Nemesis (Southern Comfort) (39 page)

“Sadie.”  Panic overtaking him, he left the bed so fast that he landed on the floor. 

Rogan rushed forward to help him to his feet.

“Where?” Kim said, her face now all business, and Dec explained she’d gone outside with Rick.

“The cop went after her,” he added, terror making his bare legs tremble, and he cursed her ex-fiancé all to hell.  If he hadn’t come sniffing around she’d be sa
fe right here with him.

“Notify security, and I’ll go check.”

“You want me to go with you?”  Rogan asked.

“I’ll ask one of the guards to provide backup.  You stay with your brother.”

“Be safe,” Rogan said as she turned to leave.

His dad was already on the room’s phone.  Punching the button that linked him directly with security.

“I have to get down there,” he insisted sotto voce to his brother.

Rogan braced his hand beneath the elbow on Dec’s good arm as he helped him find his balance.  “Kim’s trained for this sort of thing.  Let her check it out.”

“If she wasn’t trained, and you’d just had to sit by with your thumb up your ass while some madman fondled and terrorized her, would you be content to let someone else check it out?”

Rogan’s face lost a little more color.  “No.  But you don’t know that that noise implied Sadie’s in any kind of danger.  Could have been a car backfiring, like Dad said.”

“Could have been the village sending off a signal flare because they’ve become aware they’re missing their idiot.”

Identical blue eyes flashed in irritation.

Declan made a concerted effort to calm.  “Look, even if she isn’t… imperiled, she’s been with her ex-fiancé for almost an hour.  The man was wearing a sport coat and loafers, Rogan.  You’ve got to help me out.”

ROGAN’S
lips twitched at the mental image.  “You want me to get you a wheelchair?”

“Do I look like I need another handicap?  The loafers probably cost more than I paid for my car.”

Rogan glanced across the room, where their father was busy talking to someone from security.  “Lean on me,” he said quietly, feeling like he had when they were kids and they’d snuck out of the house.  More often than not to bring down some mischief on the woman for whom his brother was obsessively worrying.  “We’ve got maybe a thirty second window before he realizes what’s going on.”

“Watch the hand,” Dec said as they left, moving as fast as his rubbery legs would take him.  “These sadists don’t believe in leaving a man any dignity.”

Rogan glanced over his shoulder and noted he’d accidently pulled the gown off Dec’s bare ass, remembering his own sentiments earlier had been eerily similar.

He and Dec were far more alike than he’d thought.

Than he’d been willing to think, anyway.

And as he felt his brother’s weight against him, recalled all they’d unknowingly shared that day – all they’d shared in days long past –
he turned his head just enough to meet Declan’s gaze.  And the thought that flashed through his head was:
it’s nice to have you back.

“SHIT
.  What was that?”

Kathleen shifted and glanced at Detective Corelli as he turned his unmarked car into Beaufort Memorial’s lot.  His brows drew low over eyes gone sharp, telling her he’d already arrived at the same conclusion as she.  “Somebody discharged a weapon.”

They both glanced at the dash, waiting to hear if there’d be some kind of clue from the Beaufort PD dispatch as to what was going on, but the scanner remained silent.  Nor had either of their pagers gone off.  Whatever was happening, the local police didn’t seem to be involved, and she got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Sliding her weapon from the holster on her hip, Kathleen’s eyes scanned the confines of the parking lot. Anthony angled the car toward the direction from which the shot had come.  She was just about to tell him to step on it when an enormous black SUV came barreling around the corner.

“Look out!” she yelled, but it was too late to stop what was bound to be a head-on collision.  Anthony jerked the wheel and every muscle in her body tensed in automatic preparation, just as the deafening crunch of metal-on-metal filled the air.  Tires squealed.  Headlights shattered.  Several thousand pounds of steel folded in like an automotive accordion.  Kathleen’s body flew forward before being immediately snapped back as the vehicle’s safety mechanisms kicked in. The airbag emerged in a rocket-powered cloud, slamming into her face with explosive force.  Dust clogged her nostrils.  Cartilage crunched. 

The gun was wrenched from her hand, disappearing into the dark well of the vehicle’s floorboards.  Her seatbelt locked, jerking her back with enough power to render deep bruises across her torso.

And all of it happened in the blink of an eye.

Okay, she thought while the dust began to settle and her ears rang with the vibrations of the crash.  You’re okay.  Just shaken.  She was just starting to regain her equilibrium when the safety glass on the windshield shattered.

“Hell.” A gunshot.  Luckily the windshield held.  She batted the deflating airbag out of her way, sliding as far down in the seat as possible.

“Corelli, you okay?”

A low groan from the driver’s side was her only answer.  Anthony had managed to turn the vehicle just enough so that his side took the brunt of the impact.  Kathleen glanced over quickly, noted the blood streaming down the side of his face, and weighed the risks associated with moving him versus the risks associated with not.

Hostile fire trumped possible neck injuries any damn day.

Fumbling to release his seatbelt, Kathleen pulled him sideways. She drew his weapon from its holster, her own having landed God knew where.  Priority one was the ability to defend themselves from any more bullets that might be headed their way.  She waited a beat – two, three – and then used her free hand to lift the radio.  They’d been coordinating their investigation with Beaufort PD, so knew they’d grasp the situation’s implications right away.

“This is Detective Murphy with CPD and I’ve got shots fired at Beaufort Memorial Hospital. There’s an officer down and I need some backup on the scene immediately.”

“Roger that,” came the disembodied voice.  “We’ve already got units en route in response to multiple 911s.  What’s your status, Detective?”

“I’m trapped inside my vehicle with Detective Corelli, who’s suffered an apparent head trauma and is unresponsive.  We were involved in a collision with a dark SUV as we entered the hospital parking lot.  I believe the second shot originated from the other vehicle.”

Kathleen heard the distant whine of sirens, the shouts of multiple voices as bystanders were drawn outside the hospital by the sound of the shots, and of the crash.  She cursed the stupid airbag for obstructing her view even though it had served its intended function admirably.  Her nose was swelling – it felt like she’d collided with a brick wall – but it was better than having been knocked unconscious.  If both she and Corelli were down for the count they’d be no better than sitting ducks.

After concluding her business with the dispatcher Kathleen dropped the radio. She slid her hand to Anthony’s carotid.  His pulse was strong, thank God.  She risked a glance, saw the nasty gash along his left temple.

Nearly had a heart attack when her cell phone trilled against her hip.

It was the special ringtone she’d set for Sadie’s cell.  Back when they’d been awaiting another kidnapper-orchestrated call, they wanted to make sure they had plenty of warning.  It hadn’t sounded before because Sadie’s last call had been from a payphone. 

Because Brady Marshall had been in possession of her cell.

Which meant she had little doubt as to who’d just taken a shot at them.

“Hello,” she said without ceremony.  The noise outside had grown to chaotic levels. Blue and red lights flashed as splintered shadows though broken glass, meaning the cavalry was at hand. 

The bastard was trapped, and he knew it.  But typical of vermin
, he’d try to chew his way out.

“Detective Murphy.  I trust you’re not too badly injured.”

“I’m still kicking,” she told him coolly.  And depressed the button on the radio so that Dispatch could listen in.  “I would inquire after your own health but it’s already apparent I wouldn’t like the answer.”

His chuckle made her temper flicker to simmer before she got herself back under control.

“It figures you and Ms. Mayhew are friends.  You’ve both got sassy mouths.  Although on you it’s considerably less appealing, given that badge you have to back it up.”

“Get to the point, Marshall.”

“Not a fan of foreplay?”

“Not when the main event is likely to require a healthy dose of Vaseline
and an inoculation.”

There was a pause, then a burst of laughter.  That she’d given him any kind of enjoyment made Kathleen sick. 

“A cop with a sense of humor.  I didn’t realize they made such an animal.”

“My humor is fading fast, Marshall, then all you’re going to be left with is the cop.  If you’ve something to say you better get to it quick. I’m fixing to lose all patience and suggest the friendlies go ahead and shoot.”

“I’m fairly certain that wouldn’t be all that easy, Detective, given the fact they might miss and hit one or the other of my three guests.”  

Kathleen’s stomach executed a somersault. She knew what the bastard meant.  Somehow he’d acquired three hostages.

And she didn’t need to be a mind reader to figure who at least one or two of them might be.

Please, no, she thought, her non-professional emotions bubbling to the surface.  Please let the people she loved still be alright.  Still tucked safely within the confines of the hospital.  And because she had to consider that as a possibility – that he was alone, just bluffing to try to gain some leverage, or that whomever he held prisoner wasn’t one of her near and dear – she had to approach this as she would any other hostage situation.

Namely, keep a cool head until the negotiator appeared.  She knew better than to assume.  And if she let her personal fears get the better of her, the consequences could be a whole lot worse than merely making her look like an ass.

“Were any of your guests injured in the accident?”

“One’s looking a little… pasty.”

  “You should let me make a call, get the paramedics in to give him or her some medical attention. Like a good faith gesture on your part.”

“And I suppose I’ll get something in return?”

Shit.  This was why Kathleen wasn’t a negotiator, because
a nice long stay in a six by eight
wanted to roll off the tip of her tongue.  But that wouldn’t get her very far in establishing a rapport. And the cardinal rule of hostage situations was that you didn’t piss off the hostage-taker.  “You have a list of demands, Mr. Marshall?” 

“So it’s mister now, is it?  Funny how having a few friends in high places garners a man respect.  And since you’re bein’ all chummy, I guess I might as well take advantage:  I want a million dollars and a helicopter with enough fuel to take me south of the border.  There’s a Marine base around here, isn’t there?  How about getting me one of theirs?  Oh, and I’d like… let’s say Jenna Jameson to accompany me on the trip.”

“You’re saying that you’ll consider releasing your hostages if I get you a U.S. military aircraft and an adult film star?”

“And the money,” he reminded her cheerfully.  “Don’t forget the money.”

He was so totally full of shit.  “That particular package is going to be tricky to swing, Mr. Marshall. It’ll take some time to see what we can put together.  Why don’t you release the injured party to the care of the hospital staff while I see what I can do?”

The bastard broke out in laughter.

“You think I’m some kind of moron, Detective?  That I don’t know how these things work?  Don’t insult my intelligence again.  But as a good faith gesture I will tell you that the other two seemed to have weathered our little accident just fine.”

Kathleen’s breath eased out in a hiss.  She thought of this guy sitting in the MPPD interview room – right under their freakin’ noses – and had to suck back the need to start shooting and ask questions later.

So instead she dug through her memory for the hostage negotiator’s list of objectives and tactics which every cop had to learn.  Keep things calm was the first priority, followed by ensuring the safety of the hostages.  As much as it pained her to do so, she needed to determine exactly who he had.  And which one of the three was injured.

“Look, Mr. Marshall, you seem to understand the process, so you must know I’m going to need some kind of proof that you’re not yanking my chain.  Let me speak to one of the hostages.”

“I’m afraid that’s just not possible. They’re rather… incapacitated at the moment.”

“Incapacitated how?”  Anthony’s head shifted when Kathleen’s body stiffened, blood flowing down the leg of her pants in a crimson trickle.  She needed to get him some medical attention.  She glanced up, trying to get an idea of what measures were being taken around them in the darkened parking lot, but couldn’t see much of anything through the cracked glass.