Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,88

demanded.

“Hands on your head,” Tony shouted back.

Con complied, and Tony waved his pistol at Bailey. “Go.” Then he trained his gun on Con.

Ensnared in the icy shroud of her most horrifying nightmare, Bailey slowly walked forward. Letty followed, leading a stumbling Mike by the arm. With each step, Bailey walked farther from danger. With each step, the man she loved walked toward it. The man who would sacrifice everything for her. Even his own life.

She couldn’t blame him. She understood exactly how he felt. As she passed him, he held her gaze. Across the distance separating them, his dark eyes conveyed love. Sorrow. And something he’d gone to extreme lengths to control. Fear. Not for himself. For her.

“You said you’d never do this,” she whispered.

He smiled, a wealth of love shimmering in his gaze. “My heart chooses you.”

Her heart broke on a sob. “Turn around. Run!”

“Don’t worry, baby. Go hide out till it’s all over. It’s gonna be a pleasure cruise.” He emphasized the last word slightly, and his gaze quickly flickered to the left.

She couldn’t dissuade him. Perhaps she could tip the odds somewhat in his favor. “The money cart is armored,” she whispered.

“Stop flapping your jaws and keep walking,” Tony ordered.

When Bailey reached the bend in the corridor, she turned around. Con shot a glance over his shoulder. His gaze drank her in…one last, lingering look. His face softened with compassion. “I love you,” he mouthed. “Be strong.” He turned and strode into the theater at the point of Tony’s gun.

Inside the theater, DiMarco shoved Con against the wall next to the concession stand and patted him down, then spun him face front. “No weapons. Good boy. Daddy would be proud.”

“I stuck to the terms.” Con was armed only with his wits and training. The man who had spent the entire night trying to kill him packed a 9mm, and was bulked up, hard and fit. Despite the fact that Con had twenty-plus years on the guy, he would be a formidable combatant.

“You can keep the Kevlar vest, for all the good it will do.” DiMarco pressed his weapon to Con’s temple. “A head shot followed by a five-mile freefall from the chopper will do the job right.”

Con kept his face expressionless. Let the bastard gloat. The freefall wasn’t gonna happen, because there was no real chopper. The SWAT team planned to lure the robbers outside and take them down, away from the civilians inside the mall. No chance of stray bullets or escaping bad guys hurting the ex-hostages. It was gonna be close-quarters battle because the snipers couldn’t get an accurate shot in this weather. A 9mm point blank to the skull would do the job, though.

DiMarco was combat-honed and battle savvy. If he squeezed off a shot before the team could neutralize him, Con’s brains would be spattered all over the parking lot. Con had to take his chances on the ambush distracting DiMarco enough for Con to disarm him and take him down. He refused to consider the not-so-hot odds of survival. He’d saved Bailey, his top priority. He also planned on living through the night. On going home.

DiMarco’s dark, contemptuous eyes locked on Con’s face. “You look just like your old man.”

Con nodded. All the O’Rourke boys resembled their father. “So, you did know him.” A man who wore a worthless watch as a trophy for years after the fact had a lot of hatred simmering inside. Con was bargaining DiMarco would want to brag about what he’d done to Con’s father before he killed Con.

In fact, he’d bet his life on it.

“Yeah, to my everlasting regret.” DiMarco lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Con shuffled the cards and opened the highest stakes poker game of his life. “What does that twisted mind of yours think he did to you?”

“You can’t begin to imagine, kid.” DiMarco exhaled smoke. “You know, you could have been my son.”

Red-hot rage boiled through Con’s veins. “My mother wouldn’t get near you without a biohazard suit, you freak.”

Tony set his cigarette in a dish on the counter beside him. His movements deliberate, he drew back his arm and belted Con across the face. “You’d be surprised what your sainted mother did, back in the day.”

Con swiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and fought down his rage. Tony’s willingness to chat played right into his plan. Many standoffs ended after the suspect aired their grievances with the hostage negotiator. Sometimes, all they wanted