designed to stave off the real authorities. Everyone wanted to believe that when faced with a terrible situation they’d rise above it, become the hero that lay hidden inside them. It was a shame when that moment arrived and you turned out to be a coward.
Randall barely looked up as he strolled back to the facility, headed for the parking garage. By now Barry would have gone home, along with the bulk of the staff. Randall squeezed the Post-it in his hand, the number of the San Francisco FBI field office scrawled on it. Thanks to the facility’s jamming measures he needed to drive outside the gates for his cell phone to work. He’d call as he drove, making sure they started searching for Madison while he crossed the bridge to turn himself in. The FBI had the most experience handling kidnappings, and maybe he could strike up an agreement to get housed with a better class of criminal. He’d call Syd afterward, that way she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk him out of it.
He was still a block from the parking garage gate, digging in his pocket for his ID card, when the van rolled up beside him. Distracted, he barely registered it. At the sound of a door rolling open he snapped his head to the side. By the time his brain processed the arms reaching out for him, it was already too late.
“Shit!” Kelly hissed, leaping back behind the shelter of the door frame. A sharp report, then the thunk of dozens of pieces of shot sinking into wood.
“Agent Jones!” one of the cops yelled.
“I’m okay,” she called back. “Get the rest of them secured.” The sound of sirens in the distance. “Better come out,” she yelled. “Hands where I can see them!”
“Fuck you,” the bartender growled.
Kelly glanced down, noting the trail of blood out the door. “Is Agent Rodriguez still alive?”
There was a chuckle, then the bartender called out, “For now. Anyone else comes in, though, it’s gonna get ugly.”
Kelly closed her eyes. It was already ugly. And the fact that Rodriguez wasn’t communicating was cause for concern. She hadn’t noticed a gag, but then she’d only had a second to process the scene. “Backup is going to be here in a minute. As of right now, we don’t have anything but assault on you.”
“I’m a three-striker, lady. Doesn’t matter.”
“It will when you’re facing federal prison time. Believe me, they’re a hell of a lot worse.”
He laughed again. “You don’t got a prison that can scare me.”
Kelly recognized the accent, southern Tennessee. “You don’t want to do this.”
“You kidding? I been waiting all my life for a hostage like this one. Play my cards right, I leave here in a helicopter, end up in Aruba.”
“It never ends that way.”
“Nope. But if I’m going down, it’ll be fighting.”
Kelly chewed her lower lip and silently cursed Rodriguez for being such an idiot; the bartender, for being completely insane; and herself, for not leaving the FBI a few months ago. Only fifty-one FBI agents had been killed on active duty in the entire history of the Bureau. One of those had been her former partner. If she contributed another, she might as well turn in her badge tonight. “You really want that? Hostage negotiators, snipers, lasers on your chest? It’ll get messy.”
“Will it get me on TV?”
The bartender was smarter than he looked, and didn’t sound scared. Not a good combination. Kelly decided to try another tack. “There are two shots in there-that’s if you had a chance to reload. How far do you actually think that will get you?”
“Far enough.”
The sound of running boots, then chatter as the responding officers explained the situation. Out of her peripheral vision she caught a flash of blue. Kelly spun, finger beside the trigger, but someone caught her hand. She let out her breath when she saw Phoenix SWAT lining up behind her, out of sight of the door. The commander leaned close and asked, “How many?”
“One that I’ve seen. Double-barrel shotgun, assume it’s fully loaded. Agent Rodriguez is on a chair about three feet to the right.”
The commander issued a series of complicated hand signals to the rest of the team. He put a hand on her shoulder, motioning for Kelly to move behind them and out of the way. She shifted down the line.
“Hey lady, I’m getting lonely in here.”
She glanced at the commander, who nodded. “I’m still here,” she responded.
“You know, I always had a soft spot for redheads. Maybe you should come in, get down on your knees and show me what you can-”
The rest of his thought was sliced off by an explosion. Kelly twisted her head away, seeing stars. The SWAT team swarmed the room on the heels of the flashbang, barking commands. Kelly waited, braced for the sound of gunfire. A full minute passed, the smoke slowly dissipating. Finally, the commander stuck his head out. “All clear if you want to come in.”
Kelly entered the room. The bartender was on his belly, hands cuffed, tears streaming down his face. It would be a while before his vision and hearing returned to normal. Shame that the damage wasn’t permanent, she thought, quickly examining Rodriguez. He was tied to a chair, suit and shirt streaked with blood. His face looked like someone had worked it over with a bag of nickels. Considering this crew, maybe they had. His head lolled to the side. He was conscious, but barely. She knelt beside him and untied his hands.
“Agent Rodriguez.”
One eye squinted open.
“There’s a bus outside, I told them to bring in a stretcher,” the SWAT commander said.
Kelly nodded her thanks. “Did you get anything out of them?” she asked Rodriguez.
He made a strange sound, choked and garbled. It took her a second to recognize it as a laugh.
“That’s all right. I’ll see you at the hospital.” She got out of the way as two paramedics rushed in a stretcher. She could press for more details after he’d been treated. Rodriguez looked like crap, but the kind of crap that was survivable. Hopefully he’d have something. From the look of things, they hadn’t intended to keep him alive. No reason for them not to talk freely. At least if he’d overheard something, the afternoon wouldn’t be a total disaster.
Kelly stepped outside as the bartender was being led to a paddy wagon packed with his cohorts. “Not him,” she called to the officer.
He turned, puzzled.
“He rides in a car alone. And I want him kept separate from the others at holding.”
The officer shrugged. It was the same guy who looked at her disparagingly when he arrived as backup. “Not a problem.” He led the bartender to his squad car, making sure to knock his head on the frame as he pushed him into the backseat. The bartender grunted but didn’t say anything.
Kelly turned back to the SWAT commander. “You got this?”
“Sure. Worst of it’s over, now we just secure the site. We’ll get some patrol officers to handle it.”
“Great. I’ll give my statement at the station. Then I want to start on the interviews.”
“Looks like it’ll be a long night, huh?”
“That actually sounds optimistic,” Kelly tossed back as she headed to her car.
Fourteen
Jake lay on the bed in his hotel room, hands crossed behind his head, remembering the last time he saw Kelly. She’d come up to New York for a visit, one of their typical morning train up Saturday/evening train home Sunday weekends. Never enough time, but at least he got to fall asleep with his arms around her for a change. After indulging in too much paella and sangria at a Spanish restaurant in the West Village, they decided to walk back to his place. For late May it was unseasonably warm, a mini heat wave, and the magnolia trees were in full bloom.
Kelly’s dress was as red as her hair and she was laughing at something he’d said. She was framed by the
