Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,59
fingers. Anxiousness turned to dread. Looked like SWAT would have to break in and attempt a perilous rescue.
Con held up his index finger. One minute. She tensed. Then her earpiece hummed. The hard, Bronx-accented voice she recognized as Tony’s sounded in her ear. “Hey, Santa’s little elf.”
Con turned aside and spoke in a low, rapid tone into the red unit. “SWAT Command, this is the Nutcracker. Have established contact with the suspects. Abort entry. Repeat, abort entry.” He paused to listen, then turned back and gave her a thumbs up.
Whew. Too close for comfort. Bailey sucked in a shaky breath and strove for a calm demeanor. “Call me the Sugarplum Fairy.”
A short, shocked silence later, Tony responded. “Ah. The spider rescue squad.”
He knew who she was? Bright panic flared, and she sent a wild, silent plea to Con. Help!
He stroked a finger down her cheek, then wrote on his tablet, Have faith. Work him.
She straightened her shoulders. Nan, Letty and Mike’s welfare was riding on her ability to pull this off. She could do it. “I imagine you’re ready to get out of here. I sure am.”
“Who’s with you, cupcake?”
“I’m alone.”
Tony guffawed. “No way.”
She borrowed a leaf from Syrone’s playbook. “I was a Marine.”
“And I’m a one-legged ballerina.” Tony barked out a gruff laugh. “I’m supposed to believe a dainty bookstore babe not only used to be a Marine, but also took out two of my best men, set off the sprinklers, summoned SWAT, and jury-rigged Molotov cocktails?”
“Listen buster, don’t underestimate a woman who reads.” She’d wager brains over brawn any day. She sounded composed, even nonchalant. Amazing, considering all the saliva in her mouth had dried up. “So, you want to chitchat all night, or you want to tell me what it will take to be rid of you? I’m ready to go home, Tony.” She emphasized his name to let him know he wasn’t anonymous to either her, or the police. “How about you?”
Con’s grin bounced back.
“You’re too smart for your own good,” the robber growled.
“Maybe, considering I’m not the one giving a not-so-impressive performance of Custer’s last stand…in a mall.”
Con’s grin spread, white and wicked in his stubbled face.
“I can think of a dozen better ways you can put that sassy mouth to good use, cupcake.”
A scowl wiped out Con’s grin. Uh-oh. He went into guard dog mode whenever anyone disrespected her. She patted his arm. He was right about her doing just fine. She might be useless in a fist-fight, but she had plenty of ammo for verbal jousting. “Even with a vault full of money, you couldn’t pay me enough. We’re wasting time. What do you really want?”
“My missing crew members back. Assuming they’re still alive?”
Con wrote on his tablet, Don’t be too agreeable. Keep him off balance.
“Maybe. I might tell you where to find them after the hostages are safe. Anything else?”
“A chopper. Thirty minutes or less.”
Con nodded and wrote, Multiplex parking lot. More time. Free a hostage.
“I might be able to arrange that. The multiplex lot is the only place big enough for it to land, but it’ll take longer than thirty minutes. Delivering a helicopter is a skosh more complicated than sending out for pizza.” She drew on the research she’d conducted about Con’s job for the correct terminology. “Show me some good will. Release the pregnant woman.”
“Way too smart for your own good. No can do.”
She looked to Con for guidance. Chopper big order. Try again.
“Come on, Tony.” She used the soothing tone she applied when her boss went on one of his frequent rampages. “I’m sure you’re a reasonable man. Let’s compromise, work this out. We’re all anxious to get out of here. If I’m going to order up something as big as a chopper, I need a hostage.”
“How about a dead hostage, cupcake?”
Fear jabbed, swift and deep. Her startled gaze locked on Con’s. His eyes narrowed, the deep brown irises lethal twin lasers. He scribbled, Futile, no profit.
She took a deep breath, then slowly released it. “That would be suicide, and I don’t think you went to all this trouble to steal that money only to waste it. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Yeah, I do. Starting with you.”
Con’s scowl grew black and murderous. She tamped down her fear, even as she watched Con ruthlessly harness his rage. Control, one of his many formidable talents. One hundred and ten percent focused on the job. His resolute focus would save them. And their friends. “Threatening me won’t gain you anything.”
“Satisfaction,