Chapter Nineteen
“Your girls are hanging in there.”
Trace understood that Sergeant Clint Parrish seemed focused on reassuring Rachel and Tasha first and foremost. That pleased Trace, since he himself was focused on taking care of his woman.
“One of my men maneuvered himself in very close to the house and peeked into a side window. He said both girls saw him and gave him a subtle nod. They’ve both got grit, I can tell you that. They’re tied up in a corner, but they’re keeping it together. Their safety is our top priority.”
Rachel’s nod was tight. Trace could feel the tension in her and knew there wasn’t much more either he or Brandon could do than to just be there for her and let her cling to them. He was so fucking proud of his woman, and right then, he was proud as hell of Libby, too.
The Cosgrove women are made of damn fine stuff.
He took one moment to acknowledge to himself the terror he felt for Libby. He couldn’t let the helplessness swamp him. He began a mental litany of prayer and focused on the moment, on keeping it together, on being there for Rachel.
“They’re both amazing young women,” Clay Dorchester said. “They’ve both been through more than any two young women their age should have ever had to face. We’re all very proud of them, and we love them beyond measure.”
Trace understood he wasn’t the only one tense, the only one silently praying. He and these other three men—these other three fathers—felt exactly the same way, were battling the same fears. He knew he would long remember this day as the most difficult day of his life.
Parrish nodded. “I know you do. I’m going to go and talk to Cosgrove now, by phone. I’m going to stand where he can see me, and I’m going to do my best to convince him to surrender.”
The plan was for Parrish to stand within sight of the house and to communicate via cell phone. The call, in essence, would be a conference call, with the command center being the third party to the conversation but one without a microphone. Those listening would be able to hear every word said, but neither Cosgrove nor Parrish would be able to hear them.
Rachel tucked herself in even tighter between Brandon and himself. Brandon kissed her head, and Trace followed suit then whispered three words into her ear.
“Have faith, sweetheart.”
The sergeant left them and, after a few words with his team, headed over the rise. A few moments later, the sound of the conversation came through the audio receiver.
Trace listened with the others as Parrish worked to establish a rapport with Buck Cosgrove. He seemed to have some success talking football, and baseball, and even what brand of beer they preferred. Clint bonded with Cosgrove over a preference for Shiner.
Trace heard the moment when exhaustion crept into Cosgrove’s voice. He moved closer to Rachel and met Brandon’s gaze. He sensed the danger and saw that knowledge reflected in his brother’s eyes.
They all hoped Clint could talk Cosgrove into surrendering. He’d never been involved in any kind of hostage negotiation himself, but some of the courses they’d taken were about that very thing. In these modern times, all first responders ran the risk in finding themselves in such a situation.
The biggest danger of everything blowing up was when the perp began to realize he wasn’t going to get what he wanted and that his arrest, or death, were imminent.
“Buck, you have to know we can’t get you the money or the safe passage you’re demanding. This situation can only end well for you in one way. Right now, you’re looking at charges that can be negotiated. But if anything happens to those girls in there? There’ll be no negotiating away the death penalty.
“I know you’ve had a rough few years. I think what’s happened, here, is just the result of those rough times. You made a wrong decision earlier today. Buck, you don’t deserve to die for a single wrong decision.”
“It’s just not right! Rachel has all that money. It’s just not right that I have nothing.”
“Buck? Rachel never received a windfall. All she’s ever gotten was a little bit of aid from a charity group, to help her make ends meet while her daughter was in hospital in Tennessee and she couldn’t work.”
“She doesn’t owe a penny to that fancy hospital she used. How do you explain that?”
“No one does. St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital doesn’t charge the families of sick kids. Period. Buck, whoever told you different was flat-out lying to you.”
There was a long silence and then a loud sigh. “Fucking Rudi. I should have known he was bullshitting me. Just poking at me to piss me off. Asshole.”
“Buck? Please, do the right thing, now. Please put down your gun and come out, with your hands up. Come on, Buck. Come out, now.”
There was no immediate answer, just silence. Trace felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back as the silence seemed to go on forever. He was so scared in that moment it was a wonder he didn’t puke.
The call connection ended with a click.
Then, finally, a new sound, a squeak that put Trace in mind of a hinge in need of oil. Trace closed his eyes, his relief immense. Rachel sagged into them both. Trace helped hold her up.
“On your knees, hands behind your head.”
“Go!”
The two commands erupted one on top of the other, not via phone but live, commanding voices that carried on the air from the crime scene just over the rise.
Adam held his hand up. Trace noticed he was wearing an earpiece. He’d thought that moment of silence a few seconds ago had been the worst moment ever? This moment—understanding that the cops had entered the house and were seeing to the girls, that they didn’t want the parents there until they verified their condition—this moment was the worst.
“Buck
