Nash gave him a thumbs-up, then yelled at the pilot to take off. He watched out the window until Stephanie and Brett were no more than specks. When he couldn't see them anymore, he watched anyway, knowing they were still standing there.
Chapter Fourteen
By five in the morning the San Francisco sky had turned pale gray. Nash had lost count of the cups of coffee he'd consumed. He'd managed to talk the bank robbers into releasing the bodies of the two men they'd killed before Nash had arrived, and one pregnant woman who had gone into early labor. There were still fifteen people and three men with guns inside the ground-floor bank building.
FBI agents, local police and SWAT teams circled the high-rise. There were sharpshooters in place. The media was being kept at bay, with a live news feed being set up across the street.
Jack sat with Nash in the specially equipped vehicle in front of the bank.
“Now what?' Jack asked.
Nash didn't have an answer. Becker, the guy he'd been talking to for the past several hours, hadseemed like he was ready to discuss releasing more hostages, but then had hung up unexpectedly. The bank's surveillance cameras had been disconnected by Becker and his buddies when they'd first taken hostages, so getting a look inside that way wasn't an option. A long-range camera had shown the three men having what looked like a heated argument.
“I'm guessing one of them doesn't agree with Becker's plan to give up,' Nash said.
Sometimes that happened. Some criminals would rather shoot it out and face death than accept the consequences of prison. If that was the case, if a man was prepared to die, there weren't many rescue options.
“Can we take any of them out?' Jack asked.
Nash looked down at the bank floor plan he'd been given. Becker had said the hostages were being held in the vault. The door was open, but the civilians were still out of the main section of the bank. If Becker was telling the truth, then the sharpshooters could fire into the bank without hitting the hostages.
“We can't take one of them out,' Nash said. 'Even if we planned an armed assault for one or two seconds later, there would still be enough time for hostages to be killed. What are the odds of us getting all three of them at once? I don't want any dead civilians. Not on my watch.' Jack nodded. In this situation, Nash was in charge.
Nash rose and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The street had been blocked off, which would be hell on the morning commute. His stomach grumbled.
Frowning, he tried to remember the last time he'd eaten. Not since arriving. The men inside hadn't, either. Or the hostages. He picked up the specially equipped cell phone that not only connected with Becker, but also activated a recording device and transmitted the call back to the FBI truck.
As he punched in the number, he shifted slightly. Then he had to move again. What the hell? A rumbling sound grew as the ground began to roll.
Nash swore. Great. Just what his morning needed. A damn earthquake.
The rolling grew in intensity, as did the roaring sound. People began to yell. A few screamed. He looked up at the tall buildings all around him and figured he'd better head for cover. Just then the doors of the bank burst open.
A tall, dark-haired man ran onto the sidewalk.
“Don't shoot,' he yelled, holding a cell phone in one hand and a gun in the other. He tossed the gun on the ground.
Nash was on him in a second. 'Becker?' he yelled, even as he twisted the man's arm behind him and physically dragged him away from the bank.
“That damn building is swaying like a boat,' the man cried out. 'It's gonna fall and I'm not going to be crushed to death like some bug.' Behind him, still in the bank, another man was screaming for Becker to get his sorry butt back inside. The ground continued to roll and shake, distracting everyone.
Nash grabbed his radio. 'Now,' he called out. 'Get in there now!' The rescue team swanned the front of the bank. With the earthquake still rumbling Nash couldn'thear the crash of the bank's rear door being blown as the rest of the team entered that way. Three shots were fired, then there was silence. Nash clutched his radio. – 'One gunman shot,' a voice said. 'One captured. The hostages are all safe.'
“How are you going to explain the earthquake in your report?' Jack asked several hours later as he sat on a corner of Nash's temporary desk in the San Francisco office.
Nash leaned back in his chair. 'Sometimes we get lucky. That's all it was.'
“It was more than that,' his boss said. 'Before you arrived, they'd killed two people. You put a stop to that. You're good at what you do.'
“Thanks.' Jack stood up. 'Either I was wrong about you burning out or you got what you needed from your vacation. You're welcome to come back anytime you'd like.' He grinned. 'Is tomorrow too soon?' Work. Nash's refuge. Was he ready to return so quickly?
“Let me get back to you on that,' he said.
Jack raised his dark eyebrows. 'You sure about that?' Nash nodded. 'I'll finish my report and see you on my way out.'
“Fair enough.' He left and Nash turned his attention to the computer screen. But instead of entering his report, he found himself thinking about what had happened that morning. How a 4.2 earthquake had saved fifteen hostages. As he'd told Jack, it had been little more than dumb luck. As always, there were circumstances out of everyone's control. Even his.
He placed his fingers on the keyboard, then dropped his hands back onto the desk. Well, hell. What do you know, he thought grimly. He couldn't control the world. If he were honest with himself, he might admit he couldn't control much of anything. Life happened, and he didn't get to decide which way it was going to go. He'd never been able to decide. No matter what he wanted or expected or needed, life had its own plan and didn't consult with him.
Today he'd gotten lucky. Two years ago, he hadn't.
Nash rose and crossed to the window. He stared out at the skyline of the city, but instead of seeing the tall buildings, he saw the bomb explosion that had killed his wife.
He hadn't known. No one had known. Tina had acted impulsively. He hadn't killed her. He'd never been responsible. Maybe he'd never believed he was. Maybe wallowing in guilt over not stopping her death had been easier than facing the truth-he felt guilty because he'd never loved her.
He should never have married her. He saw that now. Maybe he'd always known that, too. But he'd been in his late twenties. It had been time for him to get married, settle down. She'd been there and she'd wanted him. He'd been flattered. When she'd suggested making things permanent, he couldn't think of a reason to say no. He cared about her, they got along. He hadn't known what love felt like. He hadn't known the possibilities.
But after a few months, he'd seen that they'dmade a mistake. He'd tried to talk to Tina, but she'd refused to admit there was anything wrong. After a night of fighting, they'd gone to work and she'd been killed.
She'd deserved to be loved. Everyone did. Including him.
Nash stiffened. Had he been the only one living out a part, or had Tina, too, been going through the motions? He would never know. He couldn't go back and make things right with her. But he could make the future better. He could let go of what had happened. He could learn from his mistakes. He could risk living again. He could risk love and belonging or he could continue to live on the outside, always looking in, never connecting.
One way was safe, one was guaranteed to be complicated and messy. What did he want? And what was he willing to risk to get it? The twins sat on the edge of the bed and watched while she packed up Nash's clothes. According to the news, the hostage situation had ended that morning. Stephanie had been half expecting to get a phone call, but when noon came and went without a word, she accepted the fact that he was gone forever.
Reminding herself that she'd been the one to say he didn't have to come back wasn't making her feel any better. Nor were the boys' long faces.
Jason swung his feet back and forth, clunking his heels against the pedestal of the sleigh bed. 'But Nash likes
