Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,43

the passenger-side door opened, a figure in black holding a gun trained directly on Jo. She raised her hands, unmoving.

They only had a moment before she became his hostage. Sloan saw the slightest window of opportunity. “Champ, can you get a shot?”

“Negative. The girl’s too close to the tango from this angle.”

“Goddamn it!” Sloan watched in horror as the man in black crossed to Jo, wrapping one arm around her neck and using her body to shield his own.

“Hold your fire!” shouted Mac. “We have a hostage situation. Stand down. Gavin and Asher, move to the southern entrance to the park. Now!”

Sloan ran for the library door, drawing his Sig Sauer, Moto on his heels. He exited the building and hopped the railing, landing behind a hedgerow that hugged the foundation and hid him from view. He rounded the corner of the building and crouched low in the plants.

The man had pulled Joanne to the bench and taken the money and was making his way back to the minivan. “It’s all there, I promise you,” Jo said, and Sloan filled with fear the tangos would find her comm set.

“And you promised to come alone,” said the man. “Your word is no good.”

“Just let her go. My daughter didn’t do anything wrong.”

The duo went into shadow then popped out again, Joanne clearly having a hard time walking with his arm around her neck. He was still holding her against his torso as he ordered, “Get in the van. You’re my ticket out of this place.”

“Don’t do it,” Sloan hissed. “Try to get away.”

“I’ll come with you if you let her go,” Jo said.

Sloan wanted to scream at her not to do it, but knew his voice might be heard over the comm set in her ear if he did.

“What is this?” demanded the man.

Fear went through Sloan like an icy breeze. Had he found the comm set anyway?

“You stupid whore.” The man pushed her into the waiting minivan, following her in. “Give me that thing.” The sound of the comm set in the man’s hand was followed by the click of it hitting the pavement. The van door slid shut and the vehicle took off down the road, Sloan instantly on the run after it.

“Hit the tires,” barked Mac, gunfire erupting on the scene from Champion’s rifle.

Sloan was running as hard as he could, his horror causing time to stretch out like taffy. Those men had April, Joanne, and the counterfeit money. It was only a matter of time before they realized it wasn’t real and took retaliatory action.

Sparks flew from the back hubcap and the minivan went hard right, kissing a tree before continuing on awkwardly. Sloan stopped running and aimed his weapon on the opposite tire, which deflated instantly. The vehicle all but stopped. Asher appeared some fifty feet away, preparing to cut off the van from the passenger side. Sloan positioned himself perpendicular to the van and trained his gun on the driver as Asher approached from the other side.

The passenger fired. Sloan did, too, putting several shots into the front seat of the vehicle but careful to avoid the back. Moto and Gavin arrived on the scene, quickly followed by Mac, each of them with the now-unmoving tangos now in their sights.

Sloan moved carefully to the sliding door and opened it, his weapon ready to fire. There on the floor was April, tied up and sobbing as Joanne untied her bindings. He checked the men in the front seat, finding them both dead—Bannon and a younger man. “Tangos down,” said. He moved to the back and took April’s tied ankles into his lap, cutting the ties with his tactical knife and a shaking hand. “Any injuries?” he asked, aware of the strange emotion-filled quality of his voice and the tears that streamed down her face.

She shook her head.

He gestured to the younger man. “Is that the guy from Instagram?”

She nodded, her face crumpling as she sobbed. “He has a big cut on his arm.”

“You scared the hell out of me, April. Thank God you’re all right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Joanne opened her arms and held her. Mac ushered the three of them out of the car as local law enforcement arrived on the scene, blue and red lights bouncing off Thomas Jefferson and the park.

With April and her mother settled together on a bench, Sloan walked back toward the library, dropped into a squat, and wept for the terrible things that could have happened that day. He cried for the