Be careful, her grandfather always said.
She was not trained in hostage negotiation. She was jumping into a process in the middle, startling two men with guns who had no idea who she was and had never seen her before in their lives.
But she had spent enough time around blood to know how much was too much. And Paul was losing too much. He would not last until Lucas gave up. Cavanaugh had said it himself-situations like these could go on for days.
Think things through, her grandfather had said. Keep a savings account. Don’t quit a job until you have another one.
She put the car into gear. Two uniformed officers, wedged into a sliver of shade next to the Hampton Inn, looked at her oddly but did not move toward her.
The bank employees also did not know who she was, had never seen her before. But they might come to curse her name in their last few moments of life.
But her grandfather had also said, Make your decision. Then don’t worry about it anymore.
Hope over experience.
She put her foot on the gas and drove around the corner. Now she heard shouting behind her, the officers telling her to get out of the road. She pulled up in front of the East Sixth entrance between a fire hydrant and a sewer grate.
Now she slipped off the lab coat, left it in the car. Every surface of her body needed to be visible. Keys in hand, she got out and moved to the sidewalk. There she stopped with her arms up, keys dangling from her right index finger. “Lucas!”
It seemed like forever-she hoped that man was keeping good pressure on the wound-until the broken glass door opened. She saw Lucas flip the doorstop down before retreating back into the lobby, which appeared dark beyond the brilliant light outside. The ten feet between them felt like the Grand Canyon, but she could hear him clearly. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the woman with your car. Send out the wounded officer, and I’ll give you the keys.”
A confused pause. “Are you crazy?”
“Yes. Send out the wounded officer. If he can’t walk, send someone with him. Then I’ll give you your keys.”
“Did Cavanaugh send you?”
The sun felt as if it were singeing her hair, and the waves of heat from the pavement made her queasy. She could smell the sausage cooking in a lunch cart down the street and heard a sharp metallic ping, as if a sniper had accidentally dropped a penny, or a bullet, several stories to the sidewalk below. “No. I just want the officer to get help before he dies. You should want that, too.”
“Why don’t I just shoot you and take the keys?”
“Because I’m standing next to a sewer grate. It has nice wide gaps between the slats. You shoot me, I drop the keys, and you’re stuck here.”
“What if Bobby has an extra set on him?”
“Then I’m screwed.” She had a fifty-fifty chance, right? Sweat rolled downward, tickling her sides.
Another pause. “I thought Cavanaugh said-”
“Cavanaugh’s screwed, too. I just want that wounded officer out of there.” When he didn’t answer, she pressed. “Look up and down the street, Lucas. There’s an army out here. No matter what else happens today, what do you think they’re going to do to you if a cop dies?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a forensic scientist with the medical examiner’s office.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m engaged to marry that cop.” The truth, Cavanaugh had said. That’s the only way it can work.
“Really.”
Having to hold her arms up ached. She needed more push-ups in her routine.
“Theresa!” Frank called from somewhere behind her. She did not turn. The poor guy could forget about the Homicide chief ’s position if he couldn’t handle one hysterical relative-another corpse littered in the wake of her decision.
“So I let him go,” Lucas said, “and you’ll walk in here with the keys?”
“I’ll throw them to you.”
“I don’t think so, sugar. I’m going to be down one hostage, and a cop makes a good one. You’re close enough. He goes out, you come in. With my keys.”
Her personal phone rang. She didn’t want to answer it. It was probably Cavanaugh, and she didn’t want to think about the names he’d call her.
But it gave out the first few notes of “Devil in Disguise” before she could turn it off. “My phone is ringing,” she said to Lucas. “I have to answer it.”
He only laughed.
She took that for permission and slowly pulled the phone from its clip.
“Mom?” her daughter said. “The math final wasn’t so bad after all. The first question had this triangle-”
“Rachael, I can’t talk right now.”
The briefest of pauses, a hiccup of time. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m glad your test went okay, but I have to go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s wrong. You should probably go to your dad’s after school. You know he likes to see you.”
“Something’s really wrong, isn’t it? You always think you sound so calm, and you don’t, you never do! What is it? Is it Grandma?”
“No, no. I just have a situation at work.”
“Don’t give me that shit!”
“Language,” Theresa said automatically, but didn’t blame her. Her daughter had just walked into her own personal Twilight Zone, and they both knew it. Theresa didn’t take her sight off of Lucas, hovering beyond the door. “I have to go. But I love you, Rachael. No matter what, I love you more than anything.”
The last thing she heard before flipping the phone shut was her daughter screaming. “Mom-”
Theresa pushed the “power” button.
She had just terrorized her daughter and might render her motherless before the day was out, and all to save her boyfriend. Looked like the Mother of the Year award would slip through her fingers once more.
To her surprise, Lucas asked, “Are you okay?”
Make your decision.
Then stick to it.
“Keys,” she reminded him, making them jangle for emphasis.
“You stay right where you are. You don’t move, you don’t drop those keys for nothing, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you got a deal. Don’t move.”
She saw the shadowy figure retreat, listened to the bottom tones of a conversation. She heard Lucas say, “I don’t care!” but everything else was unintelligible.
Let him still be able to walk, she thought.
Where was Rachael? She had to be in school, probably in lunch period. Was she screaming at the phone now, demanding that her mother answer her? She’d probably call her grandmother next. Who was sixty-four. With a bad mitral valve.
I may have just destroyed every member of my family.
Paul appeared in the doorway, with the black man in the uniform who had been sitting next to him. Theresa could see why. Paul’s face looked ghost white in the brilliant sun, and he leaned his weight on the other man until they both staggered. The blood-soaked suit coat around his thigh had begun to slip from his hand. They emerged from the door. Usual city noise went on in the surrounding blocks, but this stretch of East Sixth had become as silent as the grave.
Two hostages for one. That’s something, she thought. Cavanaugh should be pleased with that.
Her sweat turned to ice. Paul’s face reflected his bewilderment as his conscious mind receded. He didn’t seem to recognize her at first, but then he stretched out a hand. “Theresa-”
“Step down,” the man told Paul. They had reached the curb.
“Keep walking, baby.” She extended her left arm, and their fingertips met in a touch so light she might have imagined it. Her throat closed up. “Just keep walking.”