She handed Craig a bottle of water and started
toward the kitchen. On the way she found Brett carefully sanding a baseboard in the hall.
“
You're doing a great job," she said as she
stopped and crouched next to him. "That's pretty
detailed work."
Her twelve-year-old looked up at her. His blue
eyes were dark and troubled. "Nash got his whole
family to help."
“I know. That was really nice of him, huh?"
Brett didn't answer. Instead he folded the sand
paper in half and twisted it in his hands. "He's still leaving, right?"
As much as Stephanie wished she could say oth
erwise, she had to agree. "Of course he is, honey.
He has a life in
Chicago
, remember?"
“
He's not so bad, you know?" Brett's voice
sounded small. "He's not Dad, but that's okay."
Her stomach dove for her toes. When had her son let go of his resentment of Nash and why hadn't she
seen it happening? She hadn't wanted any of her
children to connect too closely with Nash because
she hadn't wanted them hurt by his leaving.
“
Brett, Nash is a really great guy. He's been fun
to have around, but it was always temporary. You
knew that." She winced at her own words. Of course he knew.
Reminding him wasn't going to make Nash's leav
ing easier.
“But he likes it here," Brett said, staring at the
sandpaper rather than her. "I bet he'd want to move
here if you asked him to."
“
I know it seems like that to you. I agree that
he's had a fun vacation, which is good. But he has
a regular life waiting for him. He has a job and a
home and friends." But not a woman. She knew
he'd been alone since his wife's death. And yes, the
sex was great, but was it enough to get him to re
locate? She didn't think so.
“You could ask," Brett repeated.
“I could."
But she wouldn't. Not only did she not want to
put Nash in the position of having to refuse her, she
wasn't sure she would survive actually having to
hear him say no.
By five the gatehouse was nearly finished. Nash walked from room to room, pleased with all that had
been done. All that was left was the new carpeting.
As soon as Stephanie had that installed, she and the
boys could move in. They'd have their own place,
away from the guests. She would be safe.
He could see her here—her furniture, the boys'
books and toys. They would make the small house
into a home.
Could he see himself here?
The question brought him up short. Did he want
to be here? Did he want to stay with Stephanie and
her sons? That would mean getting involved. Emotions weren't safe, he reminded himself. Emotions
were messy and couldn't be controlled. If life was
out of control
His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt
pocket and pushed Talk.
“Harmon here."
“
It's Jack," his boss told him. "We have a sit
uation." Five minutes later Nash turned off the phone and
jogged toward the main house. He found Stephanie
in the kitchen with Brett. She took one look at his
face and blanched.
“What's wrong?" she asked.
“
My boss called. There's a hostage situation in
San Francisco
at a bank robbery gone bad. Shots
have been fired. A helicopter's on its way to pick
me up." He glanced at his watch. "It's coming from
the army base and should be here in about six
minutes."
He'd wondered how she would react to the crisis,
but except for the loss of color in her face, she was
in control. "Do you need me to get you anything?
Most of your family has left. Your parents took the
twins to the park. I'll tell them when they get back."
“
I appreciate that. I don't know how long I'll be
gone. These things can take time. Then there's pa
perwork afterwards."
She dismissed his comments with a wave of her
hand. "Don't worry about that. I'll pack your things
and you can call us and let me know where you
want them sent." Her assumption that he wouldn't be coming back
surprised him. Yes, he only had a few days left of
his vacation but
“
I'm glad you're leaving," Brett said fiercely.
Nash turned to the boy and saw him wipe the
back of his hand across his eyes. Hell.
He knelt in front of Brett. "I'm sorry I have to
go, but this is important."
“I don't care."
“
I care very much. About my work and about
you, your brothers and your mom."
“Then don't go."
The words shouldn't have mattered to him, but
God help him, he liked hearing them.
“
Some bad men are holding people hostage. I
have to go. If I don't some of them might die.”
“
Then promise to come back."
Stephanie put her hands on Brett's thin shoulders.
"Honey, don't. Remember what we talked about?
Nash has his own life and it's not here."
They'd talked about him? He stood and tried to read her expression. "Stephanie..." He wasn't sure
what to say.
She shook her head. "We both knew this was
temporary, right? So it's ending sooner than we
thought. At least we're saved from having a long,
painful goodbye. It's like ripping off a bandage. Fas
ter is better."
“Faster hurts more," he said.
“But it's over quicker."
He wanted to tell her he would come back. He
wanted to tell her that he didn't want to go in the
first place. But to what end?
Before he could figure out what words were right,
he heard a familiar sound. "The helicopter's here."
Outside several sheriff's cars had blocked off the
street. Nash saw Kyle talking to one of the heli
copter pilots.
Nash bent down and hugged Brett. Then he
straightened and pulled Stephanie close.
“
Take care of yourself," she said as she stepped
back. There were tears in her eyes.
He felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. There
were a thousand things to say and no time left. His
heart heavy, his chest tight, he jogged to the heli
copter. Kyle slapped him on the back as he
climbed in.
“
Don't get dead," he called.
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 ve
hicle 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, had seemed 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 sharpshoot
ers could fire into the bank without hitting the hos
tages.
“
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 in
side. The ground continued to roll and shake, dis
tracting everyone.
Nash grabbed his radio. "Now," he called out.
"Get in there now!"
The rescue team swarmed the front of the bank.
With the earthquake still rumbling Nash couldn’t
hear 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 cap
tured. The hostages are all safe."