Chapter 23

“Dean, think about what you are doing.”

“Shut up, Doctor Burns. I’m in charge now.”

Breathe. She had to get this situation under control—for everyone’s sakes. “You’ve always been in charge, Dean.” She furrowed her brow, the sense of déjà vu so strong she could almost taste it.

“Who is this man, Delaney?”

“This is all your fault!” The shrill voices of her mother and sister echoed each other.

“Shut up, you two.”

One hissed out a breath, the other gasped. She didn’t know who did what and didn’t care. The situation demanded her complete attention.

Delaney felt Becca MacDermot shift beside her. She’d almost forgotten the woman was there. “Let me deal with this. Dean is here for me. Right, Dean?”

She wracked her memory for the lessons in hostage negotiation she’d so recently learned in hopes of expanding her consulting contract with the city. She eased her hands where they gripped the back of her chair, stretching her arms out in front of her just a hair, palms down, fingers splayed in a gesture asking for calm.

“Oh, I’m here for you, bitch. But all these others are my insurance.”

Delaney repressed the shudder building in her middle. “Okay, Dean. You’re in charge.”

Someone gasped, Nessa she guessed, and without thinking she whirled. “Sit down and shut up. Let me deal with this before you make it worse.”

Her mother and sister looked stunned but they did as she ordered. All of them did, but Becca. The woman seemed frozen in place.

With her hands still making a placating motion, Delaney pivoted to face Carter again. No wonder Becca had stilled. Dean had the rifle pointed straight at Delaney.

“It’s okay, Dean. You’re in charge. I just wanted them to know that and to be quiet so you and I can talk. We can talk, right?”

“You talk too much. That’s your problem, Doc. Talk, talk, talk. You should have cleared me back to duty. We wouldn’t be here if you had.”

Her lips felt as dry and cracked as a drought-parched field, but she fought the urge to wet them with her tongue. To do so would be a sign of weakness. She swallowed what little spit she could, but her throat still felt raw and scorched.

“I didn’t think you were quite ready for duty, Dean. I didn’t say you’d never go back to the team.” She lied through her teeth, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart and know.

“Bullshit.”

“No, Dean. Really. A few more sessions and I would have cleared you for duty. It’s…” Her brain scrambled for an excuse. “It’s mandatory. New rules that came down from the chief’s office.” She inhaled and sought a calm center within herself. “Look, we both know that you’re fine.”

Her mother gasped and Delaney wanted to stomp on her foot or something. “Mother, please? This is a conversation between Dean and me. Do not interfere.” She plastered a smile on her face. “Civilian, Dean. She doesn’t understand.”

“And you do?” Was there a plea in his voice?

“I’m trying to understand you, Dean. I do understand the system. How it’s stacked against you. You just want to do your duty, right?” Becca shifted again, but Delaney felt approval in that move. She remembered her impression of this woman as a warrior and the thought steadied her.

“Yeah. I’m a good cop. I belong on the SWAT team.”

She nodded and swallowed around the lie clogging her throat. “Yes.” There. Just the one word. Not so big a lie. “Look, Dean, you know they’ll be here any minute. You know the routine. They’ll want assurances. Why don’t you—”

“YOU! IN THE BUILDING!” A voice blared through a bullhorn cutting off her suggestion.

Delaney winced as Carter raised his rifle toward the windows. Made with patterned glass, except for a few panes, light filtered in, but there was no clear view of anything outside from where she stood. She pictured the restaurant in her mind, trying to find a frame of geographic reference.

Was this room on the back of the building? The front? Where would the SWAT sniper team set up? And how would they see inside? Camera! She had to distract Dean. He’d know. And then she remembered her cell phone. There on the table. Did the dispatcher still listen? Was their conversation being monitored by the police in the command post even now? She had to keep him talking.

“Dean? We need to answer them. You know how this works. We both know that if circumstances had been different, you’d be out there right now with your team.” Was that enough information for them to figure out who they were dealing with?

“Shut up. I need to think.”

Delaney glanced at Becca. The woman remained rock steady even as the others, now huddled on the floor against the wall, sniffled or sobbed quietly. Becca nodded almost imperceptively, a mute gesture of support.

“We want to set up a line of communication. One of our officers will bring a phone to the door.”

“NO!”

“Dean…please?” She breathed, hoping her sudden panic didn’t overwhelm her. “We need to listen to them. Listen to what they have to say, okay? I’ll get the phone. You can trust me. I’ll barely open the door—just enough to grab the phone, and I’ll stay right here. Okay? Will that be okay?”

“C’mere, Doc.” He wagged the rifle barrel at her. “Come here.”

Delaney sidled over toward him. He reached out and grabbed her. She just managed to swallow her gasp. Doing her best not to shiver, she stood next to him.

“You!” He pointed the gun at Becca. “Go to the door.” His gaze darted around the room as if he sought something in particular. He raised his voice, shouting again. “I know you have eyes, Captain Davis. Yeah, I recognize your gawddamned voice. I’m the one in charge, so you listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Carter.”

She almost wept in relief. They knew who they were dealing with.

“I have Doc Burns. She dies first if there’s anything hinky. You got that?”

“What do you want, Carter?”

“I know you have a damn camera in here. Get rid of it. I want you blind.”

“No camera, Carter. We haven’t had time to get one set up.”

“You!” He hissed at Becca. “Go stand at the door.” He raised his voice. “You wanna talk to me? That phone better have a speaker. I’m sending a hostage to pick it up. I want it right at the door so all she has to do is reach out one hand to get it. If she disappears from that door, everybody is dead. We clear?”

“We’re clear. The phone is in place. If she will open the right-hand door, all she has to do is grab it.”

Carter dropped to one knee and surveyed the crack beneath the doors. Satisfied, he stood and nodded to Becca. She did as she was told. Once she retrieved the phone, she turned to face him.

“Answer it when it rings. Hit the speaker phone button. Put it on that table.” Again, she did as he instructed then moved back to her former position, standing like a barrier between the shooter and the other women.

“Carter, can you hear me?” The captain’s voice warbled from the phone’s inferior speaker.

“Yeah. Nobody is going to win this. You know that, right? It’s gone too far.”

“No one’s been hurt, Carter. We can still fix this.”

“No. Nobody can. The doc screwed up, captain. She shoulda cleared me for duty. This woulda never happened.”

“The doctor just followed orders, Carter. Mandatory counseling and suspension after a shooting. She would have cleared you after you completed the sessions. She told me so in her report. She thought you could go right back, said your head was fine. But regulations... We all have to work within the regulations, Carter. Right?”

Delaney trembled. They had monitored her conversation. Thank goodness! She’d given them room to work. Maybe…just maybe, they’d all get out of this alive.

“Dean?” She modulated her voice, keeping it soft and encouraging. “The captain is right. We can talk this out. Work through it. But you need to let the others go. I’ll stay. I’ll talk to you. But there’s no reason to keep them. Look at them—” With a careful wave of her hand, she drew his attention to seven women huddled together on the floor and the eighth who stood tall and brave. “I know my mother and sister. They’re on the brink of hysterics. We don’t want that, do we? There’s nothing worse than a bunch of hysterical women.” She didn’t move, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she reached out her hand, with infinite care, and touched him on the shoulder. Connect. She had to connect with him. “Dean?” She whispered his name.

He shook himself like he was coming out of trance. Glaring at her, he stepped back, away from her touch. “Yeah. Fine. Get out, bitches.”

Before Delaney could move, he snagged her biceps and squeezed brutally. “You’re stayin’ right here, Doc. This is all your fault. You’re gonna pay for it, just like me.”

No one moved at first, but then Becca galvanized the others, helping them to stand, shepherding them toward the door. Once she had them gathered, she cracked one of the doors open and yelled out. “There are eight of us. All women. We’re coming out.” Then she held the door a bit wider and pushed them through one-by-one. She turned to give Delaney a look and a nod before slipping through herself. The door whispered to a close, and Delaney was left alone with the man who held her life in his hands.

****

Rory’s vision clouded and mimicked a kaleidoscope as dizzy images spun around him. He closed his eyes and breathed through the sensation. Voices. He kept hearing voices. Wait. Was that—? Ciaran? Or Kieran. Where was he? When was he? Becca. Another voice he recognized. Recognition was good. He concentrated. Focused on making sense of what they said.

“You know who he is?” The woman—no, Becca. That was Becca’s voice.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, he is one of ours.”

Captain Davis? Rory opened his eyes and wanted to throw up. He was still caught in the middle of the whirling dervish. He latched onto the voices in his head to anchor him.

“Delaney is handling him quite well, given the circumstances.”

Delaney! Her name left him flash frozen with dread. She was in danger and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

Focus. He had to focus. One of ours the captain said. The dread flared, white-hot now. He could feel sweat trickling down his back. He could feel! Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.

“Where is the sniper?” Becca sounded matter-of-fact. That was good, right?

“On the building across the street. He has a view of the windows.” Kieran sounded like he was in charge. That was good. Definitely. He trusted Kieran.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have a clear shot. That leaded glass is all wonky.” Captain Davis. Wait? What was going on? Why were Kieran and Becca with the captain?

“There are some clear panes, intermixed with the pressed glass.”

Rory heard Kieran chuckle as the man said, “Well done, darling. I knew there was a reason I still love you madly after all these years.”

The wind whistled in his ears, and he could no longer hear. Sandpaper rode the storm, abrading his bare skin. Pain scraped across his psyche. Fireworks burst across his retinas and he blacked out.

Rory became aware of hot sun beating down on his prone body. Loose gravel on the tar roof poked his elbows. He opened his eyes and almost yelled in relief. He was on a rooftop across an alley facing a window. Captain Davis’s words still echoed in his earpiece.

“The glass in the windows. One of the hostages says there are clear panes.”

He shifted the angle of his scope searching the window. There. The captain was right. He scrambled to get a better firing angle. There! Yes. He had both of them in the scope. Delaney and Carter. His lungs labored while his heart skipped erratically. Breathe. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and one drop trickled down the bridge of his nose. He ignored it. Breathe. Heart rate and respirations returned to normal despite the thoughts and sensations whirling in his brain. He swallowed bile. Couldn’t decide if it was left from the tornadic ride or churned up by the sight of Delaney in danger. Breathe.

“I have target.” Three words. Three words that would seal the fate of the man foolish enough to threaten Delaney with harm.

The air in front him shimmered. He could deal with heat waves—he already had target acquisition. Then his scope went black. What the hell? He raised his head. A man in dark jeans, a black shirt, and a dark leather jacket materialized. The apparition stepped to the side and leaned against the wall of the building next door, a negligent pose, all things considered. Abhean didn’t smile as the two of them stared at each other. Rory tried to read the fae’s expression but failed. He wondered what a brass jacketed steel slug would do to an immortal being. Then he ignored Abhean, returning his focus to the sniper scope on his rifle. Carter and Delaney hadn’t moved.

“Your life for hers, mortal.”

“Shut up, Abhean.”

“She’s going to die today, mortal, no matter what you do.”

For just a moment, another face flashed in front of him—Nelda Whitson. Nausea roiled in his gut, and he swallowed bile. More sweat rolled off his forehead, dripping into his eyes. Rory ignored the discomfort like he ignored Abhean.

“One last chance, mortal. I will save her today, to live out this life, unknowing she had another. And I will return you to Tir Nan Óg.”

The heat waves intensified, a dancing curtain flickering between him and Delaney. Gray mist formed around the edges of his vision, spinning into a vortex centered inside his scope. No. Not again. Breathe. Trust in yourself.

“Rory!” Scott. Yelling in his ear. No. His earpiece. “Dammit, Rory, answer!”

The fog cleared. He gazed through the scope, vision sharp and focused through a pane of clear glass. Carter held Delaney in front of him, one arm wrapped around her upper arms and chest. The fool held a handgun to her head. Things had changed a little in this life, but not that much. Even if Delaney didn’t remember him, he would still finish this. He would keep her safe this time.

“Fuck off, Abhean.”

Laughter. And not from the damned fae. “Well done, Riordan.”

Wrong fae then. Manannán. The king must have sent him back. And just in time. “My name isn’t Riordan. It’s Rory.”