Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,87
lips determinedly together.
“Stop!” Bailey shook her head. She could not let him hurt her friend. Perhaps it could serve a double purpose. Tony would send Rico to free the others. And then there was one. One less armed bad guy for Con and SWAT to handle. “Two are in the restrooms down by the main entrance. The other is…” Alarm jangled her nerve endings. Where had Con said he put the guy Nan had knocked out? “He’s…uh…” Her memory flashed, wrenching her heart. Con rocking her in his arms, soothing her, while holding back his anger over the attack. Would he ever have the chance to hold her again? “In the bookstore storeroom.”
“Rico, go fetch.” Tony ordered. “And pick up Jace after you’re done.”
“You got it. Don’t give away my share of the dough while I’m gone. Ha, ha.” The burly man who had captured her trotted out.
Letty frowned. “You shouldn’t have told him.”
“It will be okay.” Con had jammed the doors, and getting the men out and unbound would take a while. Hopefully, long enough. She couldn’t wait to see SWAT burst inside. She peered expectantly into the stormy darkness beyond the front door, empathizing with every hostage Con and his team had saved over the years. How many people were alive and rejoicing? How many criminals behind bars, thanks to them? Heroes? You bet. Every single one. Every single day. C’mon, guys. Now would be good.
An answer to her silent plea came almost immediately, as the blue walkie-talkie at Tony’s belt crackled. Not the response she’d expected. Tony didn’t have a headset, so Con’s voice echoed inside the theater. “I’m ready to turn myself in.”
The air froze in Bailey’s lungs. She couldn’t breathe. No! Impossible! He’d said he would never do that!
“Sign in, Mr. Mystery Guest,” Tony replied, his smile wide and triumphant. “Join the game. It’s just getting interesting.”
“Release the hostages, first. Me for them. A one-shot deal. Take it or leave it.”
Dizziness washed over Bailey and she gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling. She would rather die right here, right now, than see Con hand himself over to Tony. The grisly trophy of Brian O’Rourke’s watch told her the robber would not release Con alive. The man carried a grudge to deadly extremes. Every instinct she possessed cried out in horror.
“Why would I accept those terms? What’s to stop me from offing them right now?” Tony gestured at Bailey with his cigarette. “Starting with cupcake, here?”
Do it. I dare you. She bit back the words. If Tony killed her, Con would lose his head and charge in, running on blind rage. And probably get shot.
“Go ahead. You’ll die, too.” Con paused just long enough to ramp up the tension. “I’m betting that watch on your wrist says you want the satisfaction of meeting me before you go, DiMarco.”
Tony went absolutely still for a moment. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll be damned. Isn’t fate a wily bitch?” Amusement creased his craggy face. “Satisfaction comes full circle, at last. To which O’Rourke do I have the honor of speaking?”
Tightly controlled rage simmered in Con’s voice. “Conall.”
“Ah, the number two son.”
“Do we have a deal, DiMarco, or do I storm in there and blow you to hell?”
“And if you miss?”
“I don’t miss.” This time, Con’s reply was icy calm. “On the chance I’m having an off night, my brothers will transport your cold, dead body to the morgue. Makes no difference to me.”
Bailey bit her lip. Since Con was speaking over the blue walkie-talkie, the SWAT team couldn’t hear the conversation. Con must have conveyed his plan before contacting DiMarco. The fact that his brothers were outside backing him up ignited a flicker of hope. Aidan, Liam and Grady were as good at their jobs as Con. If the O’Rourke brothers couldn’t get them out of here, nobody could.
A long, wrenching pause ticked past. Tony flicked ashes from his cigarette into a dish on the counter. Finally, he spoke. “Deal.”
No, no, no! Bailey’s mind shrieked as Tony herded the trio of hostages into the main hallway at gunpoint.
Con sauntered down the opposite side of the corridor, exuding courage, strength and command. Though his posture appeared casual, the planes of his handsome face might have been cast in granite. His muscles were tense, his lean body alert. Power and grace, a tiger on the hunt. Sharp resolve glinted in his dark eyes. His taut jaw worked rhythmically—chewing gum.
Her warrior was in full battle mode.
“Get them moving,” he