man’s voice challenged, and rough male laughter sounded.

Con and Bailey ran past the fountain to Santa’s sleigh, which had tipped on its side. Water droplets beaded the intricate metal runners. Fallen reindeer lay drunkenly in the soggy cotton batting that was supposed to resemble snow. She peeked around the reindeer toward the access panel.

Oh no!

Stunned, she turned to Con, widening her eyes into a what now? look.

He peered around her. She watched disbelief, frustration and anger chase over his face as he saw the North Pole workshop had tumbled to the floor. The sides and roof of the twenty-foot cottage had split and collapsed. Giant shattered toys and dismembered elves littered the floor like war casualties. Candy Cane Lane leading to the cottage had fallen like dominoes, and ten-foot candy canes lay stacked across the end of the mall. A snarled fortress of cracked support platforms, torn, tangled strings of lights and wet, broken plaster. Sealing off the panel. Blocking their escape.

The display must have become unstable when soaked by the sprinklers, and then the concussion from the vault explosion had knocked everything down. That explained the smaller, secondary crashes. There was no way around the piled debris, no path through it, and no way to quietly move it aside.

They had no choice. Con signaled to backtrack.

Another long, cold and exhausting duck-and-run through the dark. The hunted feeling on the back of her neck was growing eerily familiar. With the heavy vest weighing her down, she barely made it up the escalators to the third floor. Con had to boost her with a hand in the small of her back the last ten steps.

“I have to catch my breath.” Shivering with cold, and nearly too weary to stand, she leaned against the balcony railing.

“Hang on just a few seconds longer.” He steered her into a craft store and behind the sales counter.

Her legs gave out and she sank to the damp floor.

“I need to go let the team know the number and position of hostages and suspects.”

“You saw? How are Letty and Nan holding up, and Mike? How did they look? Are they scared? Are they hurt?”

“They looked tired and stressed, which is to be expected. But healthy and all in one piece, sweetheart. And nobody is freaking out. That’s the most important thing right now.”

She heaved a relieved sigh. “How many bad guys are there?”

“At least four in the lobby. There might have been some in the vault and one or two more could be out hunting us and Syrone.” He stroked her hair. “I’ll go signal SWAT from the sky bridge, scout around up here for unfriendlies and be back in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. Okay?”

“Okay.” He slipped out, and she stacked her forearms on her raised knees, pillowed her head on them and closed her eyes. The bleak, silent third floor felt far removed from the bank robbers, like a protective cocoon. An illusion Bailey willingly indulged. At the moment, she could not handle one more minute of fear, one more stint of running, one more dashed promise of rescue.

She might even have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was Con’s gentle voice.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

She looked up. Con stood with his muscled arms spread wide, and a wary yet hopeful expression on his handsome face.

She pushed to her feet and went willingly into his embrace. In spite of the fact that his clothes were soaked and his skin chilled, the hug was warm and reassuring. She rested against his broad chest, letting his solid strength restore her flagging spirits. “Con, I’m sorry for the way I acted after the fight.”

“There’s nobody on this floor but us. While we wait out the next phase of the plan, let’s get some food into you. Then we can talk.”

The brief nap had recharged her batteries slightly. “No, first you change into dry clothes, then we eat. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

“You’re wet, too, from crawling on the floor. We both need to change.”

Figuratively speaking, she thought he was fine exactly as