Takeover

20

12:55 P.M.

Theresa gazed at the dead girl. Auburn curls crowned Cherise’s face, in which a slash of red lips and sightless blue eyes stood out against the paled skin. A screwdriver lay a few inches from her right hand. She had been wearing a shiny cream blouse and dove gray slacks; the slacks were spattered with a fine mist of red dots, but the center of the blouse disappeared into a gaping, bloody hole. He must have fired more than once; Theresa did not know how delicate the trigger on such a weapon would be, how easy it would be to blow away a target’s entire rib cage before the index finger could loosen. It looked pretty damn easy.

“You killed her,” Theresa breathed, the words sounding ridiculous even to her own ears.

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“I had hoped- Why the hell did you kill her?”

“She didn’t cooperate.”

Theresa eyed the Craftsman. Did he make Cherise use the screwdriver to pry open the cash boxes, and she pulled it on him? Did he shoot her in a bizarre parody of self-defense?

But what were they doing behind the cages? Tiny dots of high-velocity blood spatter and one neat bullet hole speckled the cabinet doors to the left of the body, so she had been shot right where she lay. “What were you doing back here?”

“What?”

“What did you come back here for? The cash is in the cages, so why come back here?”

“I thought there might be more.”

“That’s why she had the screwdriver in her hand? Because you thought there might be more boxes for her to pry open?” Not self-defense, then.

“What are you doing, Theresa? Investigating?”

I look at scenes like this every day, she wanted to tell him, and this one isn’t adding up. Besides, every moment she kept him occupied gave Jessica Ludlow another moment to return. “I want to know why you killed her. What happened?”

“I walked her up to the teller cages and told her to pry open the cash drawers.” He began to guide Theresa out, talking as they walked. “Everything was cool. But when I wanted to check out the areas back here, she turns around and starts to argue. She says this area is just for paperwork, which is okay with me, but she waves this screwdriver under my nose. At that point I felt it both necessary and prudent to shoot her. She also served as a good lesson for the rest of you.” His words, so mocking, did not match his voice.

“You might have gotten out of this without murdering. Now there’s no going back.”

He squeezed her elbow again in a vein-crushing grip as they exited the teller area. “What makes you think I want to go back? What do you think is the whole point of this?”

“Good question.” She turned to the security guards this time, taking in their faces, the way their bodies tensed at her passage, as if frustrated that they could not help her. The dog let out one sharp whine. “What is the point of all this?”

“The point is that I’m more than willing to kill to get what I want.” He announced this not only to her but to her fellow hostages as they returned to the reception desk. “Isn’t that right, Theresa? ”

They turned to her with pleading looks, wanting her to disagree. She could not. Despite the reluctance in his voice, if not his words, Lucas had killed without apparent hesitation or remorse. “He killed her. Cherise is dead.”

Missy cried out. Brad and the security guards gasped, a single, unanimous drawing-in of breath.

Lucas released her arm, leaving a tingly sensation as the blood f lowed back. “Sit back down, Theresa. Missy, let go of the kid. His mama’s overdue.”

“You can’t shoot this baby,” the receptionist intoned, just as Theresa had a scant ten minutes before.

“I’d set him aside if I were you. The bullets will go right through him into your lap.”

“You ain’t going to shoot this little boy.”

“Theresa,” Lucas said. “Take the kid from Missy.”

She had been scanning the street outside-was that a movement, or a wave of heat distorting the air?-and blurted out without thinking, “Why me?”

“Because Missy wants to be a hero, an inspiration to receptionists everywhere. You, on the other hand, will do anything to get back to your man and your daughter.”

“Not hold up a baby boy as a target for you.” “You sure?” Was she? Didn’t she owe it to her own child to stay alive, no matter the cost? Then what the hell was she doing here? Why hadn’t she let Paul go, to be sure she could keep being a mother to Rachael? But could she sacrifice someone else’s child? Make your decision, her grandfather had said. Stick to it. “No,” she told him. “I won’t.” He lifted the automatic pistol, aiming downward at both the young boy and the receptionist. “Suit yourself.” “It isn’t smart,” Theresa warned. “Who said I was smart?” “You did,” she insisted desperately. His finger closed on the trigger. The phone rang. The elevator bell dinged. Theresa heard a frenzied rush of footsteps. Jessica Ludlow threw herself into the lobby, toting a visibly stuffed red backpack. “Stop! Don’t kill him!” Lucas ignored the phone and pointed his automatic rifle at the floor. “Well, well. Ethan’s mommy has returned.”

The young woman threw the backpack at Lucas’s feet, went to her knees, and pulled her child back from Missy. He clutched his stuffed Browns mascot, crying.

Lucas snatched up the bag with one hand. “Take a look at this, Bobby. The little lady came through.”

“I filled it up.” Jessica’s breath came in gasps. “The bank-loan department had cash in drawers. Hundred-dollar bills.”

“Just lying around?” Lucas said. He crouched on the floor next to the large black duffel and opened the red backpack as if it were a present plucked from under a Christmas tree. Theresa had just seen his handiwork in Cherise, but she felt positive, in her heart of hearts, that Lucas felt relieved to spare Ethan. Most people had a soft spot for children, she thought. It didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The phone continued to ring.

“No,” Jessica Ludlow explained. Stress made her voice bounce off the walls. “The cops met me. You said that was okay as long as I came back.”

“I did. Relax, Jessie.” He had emptied half the backpack when he asked, “Did they fill this bag?” He began to remove the bundles of money and place them in the oversize end pocket of one of the black duffels. He stacked them carefully, perhaps to fully utilize the space.

“No, I did. I told them not to add any dye packs or anything.” She cradled Ethan’s head under her chin. He let out a shout now and then, but, it seemed, more as communication than as notes of distress.

Lucas’s movements slowed. “How much is here?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Of course you are.” His momentary elation faded before The-resa’s eyes, and his voice turned cold and accusing. “They would have told you, because they’d expect me to ask.”

Jessica Ludlow trembled. “Eight hundred forty thousand. I know you said a million, but-”

“That isn’t good enough.”

“I filled the bag.”

“Not enough.”

Jessica wrapped her arms around her baby and sank back against the marble information desk. Lucas continued to transfer the money in quick, deliberate movements.

“You have over a million,” Theresa said, “with what you got from the teller cages.”

He glanced at her, and somehow the fury in his eyes frightened her more than his gun. “I didn’t ask you.”

After he emptied the bag, he zipped the end compartment closed and folded the now-empty red backpack into a side pocket. Then he stood and whirled in a quick 360, surveying his partner as he spun. “Keep an eye on your car, Bobby. That two o’clock shipment is getting closer. We might as well wait for it.”