Owen hated the woman in front of him. Nikki Holder suddenly represented everything wrong in the world.
Like every fighter, Owen quickly assessed his options. Could he pull his gun and shoot her before she squeezed the trigger and killed Annika? Could he talk her down? Would her own sniveling lead her to accidentally pull the trigger?
Like every lawman, Owen's thoughts went further. If he shot her, would it be justified? What would he do if Nikki did manage to shoot Annika? What if it killed his wife?
He tried to keep the contempt out of his voice, but wasn't sure he fully succeeded. "Nikki. You had the opportunity to cut ties with the Mechanic. But you chose to keep them. You kept that phone. And the woman you are aiming at is pregnant. And even if you do this—" He still couldn't say 'kill her,' not without vomiting—"can you live with it?"
Nikki's face squeezed with frustration and Owen thought he saw regret.
Regret?
Had she already decided to pull the trigger?
Slowly he moved his hand behind him and motioned Duffy.
Duffy didn't move.
Did he see the signal? Owen couldn't be sure.
He waited.
Tried to stay calm.
"Nikki. Look at me."
But she just stared at Annika.
Annika stared back.
From the edge of his vision, Owen could see she spat daggers at Nikki Holder.
She should. She'd committed a crime and put herself in the path of a madman to get this family out of harm's way . . . And this was what she got for it.
Owen wouldn't have been surprised if Nikki Holder suddenly began to freeze solid from Annika's dark gaze. Or maybe she'd just spontaneously combust.
Stopping his mind from wandering, he surveyed the scene and prayed Duffy had seen him and was on board. The problem was, the correct thing for another officer to do—if he was already in the right place—was nothing. The situation sucked.
"Look at me, Nikki."
She still didn't. The woman shook her head, her hands still twitching, her nose running. "He'll kill my kids. Torture them."
Randall Holder stood behind his wife only occasionally speaking, and each time he did he got in the way. He always managed to say something that should never be said to an unstable hostage taker.
So when he opened his mouth, Owen didn't wait any longer.
He yelled. Let the hotel patrons call the front desk. Hell, let them call the police. He was going to end this. Now.
"That bastard is going to kill your kids because you led him here, you fucking bitch!" He leaned in, probably spitting with the hatred he felt. The release would have been cathartic, but it wasn't over. There was no time for catharsis yet.
He moved just a little forward as though his yelling was the major point. "If you kill my pregnant wife I swear I'll kill you and your whole damn family!" He only paused long enough to breathe in, to suck in a tiny prayer before he spewed all the venom he felt again, and leaned just a little closer. "You did this. You. Touch one more fucking hair on her and I will torture you until you beg me to kill you. The Mechanic has nothing on me because I will dismember you while you are still fucking alive!"
With each phrase of his rant, Nikki reacted.
She sucked in air, sniffed, pressed her lips together.
So while it wasn't standard hostage negotiation, he was getting to her, he was getting at least part of the job done. What he was also doing, unfortunately, was destabilizing her. Her hands, already twitchy, were outright shaking now.
The good news was: her aim was for shit.
The bad news was: her aim was for shit.
And she might just twitch and pull the trigger at any time. He'd never hated anyone the way he hated Nikki Holder right now.
There was every possibility that he was going to disarm her just in time for the Mechanic to get here and deliver them all a long, slow death. Owen was trained to talk down hostages slowly; he'd not gone far enough in the coursework to handle a situation that might explode from the outside as easily as from the inside.
But while his anger had been real, his tactics had been planned. He was now much closer to Nikki Holder, and she was much less stable, much less alert to him, than she'd been a few moments ago.
He had only a moment to make a move, but making it in the right split second meant everything.
He stood, maintaining his heavy breathing, keeping her off balance, looking for a way in . . . He was still too far away, it would take a step to reach her, and if she saw it coming, she could pull the trigger.
His rescue came in the form of Randall Holder doing something stupid.
The man leaned in and put his hands on his wife's shoulders even as he leaned closer to say something into her ear. Not surprisingly, it startled her.
The good news was that, while Randall Holder clearly had no clue what to do in this situation, neither really did his wife. She sniffed and jerked her shoulders. She thrust the gun forward, a dangerous move for everyone involved and yet another indicator that she should never had been allowed to pick up a gun in the first place. And she turned, just a little, toward her right shoulder. Away from Owen.
It was the best he was going to get and he took it.
"Anni!" He used the sharp yell as a notice to his wife to make a dive for it at the same time he rushed Nikki Holder.
His right shoulder down, he went for her locked arms, striking the elbow closest to him. The move gave her two options: get her joint forced backward or move her arms up.
The blow jerked her arms skyward, her foot stepped back and her fingers twitched, pulling the trigger and sending the gun bucking.
Owen couldn't see her face, he had aimed his shoulders so that he was looking down her arms at the gun. In his field of vision he could see her hands grasping for the weapon as it tried to escape her. And beyond his immediate area, he could see Annika's legs as she disappeared down behind the bed, her tied hands flailing behind her. She'd probably caught herself with a shoulder or a knee, nothing good. He clenched his teeth at the thought of the abuse his wife was taking at the hands of this woman.
While he thought of Annika, behind the bed, out of sight but not out of danger, he reached for the gun. A bullet would go through the mattress without changing trajectory or slowing enough to make any difference. It was a fact Lee himself had inadvertently taught Owen and his FBI team years ago.
Palms out, he overlapped his hands, making a V almost as if he were about to choke someone. The reinforced position along with the shape meant that he need only push upward to corner Nikki Holder’s hands in his own.
As he felt his own grasp cover hers, he fought for control of the gun. Her fingers fumbled. She still didn't have control of the weapon, having lost it when she shot and the slide came back on her hands.
Slippery with blood—hers? Had the slide sliced her?—Owen had a hard time getting a hold of her.
Ever the one to do the opposite of what she should, Nikki let go of the gun.
As Owen watched, Randall Holder dove for the weapon. Normally, it would have been okay. Normally, Owen would have trusted this man to hold the weapon. But his wife had just pulled a gun on Annika, and Owen had had beyond enough of the Holders and 'normally.'
"Don't. Fucking. Move."
The words weren't Owen's. He almost sighed in relief.
Duffy had known to stay out of the way for the second and a half that everything had gone down. Owen's move had put him in between Duffy's drawn weapon and Mrs. Holder. But now that Owen was grasping her wrists as best he could and twisting her into a position of submission, Duffy was back in play.
But Owen was still in between them. He still partially provided a shield for the Holders from the one person who was on his side.
Sparing a quick glance to the other side of the room, he realized that Annika had not popped up yet. He had to attribute that to the fact that she was smart and would stay down and quiet until she was called out to. The alternative was unthinkable.
"Ah!" Nikki holder cried out and pulled against his grasp as he applied sharp pressure to her wrist bones.
This was a trick he'd practiced after reading about it in a paper written by a college student in one of his classes. That student had been Diana Kincaid—Sin, really. He almost swore at the crap she’d gotten him into, and that it was her moves getting him out.
As he watched, Randall Holder managed to pick up the gun because Duffy wasn't quite willing yet to shoot the man until he'd assessed him as an actual threat rather than just a dumb-ass. He was a good cop.
To counter Holder, Owen pressed against Nikki's wrists even harder, and when she yelped again, he growled out, "Shut up, bitch."
"Don't you speak to my wife that way!" Randall Holder's reaction would have been reasonable in any other situation but this one.
Owen snapped.
He twisted Nikki's wrists, hoping for, but not hearing, a crunch of bone, squeezing until she dropped to the ground.
Duffy might not be willing to shoot these assholes, but Owen now was. With Nikki whimpering on the ground at his feet, Owen reached out and grasped Randall's wrist this time.
With a wrench of his hand, he changed the man's hold on the gun from casual to simply releasing the weapon into the air. Having known that would happen, Owen shot out his left hand and caught it before it hit the ground, before it got near that simpering bitch at his feet.
She was playing it up, ready to jump up and come at him. Owen had seen it all before. It was part of why he'd left the FBI—the deceit and the skills to suss it out had bothered him. But apparently they were still there and plenty sharp.
Transferring the bloody gun to his right hand—he wasn't Lee after all—Owen pointed it at Randall. "Don't you dare defend her."
One breath in and he found he couldn't stop.
"My wife is pregnant. The Mechanic knows where you are now, despite Annika's efforts to stop that. You would have been safe except your stupid wife kept a phone and tracking line open. So don't you dare suggest that I cut her any slack. I've had enough of her shit . . . and yours."
Randall stepped back, hands up, palms out. He moved his hands back and forth as though to say, "I don't have any problem with you." But he did.
Nikki, simpering at his feet, shot upward, reaching for the gun.
Duffy had her in his sights in a split second, excellent back-up. But Owen had known the amateur move was coming, and he brought the gun down as she brought her own head up.
The two connected with a thud that should have been sickening, but to Owen it was only satisfying. His heart felt better as he watched her crumple back to the ground, unmoving.
"Nikki!" Randall dove for her, but managed to stop himself when he realized that both Owen and Duffy had their guns now trained on him. Nikki was no longer a threat, only Randall's stupidity was in play.
Owen's hand stayed steady despite the shaking in his heart and he did the first thing necessary. "Annika?"
"I'm fine."
God bless her. Years ago, she'd trained him and Charlotte to not cry out or yell "What!?" after a crashing noise or an accident. The whole family, first words out of their mouths were, "I'm fine." "I'm hurt." Or "I will be fine in a minute. I need a hand." He'd never been so grateful as right now.
He couldn't wait to see her pop up over the edge of the bed. He couldn't hop over and untie her like he wanted. There was still crap to take care of. Crap that Nikki Holder had dished up.
"Right now, you can help me save your wife and kids from the Mechanic. Or I'll take your kids and you and your wife can stay here and wait for him." It was the only deal he was offering.
Only then did he hear the pounding at the connecting door, as one of the Holder kids fought to get into a room where a gun had just fired. Was the whole family idiots?
Still, no one deserved face-to-face time with the Mechanic. Though Owen had never heard of him working on kids, he didn't doubt the sadistic bastard would do it.
"Duffy." He handed the gun into the waiting hand of the officer, never more grateful for backup than he was right now.
Not lifting his feet from the floor, not giving anyone the chance to take him off balance, Duffy kept his gun trained on Randall and one eye on the crumpled Nikki. At last, Owen took his own gaze from the two who had made his most recent moments a living hell and headed to the other side of the bed.
Only as he passed around the corner could he see Annika. She'd pressed herself against the board sealing the underside of the bed to stay out of sight and to be as close to what little protection the bed offered as possible. She was rolling over to smile at him as he knelt down.
"Oh, baby." He reached out, only to pull his hand back at the last moment. Touching the abrasion on her cheek wouldn't make anything any better. "Here, let me get you."
She seemed in remarkably good spirits for someone who pitched head first off a bed with her hands tied. But as she looked at him, she frowned. "You're a mess."
Of course he was. He sighed wondering how he looked. Then he caught sight of his own hands, leaving bloody prints on her as he untied her.
"You're bloody." She commented calmly, as though seeing blood on her husband was a regular occurrence. The woman was a fucking godsend. Calm in a crisis and vicious as a grizzly when the situation warranted. Once again he was struck that this was not the most serious situation she'd ever been in.
"It's not mine." The blood was already on her; he'd already messed her up. Nothing for it but to clean it up later, so he continued working the knot until it gave way and she could sit up.
Rubbing at her wrists and the transferred red, she smiled at him. "Good."
That was it. No questions about what she'd seen. She was on her feet before he could offer her a hand.
By the time he caught up to her she was standing over the still crumpled Nikki Holder gazing down. He'd seen the look on her face when she was pissed before, so he could only imagine what Randall Holder saw, why he pulled back and didn't speak. Annika turned to him after staring at his wife for a moment and simply said, "Good."
She was reaching for Owen's hand when Duffy started giving crisp orders to Randall. "Get the kids in here. Tell them to bring only necessary items."
"Food for the baby." Annika said, but didn't look at any of them as she dragged Owen to the bathroom.
Had he looked anywhere other than at Annika, he might have gotten a glimpse of himself and not been so shocked when he looked into the mirror over the sink.
His face was haggard; clearly he was drained. Worse still, there was blood all up his sleeves and in his hair. He must have run his fingers through it out of habit. He cringed.
He couldn't pass through the lobby like this, but they needed to get out of here. There was no telling where the mechanic was or how close. Also, anyone with half a brain would have called in the gunshot, though no one at the hotel should deal with them. The police were likely on their way, too, and he was no longer actually with the FBI. No doubt young Agent Pillow would have a few things to say about that. Might even lock his ass up.
He hadn't figured out how to scrub up, when Annika finished washing the blood off her own hands. Leaving the water running, she pushed his head toward the basin even though he didn't understand.
"We have to leave fast. In the sink."
Another push and his hair was washed with the hotel bar soap. She used a washcloth on his face and was rubbing his hair as dry as possible with a fluffy white towel. Streaks of pink tinged the bleached cloth as she pulled it away.
There wasn't time to wash it all.
It was just enough to get out of the hotel without looking bloody. He smiled at her wondering how his old life had collided so spectacularly with his new one. How it had smacked into hers and how amazingly she'd adapted. "Thank you."
Just the briefest smile returned the moment, but she was still all business. "Change your shirt."
As he unbuttoned, he headed out into the main room where he found Duffy with the Holders lined up like they were ready for a firing squad. Owen wanted to console them, tell them it wasn't as bad as it seemed.
When the oldest turned an appealing gaze to him, Owen felt his heart harden. He didn't stop rifling through his suitcase, but he did explain.
"This was brought on by your mother who not only turned a gun on my pregnant wife . . ." He stared the boy in the eyes as he slipped one shirt off and the other on, stuffing the wet and bloody shirt into a side pocket. "But she also stayed in contact with the man who showed up at your house and tried to kidnap and/or kill you."
The kid's adam’s apple chugged once as the seriousness of the new—worse—situation set in. Owen kept talking.
"I stopped your mother. I'm trying to help your family, but I won't let any member of your family hurt any member of mine anymore. Do you understand?"
The kid only nodded, his eyes glued to Owen's.
"Can you make your brother and sister understand?"
"I think so." It came out as a guttural whisper, forced through a blanket of fear. Owen remembered those days. He nodded to the kid and turned to Randall as he pushed the last buttons into place and slicked back wet hair in a farce of normalcy. Grabbing his and Annika's bags he spoke to the man. "If you want your wife to come with us, you carry her. I'm being generous by not leaving her here. If she breaks protocol again I will either shoot her or throw her to the Mechanic to save your kids. Do. You. Understand?"
Randall nodded and scooped up his wife, who lolled backwards in his arms, dead weight.
Owen nodded to the kids to line up at the door, but turned to the man. "Make her look asleep or passed out. You can't come with us if she looks like that. She'll attract attention."
With a quick nod and a rapid side glance at the gun Duffy now held on him more surreptitiously, Holder shifted his wife in his arms until her head rested against his shoulder and her arms curled inward, innocent looking. Owen hated her.
He was nodding to the family—he'd be first into the hallway.
Standing at the door, he motioned everyone to be quiet as he listened.
Footsteps made their way down the corridor, but didn't seem rushed or heavy. He would wait until whoever it was went into their room.
But the steps stopped in front of their door.
And a key slid into the lock.