Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,62
He encircled Syrone’s beefy wrist and took his pulse. “Not bad. Much better than when we found you.”
“I owe you my life, Irish. Times two. You, too, Bailey. You’re both due for major payback.”
Bailey shook her head. “You’d do the same for us.”
“Hey.” Syrone blinked. “How come you’re still here? Weren’t you supposed to escape out the access door?”
Con fed Syrone another dose of cherry syrup. “The suspects C-4ed the vault, and the concussion took down Santa’s workshop. The access door is blocked. They claim they’ve wired all the exits.”
“Has SWAT been able to contact them? See what they want?”
“They wouldn’t accept the throw phone, but I made contact. Oh, if you need to reach me…” Con handed Syrone the extra red walkie-talkie. “My handle is Nutcracker. SWAT’s patched in, too, just in case.” He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. Syrone’s lowered brows told him the ex-Marine knew Con was providing backup. If the bad guys took Con out, Syrone would know when to call in the cavalry. “Have you seen any action back here?”
“Quiet as the grave, Irish. So, what’d the perps want? Are we gonna blow this gig anytime soon?”
“They’ve asked for a chopper in the multiplex parking lot in thirty minutes.” Frowning, he opened the last wax container—a martian—and administered the odious green lemon-lime liquid. “Not going to happen, because of the ice storm.”
Syrone swallowed, shuddered. “What’s the plan?”
“Bluff like hell.” Con took Syrone’s pulse. Stronger and more regular. He’d be okay—for a while. If they didn’t get him to a doctor, the hand and foot warmers would outlast him. “I’ll check in every thirty minutes. If you don’t hear from me, call in SWAT.” Again, he didn’t elaborate. Syrone read him loud and clear. If Con missed a radio check, he would be either unconscious or dead.
He squeezed Syrone’s hand. “My gut says the crap’s about to hit the fan. It’ll go down fast. Hang in there, Marine.”
Syrone nodded. “You may be a wimpy SWAT boy, but you’re semper fi, Irish.”
Bailey kissed Syrone’s cheek. “We’ll see you soon.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
Con helped Syrone put on the Kevlar hood. Then, for the second time, they left their wounded friend in his makeshift fortress.
“Always faithful,” Bailey said softly as they stood just inside the store entrance. “I agree.”
“I try, sweetheart.” His wary gaze swept the corridor. He had to be doubly vigilant. If the situation went FUBAR, it would happen during the risky transitional phase. Even if they managed to scramble a chopper, no way would SWAT allow the suspects to board. Especially with hostages. Taking an incident site mobile endangered more lives, both civilians and officers. It was never allowed. At any cost. That was the part that had him worried. “I want to hit the multiplex, do a recon before the suspects move.”
The multiplex sat at the back of the mall, eight theaters branching off a central main lobby. There was one mall entrance and one parking lot entrance.
He left Bailey hidden next door while he took a fast visual inside the lobby. Red running lights along the walls outlined the walkways and concession area, with decent visibility about six feet up. The far corners and vast, echoing ceiling were pitch black. The buttery scent of stale popcorn lingered in the air.
Squirt gun at the ready, he swept inside and performed a swift, thorough search. The theater doors were all locked. So far, so good. Limited lobby access would facilitate containment.
He examined the outer glass doors, and swore. Wires snaked the perimeter, and a chunk of C-4 was lodged in the lower corner beside a detonation device. The SOBs had wired the exits. He didn’t have time to mess with it and didn’t dare. If he screwed up and went boom, Bailey might escape, but the hostages would be on their own. Outside, glittering freezing rain pounded the darkness in a heavy, drumming rhythm. Visibility was limited to a few feet.
Con determined the site was secure and radioed the intel to SWAT so they could get the bomb squad on it. He went back for Bailey. Inside the theater, her glance traveled over the thick, geometric-patterned carpet, dark, menacing nooks and crannies, and then upward. A wistful smile blossomed on her sweet mouth.
He followed her gaze to the board behind the ticket counter, listing shows and times. They’d been here often, but he knew from her dreamy expression she was remembering their last movie date, to see the final installment of Lord