

3:00 a.m.
Con jolted awake, his heart thundering in his chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He struggled to sit up. Where was he? Darkness pressed in from every corner. A hammer clanged inside his skull. Dizziness and nausea broadsided him, making him reel. His instincts were screaming. Bailey's face hovered in his thoughts.
Bailey!
He didn't search. Didn't call out. The vast emptiness, the frozen despair in his guts told him she was gone.
Where?
Loyal to the point of death, Bailey would never desert him. He flung off the blankets, as thick and heavy as the fog muddling his thoughts. Had Syrone radioed for help while Con was out? As much as he'd like to think so, he didn't believe it for a second. Syrone wouldn't endanger Bailey's life. Under any circumstances.
He peered at his watch, the illuminated dial stark blue in the icy gloom, and his queasy stomach pitched. He'd been dead to the world over an hour. Was Bailey with Nan? No. He'd barricaded mother and baby inside the salon. Bailey couldn't get to them.
That left one possibility. One he couldn't bear to consider.
Like an answer from his worst nightmare, the receiving light on the blue walkie-talkie blinked. A surge of adrenaline blasted his sluggish reflexes, and he attached the headset with unsteady hands. Dread jittered inside him as he turned on the unit. He didn't have to say anything. The corresponding light on the robbers' unit would show he'd connected.
"About friggin' time," Tony's graveled voice said. "I've got someone here who wants to speak to you."
Con's heart stopped beating. Oh, Lord. Please, no!
"C'mon, cupcake. Deliver the message," Tony demanded.
Taut silence hummed over the line. Con held his breath.
"Noncompliance. We're gonna have to do this the hard way." Tony sighed, but he sounded almost pleased.
Without warning, Bailey screamed. A high-pitched blade of pain, slicing Con's skin, drawing blood.
His heart slammed into his rib cage and tried to hammer out of his chest. What had the bastard done to her? His throbbing brain conjured up half a dozen horrifying images, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It didn't help. "You sonofabitch," he snarled into the mic. "Plan on having a closed casket. Because when I get done with you, what's left won't be recognizable."
"Aha. The anonymous thorn in my ass speaks up at last. I want you. Unarmed. In the multiplex. Ten minutes...or the cupcake dies." Tony laughed, low and ugly. "And I'll make sure it hurts." He broke the connection.
Bile surged into Con's throat. He was shaking like a rookie in his first firefight. Bailey must have gone willingly with Tony's men. Even zonked out by the head injury, a struggle would have awakened Con. She had protected him. At great cost to herself. Maybe the ultimate price.
He clenched his fists against the slap of grief. Hold it together. Bailey's life depended on his actions in the next few minutes. He sucked in a breath. He had hard choices to make. Fast.
He exchanged walkie-talkies and called Command. Aidan's voice transmitted into his headset. "I was just about to contact you. Alpha Eight snagged a visual on the crew leader through his scope. We've ID'd him. DiMarco, Anthony C. Six foot one, two hundred pounds, age fifty-five. He owns a security company in town. Appears squeaky clean on the surface, no rap sheet. His business trains and supplies guards to banks and armored cars."
"And acquires inside intel to pull bank jobs. Nice setup."
"Ten-four. Unsolved crimes in Denver follow the same MO. When Denver got too hot, he moved to the Pacific Northwest. Here's another news flash. He joined the army about the same time as Pop. They attended basic together, and were both in the twenty-fifth infantry. They were stationed in Hawaii for three months before Pop was injured and mustered out, and Tony went to Vietnam."
Con's intuition twitched. Their mother had also been in Hawaii, working as a civilian nurse at the army hospital during the war. Coincidence? Not on your life. "There's more to this story."
"A lot more." Aidan paused. "DiMarco did two tours of duty. Black Ops. He's a trained killer."
Con would bet his right arm DiMarco had murdered his father. Now he'd captured Bailey. Hot anger welled in his chest. When Con finished with him, the slimeball's war years would seem like the freaking Mardi Gras. "So am I."
"Not like DiMarco, bro. He did things the military doesn't even want to know about. You've seen the crime-scene photos on those unsolved bank jobs and home invasions. He's a butcher. One who enjoys his work."
"I'm canceling his butcher's license. Now." Con briefed Aidan on the current scenario, and his quickly formed plan.
When Con finished, he didn't have to see his brother's face to know Aidan was scowling. "Going kamikaze won't help anyone."
"I don't intend to crash and burn." Unless I have to.
"You're breaking every damn protocol, and you know it. Greene will skewer your ass for shish kebab."
"I don't have a choice."
"Aw, hell." Aidan's gusty exhale oozed frustration. "For what it's worth, I'd do the same."
Con grinned. "I know."
"The weather is hell on wheels out here. We're having trouble getting the equipment situated. If the timing doesn't click, if you don't catch the right break..." Aidan's voice deepened with suppressed emotion. "No. We'll do it. Come back breathing, bro."
"That's the plan." Con ran his hand over his hair. "Listen, if...well...Just tell Mom..." He shook his head. "Tell her I know I was always her favorite."
"You wish." Aidan's chuckle sounded ragged. "Good fortune be yours." His brother invoked their grandmother's Irish blessing in a not-quite-steady voice. Gran had said the blessing over them each time the family had departed the Emerald Isle after a visit. "May troubles ignore you each step of the way."
Con swallowed the lump in his throat and finished the blessing. "May the saints protect you. And your joys never end." He set his jaw. "I'm glad you've got my back. All of you. Give my regards to Alpha Seven and Doc Holliday." With the final farewell to Aidan, Liam and Grady, Con signed off. "Over and out."
His hands now rock-solid steady, Con removed the blue unit from his belt and stowed it in the pack beside the loaded squirt guns. He wouldn't need to contact the team again. Palming the pistol, he made sure there was a round in the chamber. The clip held twelve more. He released the safety and slid the gun into the pack. Ignoring the pain clamoring for attention in his temples, he tossed a tab of cinnamon gum into his mouth and strode into the mall. A walking weapon.
Locked and loaded.
Keeping to cover, he sprinted toward the multiplex. A frozen, greasy ball churned in his stomach. Fear. Not for himself. For Bailey. His woman. His soul mate. He'd never been afraid before a mission. Sure, a part of him always knew he might not come back. Cops died every day in the line of duty. He didn't dwell on it. You couldn't. Not if you were gonna survive.
He made a wide circle around scattered jawbreakers outside Toys Galore. His throat tightened. His girl had fought valiantly beside him. Untrained, she hadn't flagged. Unprepared, she'd never failed. Not one complaint had passed her sweet lips. Not even when she'd been attacked and cruelly beaten. He pressed a fist to his aching chest. Now he knew why surgeons didn't operate on members of their own family. Bailey was being tortured at the hands of the madman who had very possibly brutally murdered his father. Con couldn't stop it. Couldn't help her. The thought razored his insides. His objectivity was shot to hell. A liability he couldn't afford.
He passed Bedroom Furniture Emporium and sent a silent salute toward Syrone. With any luck, the big guy would soon rejoin his family. Family. A cop's most valuable asset. Con would have self-destructed without his mom's wise guidance, his brothers' loyal friendship. The awareness that his brothers were outside, backing him up, twisted inside him. They wouldn't let him down. But they also shared his danger. Shared his distress. As he shared theirs.
The knowledge was both comfort and torment. Bittersweet. After Con's dad was murdered, he'd witnessed his mother's anguish, his brothers' suffering. And hadn't been able to stop that, either. He'd hated feeling helpless. Despised his vulnerability. Didn't ever want to feel that way again. Instead, he'd become Super Cop. Putting his body between innocents and the criminals who would tear them apart so other families wouldn't suffer.
The love of his life had just done the same for him.
As he prowled down the dark corridor, the lightbulb in his brain switched on, illuminating his heart with bone-chilling clarity. He finally realized why Bailey had tried to break them up. Finally understood her fears. She'd hit the target dead center.
He had wanted to be everybody's damn knight in shining armor.
Bailey had pointed out the chink in his chain mail. He didn't take foolish chances, but he had shrugged off what he considered acceptable risks. Only now, from Bailey's viewpoint, those risks didn't look nearly as innocuous.
Con grimaced. Saving the world wasn't his responsibility. Wasn't in his control. In spite of what he liked to believe, he was as vulnerable as every other mortal man. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs. Well, hallelujah. He'd seen the light. Not a great revelation to whammy him with before going into combat.
Counting, he slowly released the breath. He would not go off half-cocked and do anything to jeopardize Bailey's safety. Or his own. Not unless he was forced to. He had brand-new incentive. He wanted to come home to the woman he loved. Every night for the rest of his life.
And if he lost her?
Like an invisible brick wall, the horrible thought slammed him to a stop. He'd lose his perspective. His balance.
His reason to live.
He stood immobile, struggling to master his feelings. He could not lose control. Bailey's scared face wavered in his mind's eye. He rolled his taut shoulders and shoved down his emotions. Froze them beneath a layer of icy determination. He stashed the pack in its hiding place. Phase one of the op complete.
The fight of his life was ticking down to the final bell.
Inside the theater lobby, Bailey pressed her spine against the concession counter, determined not to shrink away as Tony again approached her. Instinctively, she realized he respected her---in his own warped way---because she hadn't shown the fear raging inside.
Even when he'd burned her with his cigarette.
Terror crouched inside her, ready to pounce and tear her composure to shreds. She clung to anger, using it as a welcome shield to beat back the fear. She touched trembling fingers to the blister on the side of her neck. Tony hadn't been able to force her to talk to Con and arrange Con's surrender. She'd walk into hell barefoot and naked before letting herself be used as bait.
Tony towered over her, obsidian eyes snapping. The blood-red theater lights creased his rugged face in hard lines. "In spite of your denials, I knew you weren't alone out there. You're a quivering little librarian. You couldn't even kill a bug, much less take out my crew, cupcake."
The burly man named Rico, the one who had captured her, snorted. He and Tony were the only bank robbers left standing. And then there were two. She and Con had leveled the odds. "I don't know, boss. You should ask Jace about that."
Tony ignored him and moved closer to Bailey. "Who is it? Who's been helping you?"
She gritted her teeth and remained silent. As she had earlier when Tony had taunted her---and backhanded her across the face. She didn't regret protecting Con by turning herself in. Con had said he'd never trade himself for a hostage; it was stupid and against procedure. She'd bought him over an hour to rest and recover. Time to plan and summon SWAT. One hour that could mean the difference between life and death. For him. For all of them.
She held Tony's gaze. Unlike the man who had attacked her in the mall, Tony's eyes glittered with fervor. A fanatic, dedicated to his cause. Not afraid of anything. There was no compassion in those crackling black orbs. No trace of humanity.
So this was what uncompromising evil looked like.
Bailey bit the inside of her cheek, battling despair. If only she hadn't screamed when he'd burned her! If she'd seen it coming, she could have been prepared, gritted her teeth and held it in. Considering how Con had reacted when Glacier Eyes hit her...she shuddered. Her scream of pain would be the one thing that might make Con ignore his training. Make him burst in, guns blazing. Cause him to react instead of act.
Get him killed.
She raised her chin. Keep the faith. Faith in Con's intelligence. His integrity. His love for her, love that would hold him steady. Hold him to his training. It was their only hope.
Tony pinched her cheek, which, judging from the lingering sting, probably bore his handprint. "Let's try another question. Where are my men?"
Bailey shrugged. If she didn't speak at all, no information would slip out by accident. No way could she tell him. If Tony's crew returned, Con would be vastly outnumbered. The SWAT team would face five armed men instead of two.
"You've got more backbone than I thought, I'll give you that. But you're not too bright." He extracted another cigarette from the pack on the counter and lit up. The noxious smoke attacked her sinuses, mingling nauseatingly with the smell of stale popcorn. "Or you like pain. You bent that way, cupcake?"
Bailey's stomach clenched. He was going to hurt her again.
"Oh! You! Leave her alone!" Letty spat out, half rising from her chair by the parking lot door. Tony had positioned the old woman and the cowering, catatonic bank manager between the robbers and the police outside. The wheeled, enclosed metal cart loaded with bags of money sat in front of the concession counter. When Bailey had first arrived, Tony had made her sit with Mike and Letty while he and Rico finished bolting a clear, bulletproof windshield to one side of the cart. She'd overheard them congratulating themselves for being prepared for any eventuality with their specially made armored cart and Kevlar suits with hoods. The robbers were thrilled that the wind and sleeting rain made it impossible for the snipers to shoot accurately. They also planned to use the hostages as temporary protection to get to the chopper and take off. Emphasis on the temporary.
Letty huffed. "You're a toughie, all right. Picking on little girls. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Tony bared his teeth at Letty. "For the last time, shut your mouth!" He held the cigarette close to Bailey's face. Heat prickled her cheek, and she braced herself. She would not make a sound this time. "Once more. Where is my crew?"
"Do you believe in karma, young man?" Letty asked in a falsely pleasant tone. "You've got a bucketload of bad stuff coming your way. You can bet your sorry buns it won't be pretty."
Tony growled. "I've had it with you, Grandma! One more word, and you're next." He paused, half turned. "In fact..." He slanted a sly look at Bailey. "Maybe there's more than one way to make this hummingbird sing." He pivoted and strode toward Letty.
Trembling, Bailey gripped the charm at her throat. Oh no! He was going to burn Letty! "Wait! Don't hurt her."
Tony stopped in his tracks. "So, you can speak. I was beginning to wonder."
"Hummingbirds don't sing. Don't say a darned word." Letty scowled at the robber, but her voice quavered slightly, revealing the fear undercoating her brave stand. "I'm a lot tougher than him. Had five babies, at home, with nothing but my own grit for the pain."
"Your men are all dead," Bailey declared.
Letty flinched as Tony lowered the glowing cigarette tip toward her wrinkled arm, and a tremor rippled over her. Tony snorted. "Try again." He dangled the cigarette millimeters from Letty's skin. A small gasp escaped, then she pressed her lips determinedly together.
"Stop!" Bailey shook her head. She could not let him hurt her friend. Perhaps it could serve a double purpose. Tony would send Rico to free the others. And then there was one. One less armed bad guy for Con and SWAT to handle. "Two are in the restrooms down by the main entrance. The other is..." Alarm jangled her nerve endings. Where had Con said he put the guy Nan had knocked out? "He's...uh..." Her memory flashed, wrenching her heart. Con rocking her in his arms, soothing her, while holding back his anger over the attack. Would he ever have the chance to hold her again? "In the bookstore storeroom."
"Rico, go fetch." Tony ordered. "And pick up Jace after you're done."
"You got it. Don't give away my share of the dough while I'm gone. Ha, ha." The burly man who had captured her trotted out.
Letty frowned. "You shouldn't have told him."
"It will be okay." Con had jammed the doors, and getting the men out and unbound would take a while. Hopefully, long enough. She couldn't wait to see SWAT burst inside. She peered expectantly into the stormy darkness beyond the front door, empathizing with every hostage Con and his team had saved over the years. How many people were alive and rejoicing? How many criminals behind bars, thanks to them? Heroes? You bet. Every single one. Every single day. C'mon, guys. Now would be good.
An answer to her silent plea came almost immediately, as the blue walkie-talkie at Tony's belt crackled. Not the response she'd expected. Tony didn't have a headset, so Con's voice echoed inside the theater. "I'm ready to turn myself in."
The air froze in Bailey's lungs. She couldn't breathe. No! Impossible! He'd said he would never do that!
"Sign in, Mr. Mystery Guest," Tony replied, his smile wide and triumphant. "Join the game. It's just getting interesting."
"Release the hostages, first. Me for them. A one-shot deal. Take it or leave it."
Dizziness washed over Bailey and she gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling. She would rather die right here, right now, than see Con hand himself over to Tony. The grisly trophy of Brian O'Rourke's watch told her the robber would not release Con alive. The man carried a grudge to deadly extremes. Every instinct she possessed cried out in horror.
"Why would I accept those terms? What's to stop me from offing them right now?" Tony gestured at Bailey with his cigarette. "Starting with cupcake, here?"
Do it. I dare you. She bit back the words. If Tony killed her, Con would lose his head and charge in, running on blind rage. And probably get shot.
"Go ahead. You'll die, too." Con paused just long enough to ramp up the tension. "I'm betting that watch on your wrist says you want the satisfaction of meeting me before you go, DiMarco."
Tony went absolutely still for a moment. Slowly, he nodded. "I'll be damned. Isn't fate a wily bitch?" Amusement creased his craggy face. "Satisfaction comes full circle, at last. To which O'Rourke do I have the honor of speaking?"
Tightly controlled rage simmered in Con's voice. "Conall."
"Ah, the number two son."
"Do we have a deal, DiMarco, or do I storm in there and blow you to hell?"
"And if you miss?"
"I don't miss." This time, Con's reply was icy calm. "On the chance I'm having an off night, my brothers will transport your cold, dead body to the morgue. Makes no difference to me."
Bailey bit her lip. Since Con was speaking over the blue walkie-talkie, the SWAT team couldn't hear the conversation. Con must have conveyed his plan before contacting DiMarco. The fact that his brothers were outside backing him up ignited a flicker of hope. Aidan, Liam and Grady were as good at their jobs as Con. If the O'Rourke brothers couldn't get them out of here, nobody could.
A long, wrenching pause ticked past. Tony flicked ashes from his cigarette into a dish on the counter. Finally, he spoke. "Deal."
No, no, no! Bailey's mind shrieked as Tony herded the trio of hostages into the main hallway at gunpoint.
Con sauntered down the opposite side of the corridor, exuding courage, strength and command. Though his posture appeared casual, the planes of his handsome face might have been cast in granite. His muscles were tense, his lean body alert. Power and grace, a tiger on the hunt. Sharp resolve glinted in his dark eyes. His taut jaw worked rhythmically---chewing gum.
Her warrior was in full battle mode.
"Get them moving," he demanded.
"Hands on your head," Tony shouted back.
Con complied, and Tony waved his pistol at Bailey. "Go." Then he trained his gun on Con.
Ensnared in the icy shroud of her most horrifying nightmare, Bailey slowly walked forward. Letty followed, leading a stumbling Mike by the arm. With each step, Bailey walked farther from danger. With each step, the man she loved walked toward it. The man who would sacrifice everything for her. Even his own life.
She couldn't blame him. She understood exactly how he felt. As she passed him, he held her gaze. Across the distance separating them, his dark eyes conveyed love. Sorrow. And something he'd gone to extreme lengths to control. Fear. Not for himself. For her.
"You said you'd never do this," she whispered.
He smiled, a wealth of love shimmering in his gaze. "My heart chooses you."
Her heart broke on a sob. "Turn around. Run!"
"Don't worry, baby. Go hide out till it's all over. It's gonna be a pleasure cruise." He emphasized the last word slightly, and his gaze quickly flickered to the left.
She couldn't dissuade him. Perhaps she could tip the odds somewhat in his favor. "The money cart is armored," she whispered.
"Stop flapping your jaws and keep walking," Tony ordered.
When Bailey reached the bend in the corridor, she turned around. Con shot a glance over his shoulder. His gaze drank her in...one last, lingering look. His face softened with compassion. "I love you," he mouthed. "Be strong." He turned and strode into the theater at the point of Tony's gun.
Inside the theater, DiMarco shoved Con against the wall next to the concession stand and patted him down, then spun him face front. "No weapons. Good boy. Daddy would be proud."
"I stuck to the terms." Con was armed only with his wits and training. The man who had spent the entire night trying to kill him packed a 9mm, and was bulked up, hard and fit. Despite the fact that Con had twenty-plus years on the guy, he would be a formidable combatant.
"You can keep the Kevlar vest, for all the good it will do." DiMarco pressed his weapon to Con's temple. "A head shot followed by a five-mile freefall from the chopper will do the job right."
Con kept his face expressionless. Let the bastard gloat. The freefall wasn't gonna happen, because there was no real chopper. The SWAT team planned to lure the robbers outside and take them down, away from the civilians inside the mall. No chance of stray bullets or escaping bad guys hurting the ex-hostages. It was gonna be close-quarters battle because the snipers couldn't get an accurate shot in this weather. A 9mm point blank to the skull would do the job, though.
DiMarco was combat-honed and battle savvy. If he squeezed off a shot before the team could neutralize him, Con's brains would be spattered all over the parking lot. Con had to take his chances on the ambush distracting DiMarco enough for Con to disarm him and take him down. He refused to consider the not-so-hot odds of survival. He'd saved Bailey, his top priority. He also planned on living through the night. On going home.
DiMarco's dark, contemptuous eyes locked on Con's face. "You look just like your old man."
Con nodded. All the O'Rourke boys resembled their father. "So, you did know him." A man who wore a worthless watch as a trophy for years after the fact had a lot of hatred simmering inside. Con was bargaining DiMarco would want to brag about what he'd done to Con's father before he killed Con.
In fact, he'd bet his life on it.
"Yeah, to my everlasting regret." DiMarco lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag.
Con shuffled the cards and opened the highest stakes poker game of his life. "What does that twisted mind of yours think he did to you?"
"You can't begin to imagine, kid." DiMarco exhaled smoke. "You know, you could have been my son."
Red-hot rage boiled through Con's veins. "My mother wouldn't get near you without a biohazard suit, you freak."
Tony set his cigarette in a dish on the counter beside him. His movements deliberate, he drew back his arm and belted Con across the face. "You'd be surprised what your sainted mother did, back in the day."
Con swiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and fought down his rage. Tony's willingness to chat played right into his plan. Many standoffs ended after the suspect aired their grievances with the hostage negotiator. Sometimes, all they wanted was someone to listen. Sometimes, they killed the hostages and/or themselves without anyone learning their motives. DiMarco would never surrender, but he obviously had things he wanted Con to know. All Con had to do was rein in his temper long enough to win the game. He could do that. "What the hell are you insinuating?"
"The truth hurts, kid."
"Yeah?" Con mentally counted minutes. DiMarco was a wild card. If the "chopper" didn't arrive soon, he could blow a gasket and decide to shoot him here and now. Every minute Con kept him talking was another minute he stayed alive. "What's your warped version of the truth?"
"Your dad, mom and I were best friends. Until Maureen chose Brian over me."
"Mom's always been a supremely good judge of character." DiMarco clubbed him again. Con shook off the blow. "So, what happened?"
"I'll tell you. But only because I want you to die with the truth about your 'perfect' parents gnawing at your guts." DiMarco's eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and cold chills shivered up Con's spine. Wild card? The guy was a buttload of fries short of a Happy Meal. A certifiable lunatic. Which made him totally unpredictable. But crazy like a fox. DiMarco had ripped off banks and evaded the cops for nearly a decade---in two different cities. Nuts, but not stupid...a highly lethal combination. Thank God Con had bargained Bailey out of his clutches.
"I can live with that." When all you have is a pair of deuces, bluff like hell.
"Not for long." DiMarco's smile was slow...and nasty. "Maureen and I were an item. I wanted to marry her before I went to war, but didn't figure she would have me without any money. Broads love their diamonds. When we were out on the town, she mentioned a load of medical supplies the hospital had received by accident. That stuff brought big bucks on the black market. Brian borrowed a truck from the motor pool, and loaded up the swag."
"Mom and Pop wouldn't have gone along with that scheme."
"Maureen didn't realize she'd passed on valuable intel. I told Brian that she had arranged for us to deliver the supplies to the airfield for transport to another hospital. I knew he was hot after my girl. He would have done anything for her. To make a long story short...and your life as well..." DiMarco's smiled widened into a chilling grin. "The MPs caught up with us, and I rolled the truck. I told Brian to run, and took off on foot, assuming he would do the same. Only he couldn't, on account of a broken leg."
Con nodded. He knew Pop had broken his leg once upon a time, but had never heard the details. "He got caught."
"Yeah. And didn't rat me out. Big of him, huh? When confronted, he took responsibility rather than implicate Maureen or me."
"You've carried a grudge against Pop for over twenty years for not squealing on you? Color me confused."
Tony hit him again, and Con swore. "I am not your personal punching bag, maggot."
"Just having a little fun before the main event." Tony wiped his knuckles on his shirt. "Nothing happened to Private Goody Two-shoes. The CO was a broad." Tony sneered.
Ah, DiMarco, your cards are marked, and I just figured out how to read 'em. "You have a problem with women in authority?"
"Yeah, Nancy boy, I do. Broads don't know squat about leadership. Even when lives are on the line, they're too friggin' softhearted to do what needs to be done."
"Is that right?" Too bad he hadn't seen Bailey flattening his crew member with the Nutcracker.
"Maureen didn't hesitate to bring my name up and proclaim her beloved friend Brian's innocence, but I kept my mouth shut. So Maureen insisted it was a mix-up with the paperwork, and tried to take the blame. The CO knew something was fishy, but couldn't prove a thing. She didn't want to lose a top-notch nurse like Maureen, and she went easy on Brian because she liked him. He'd always been a good little soldier. No black marks on his record. Not to mention that Irish charm. They got the loot back, no harm, no foul." He raised his cigarette, inhaled, and again parked it in the dish. "No laws had actually been broken, so they couldn't press charges. Brian went into the hospital, where Maureen nursed him through recovery and rehab." Tony sneered. "While I went to 'Nam and came back a walking cliché."
Con scowled. DiMarco was bent long before he marched off to war. Millions of men, men like Con's commanding officer, Captain Green, and Syrone served active duty without turning into whack jobs. Every crook Con arrested trotted out the Big Excuse, and whined about it in court. Something to blame for their downfall. Everything but themselves and poor choices. "I still fail to see how this is my father's fault."
"Are you blind, kid? He got caught red-handed, and was rewarded. He turned my woman against me, the only person I've ever loved. Then stole her out from under my nose. He got the gorgeous wife, four sons and a big-shot career as a hero. Me? Nobody ever caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but I got shipped off to hell. When I came back, instead of being hailed the hero I was, I got spit on. I lost everything. Including my dignity."
"Maybe you should have done the right thing, instead of slinking away. You could have admitted your culpability and taken what was coming to you like he did. Like a man."
"I'm more of a man than he could have ever dreamed of being."
"A legend in your own mind." Con did a covert visual sweep of the exit. No signs of the "chopper." Keep him talking. Raise the stakes. Buy a few more minutes. "Did you follow him to Riverside after Denver fell through?"
"I tracked his whereabouts. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Brian finally got what was coming to him. So will you. I'll retire with all this beautiful money, and live the high life. The life I deserve."
"You'll get what you deserve all right." Con stared DiMarco in the eye. Dammit, the slimebag was dancing all around the edge of an outright admission, never tipping his hand. Con hadn't heard any viable evidence, and DiMarco knew it. Crazy, not stupid. "Did you frame and kill my father?"
"I know a rotten apple in the high-and-mighty O'Rourke family tree is unthinkable. It eats at you, doesn't it? Not knowing."
Con gritted his teeth. Play the game. Ignore the pain. "I do know. I want you to confirm it."
"How does it feel every time you visit that empty grave? Not knowing where his body is? Bet it rips Maureen's heart out." Triple aces on the table.
Agony arrowed into Con's chest. "No, it doesn't," he lied. He'd be damned if he'd give DiMarco the satisfaction of losing it. DiMarco hadn't told him a thing he could take to the D.A. All the evidence was circumstantial. All the "testimony" hearsay. Without a body, the murder was impossible to prove, and the bastard knew it. "We know where his soul is. We'll see him again. You won't. You think you went to hell before? Eternity's hottest wiener roast has a standing reservation with your name on the books."
"You hang together pretty good, kid. I've kept my eye on your family all these years. Yep, Daddy would be proud. You want more?" He held up his beefy wrist. "See this watch?" The watch Con and his brothers had worked so hard to buy and fix up. The watch he had seen his father wearing on the last day of his life. DiMarco laughed, and bet the pot. "The hands stopped at twelve-forty-nine and thirty seconds. The second I saw Brian O'Rourke depart this world...screaming like a woman."
Con clenched his fists so hard his short nails cut into his palms. He shook with the desire to wrap his fingers around DiMarco's throat and squeeze the breath out of him. Hold the line, Officer O'Rourke. Stay in the game. For your honor. Your family. For Bailey. See you and raise you one. "You wouldn't know the truth if it was tattooed on your forehead."
Outside, the sound of whirring blades filled the air. Bright lights cut a swath through the darkness. Con risked a quick glance at the front door. Showtime.
DiMarco patted Con's cheek. Raise and call. "The chopper is here. Time to die, kid."
Outside the theater, Bailey watched as Tony tugged a remote from a vest pocket and pointed it at the door. "Explosives disarmed." His lips curled in an evil smile. "As soon as my crew shows up, we're outta here. In case I forget later, be sure to say hello to your father for me. Maybe I'll give my condolences to your mother personally. The lonely widow might be glad to see me."
Terror's sharp talons sunk into Bailey's chest. Once DiMarco's crew returned, she'd be vastly outnumbered. Time to execute her hastily formed plan. What had Con called it earlier? Improvise, modify, adapt, overcome. And pray it worked. She whirled inside and pointed the gun at DiMarco. "Freeze. Drop the weapon."
Con's startled gaze locked on her. His eyes widened and he swore.
DiMarco froze for an instant, then turned his head to stare at her. He grinned and kept the gun pointed at Con's temple. "Look who it is. Charlie's Angel. This isn't the movies, cupcake."
"I'm not acting. Drop it."
"Sure thing. I'm gonna drop my gun for a broad who doesn't even have the heart to kill a spider." DiMarco peered at her. "What the hell is that in your hand?" He squinted. "A toy? A friggin' water gun?" He started to laugh. "What are you gonna do, cupcake, dribble me to death?"
The real gun was tucked into her front waistband, under her sweatshirt. She didn't know how to aim or shoot it, and Con was safer with her bearing the squirt gun. At least if she accidentally shot him with acetic acid, he wouldn't die. He'd left the pack containing the weapons stashed behind a life-size cutout of Tom Cruise at the end of the hallway. Thus, his "pleasure cruise" hint. She knew how his mind worked. He meant for her to take the weapons, hole up with Letty and Mike and hide.
"Are you so sure it's a toy?" Bailey risked a glanced at Con. Once Tony got him outside, he'd kill him. DiMarco would go psycho when he found out the chopper was a decoy and he wasn't escaping with his precious money. He and Rico had claimed the snipers couldn't shoot in this weather. Con was unarmed and unprotected. At the mercy of a madman who would gladly die before surrendering to the police. As Con had said, SBC---suicide by cop.
"Give me a break. I was Black Ops for years. That sorry imitation doesn't fool me."
The gun might not, but she was about to. Good thing Tony didn't know about her and Con. A huge advantage. In his wildest dreams, DiMarco would never have guessed she'd come back for Con. He had another think coming.
She'd be damned if she'd hide and cower while her man died.
"Maybe it's loaded with deadly poison."
"Yeah, right. And I wear women's underwear for thrills."
"What you do for jollies doesn't concern me." Her hands were shaking like leaves in a windstorm, and she sucked in a breath. "Let the officer go and we all walk away with what we want. Your chopper is here, you've got your money. Grab it and leave."
Tony's eyes gleamed with avarice. "Wrong, cupcake. I don't have my satisfaction."
Whatever twisted philosophy he followed, he followed it to the max. A zealot. Her throat had turned into the Sahara, and she tried to moisten her mouth. Zealots did not hesitate to die for their beliefs. And take innocents with them. "If you kill a police officer, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth. You'll never get a chance to spend one dollar of your haul." She attempted to swallow. "Is your satisfaction worth that?"
"Yeah. It is." His obsidian gaze crawled over her body, making her long for a shower. With Lysol bodywash. "You're a real hot number, aren't you?" DiMarco nodded. "Yeah. You really do remind me of that special someone. Instead of killing you both, cupcake and I will get better acquainted."
"Don't touch her, maggot," Con snapped, drawing Tony's attention back to him.
"So, it's like that is it?" Tony smirked. "I've already touched her, and she liked it."
A low growl rumbled in Con's throat, and Tony winked at Bailey, clearly enjoying Con's anger. "You know what kind of piddly ass wages cops make, cupcake? We could have a lot of fun. Bet you've never partied on a tropical island with a rich man."
Con's entire body tensed, and Bailey's heart galloped in her chest. She could not look at him with that big, lethal gun pointed at his head and consider the possibility that he would again put himself between her and the bad guy. There was no Kevlar between the bullets and his brain.
"I'm sorry, Tony. I cannot let you walk out of this theater with him."
"Damn, you are cute when you're riled." Tony's words were playful, his demeanor dead serious. "Okay. I'll shoot him now. I only need one hostage, and you'll be a hell of a lot more fun." She didn't doubt him. He meant to murder Con in cold blood.
Her pulse hammered in her ears so loudly she could barely hear. She was trembling all over. She'd done plenty of things tonight she hadn't thought herself capable of. But looking into Tony's eyes and making a cold, calculated decision was different. Hurting, possibly killing another human being, even a vile criminal, was much harder when done in chilling reality. Without the fight-or-flight instinct thrumming in her veins. Without her immediate survival at stake. Con made this decision every day. Then lived with the consequences. How did he do it?
"Bailey." Con's low hail was soft, and deathly quiet. His glowing mahogany gaze caressed her, cherished her, his most treasured possession. "It's okay, baby. I love you for who you are. Always."
Tears stung her eyes and a lump swelled in her throat. Con was staring into the jaws of death...and telling her that even if she didn't have the courage to save him, he understood. And loved her anyway.
Bailey blinked back the tears. She'd found her courage hours ago, wrapped in the faith of the man she loved. A man who loved her in return. Unconditionally. Protecting your loved ones wasn't a burden. It was a privilege.
She sent a silent message to Con. My heart chooses you.
His full lips wobbled for a brief second, and then he pressed them into a firm line. His gaze embraced her. Message received.
She cocked her head at Tony. She only needed the gun at Con's temple to waver for a moment. "I'll go with you. But I have three conditions." On the word three, she flashed a quick glance at Con.
Con's eyes flickered in recognition. As DiMarco chuckled and again puffed his cigarette, Bailey shifted and brushed her free hand over the front of her sweatshirt. The casual motion looked like she'd merely adjusted her stance. But in reality, she'd signaled Con, telling him where she'd hidden the pistol.
Tony returned his smoldering cigarette to the dish. "I can't wait to hear this."
"One." She did not look at Con, but felt the weight of his intent gaze focused on her. He would do his job. Now, she had to do hers. She watched DiMarco. She wanted, needed his complete attention. "Let the cop go. Alive. We don't need him, and I don't relish becoming a raccoon for the FBI bloodhounds." He wouldn't even consider it, but that didn't matter.
"But he loves you," Tony mocked. "Always."
"Mom always said it was as easy to love a rich man as a poor one." Ellen Chambers had preached that sermon. At least once a week. "I guess she was right." Not. Bailey shrugged. Though she feigned nonchalance, every nerve in her body shrieked and cold sweat dampened her skin.
"Typical broad." DiMarco snorted at Con. "What'd I tell ya? They never come through in the clinch. She's throwing you to the wolves for the money, kid. Dying should come as a relief."
"Two." Broad? She'd show DiMarco a broad who came through for her man. Bailey swallowed hard and tried to stop shaking. Stay balanced. Hit the target the very first time. If she missed, Con died. "About the money. We leave your crew, and split the take."
Tony grinned. "Enterprising little hummingbird, aren't you? That point is negotiable...we'll discuss it later. What's your third condition, cupcake?"
Bailey shifted the water gun from her right hand to her left. Her fingers tightened on the grip. Her stomach rolled and nausea rose in her throat.
Con's heightened state of alertness hummed in the silence, like a live wire connecting him to her. She had the eerie sensation she could read his thoughts and he, hers. As if they were one person, sharing one mind.
Their survival in the next few seconds depended on it.
She knew the power of the weapon she held. The primal, instinctive fear it inspired. A fear that overrode reason. She knew its ability to maim, to kill.
To scar.
She harnessed the dragon and rode it into battle.
"Three." Before the word completely cleared her mouth, she aimed the water gun at the cigarette and pumped the trigger. Fire exploded from the dish and crackled up Tony's arm. He screamed and flailed. An instant later, she yanked the pistol from her waistband with her right hand and tossed it to Con.
He caught the weapon on the fly, and barked, "Down!" She hit the floor facedown. Two gunshots roared in fast succession.
Then all hell broke loose.
Tony's crew tore into the theater, weapons drawn. Con shoved the money cart in front of her, then his body slammed on top of hers, sheltering her. All eight theater doors imploded with a huge crash and the SWAT team stormed inside. A brilliant light flashed, blinding her. A deafening boom shook the building. Choking, sulfurous smoke roiled, burning her throat and making her gag. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe. Could only listen and pray.
Boot steps thundered, vibrating the floor. Men's deep voices shouted. "Down! Get on the floor! Everybody on the floor!"
Gunshots exploded, bullets whined.
On top of her, Con fired his gun. A series of clicks sounded in fast succession, and his weight settled more firmly. He must be out of ammo. Suddenly, his body jerked. Thick, warm liquid soaked her sweatshirt. The coppery tang of blood assaulted her nostrils.
Con's blood.


