Chapter 5
3:00 p.m.
Bailey was waiting for him. Depending on him. The thought had speared the painful haze clouding Con’s vision and forced him to keep moving. He couldn’t remember finding his way back. Now that he’d reached her, his legs collapsed, and he slid down the wall.
“Con, are you hurt?” She dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands reached inside his jacket, gingerly feeling along his ribs and over his abdomen. “Answer me!”
It hurts like a bitch. He nodded, then shook his head no.
“Which is it, yes or no?” she demanded.
He shook his head no again.
She left and he heard rummaging noises before she returned. “Open.” Her fingers pressed his jaw and his mouth opened. Liquid poured over his tongue. He swallowed. Sticky, and far too sweet. “Gack!” He shuddered and the fog receded.
“Do you want more?”
He coughed. “Hell, no. What was that?”
“Instant glucose. Toy stores don’t sell brandy.”
“Huh?” He swiped his hand across his mouth and shuddered again.
“Candy syrup in a miniature wax bottle. Little kids drink it all the time with no ill effects. Well, except maybe excess energy. Better now?”
“Yeah.” His reply emerged graveled and raw, like his insides.
She cupped his face in her chilled hands, her eyes wide with fear. “Con, is it the hostages? Are they—”
“No. They’re okay, for now.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. The past thirty minutes were a disjointed nightmare. “The head honcho, the robber giving all the orders—” He swallowed again, the sweet aftertaste turning bitter in his mouth. “He’s wearing my father’s watch.”
She gasped. “What? Con…he’s been dead for nine years. How can you be sure?”
“My brothers and I gave the watch to Pop for Father’s Day, the year I was ten. Liam and Grady did chores to buy the face from a thrift store, and Aidan and I tooled a leather band with Celtic symbols and attached a new buckle in shop class. It’s one of a kind. Unmistakable. And that criminal is wearing it.”
She gripped his shoulders and held his gaze, her expression troubled. “Did you see his face?”
“No, he still has on the Kevlar hood.”
She frowned. “He couldn’t possibly be your father?”
For a few horrible, sick moments, he’d wondered. The ugly rumors had sunk their claws into his chest and ripped out his memories…held them up, torn and bleeding for examination. Uncertainty had shredded his confidence. Doubt had lacerated his faith. The O’Rourke boys had endured scorn for nearly nine years, along with whispered speculation, not-so-subtle innuendos and outright insults.
Ever since their father had been investigated by Internal Affairs for being dirty. A cop on the take.
Not everyone swallowed the accusations. Veteran cops who had known Brian O’Rourke defended his integrity to this day. His wife and four sons believed in his innocence. Internal Affairs had never proven he’d taken the half million dollars missing from the armored car robbery.
Unfortunately, Brian O’Rourke had never proven he hadn’t.
He’d been quietly shuffled off to ride a desk. Bitterly unhappy, he’d accepted the undeserved punishment with stoic fortitude inherited from ancestors who emigrated from famine-riddled Ireland. Maintained his dignity with tenacious Celtic warrior’s blood that never gave up the fight, that enabled him to hang on to hope for future exoneration.
The same fighter’s blood that flowed in Con’s veins. That gave him the determination not to give up on Bailey and their future. Con swiped the back of his hand over the moisture trickling into his eyes. He wasn’t getting teary-eyed, dammit. It was sweat from the exertion.
Their dad had died before he could clear his name. Assumed dead during the invasion robbery of his own house.
They’d never found his body. Or his killer.
The resulting court hearing had declared him legally dead. Murdered. There were still hard-line cops who thought he’d faked the crime scene. Rumor had him living the high life on a remote tropical island with his hot half million and a hot mistress.
Nobody who’d known Brian bought that garbage any more than they believed he’d stolen the money. But it hurt like hell.
Con cleared his throat. “Is the man in the bank my dad? No. No way.”
“No wonder you’re upset. It must have been an awful shock.”
The understatement of the millennium. “You believe me, don’t you—the man holding up the bank is not my dad?” Because he’d wavered, it seemed very, very important she did not.
She held him tight. “Absolutely. Your mom is too intelligent and principled to marry a dirty cop. And an unscrupulous man could never have raised four sons with such deeply rooted integrity.”
He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her silky curls. If he hadn’t known before she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, her loyalty would have sealed the deal. He breathed in her flowery fragrance. “Thank you.”
She drew away to look at him. “How did a criminal get your father’s watch? Why would he wear it? It has no monetary value.”
“One possibility.” When the first stunned, frozen moments had passed, and he’d assured himself the man wearing the watch was not his father, the answer had wrenched his guts. “Pop died when robbers invaded our home. Those men are robbers. The math adds up.”
“You think the criminal in the bank is responsible for your father’s murder, and the watch is a…sick souvenir?”
“Yes. And I intend to prove it.” He leaned his head against the wall. “The day he died, we’d been to a soccer game, did I tell you that?”
“No.” She stroked his hair. “Go ahead. Talking will help.”
“Grady was a senior in high school. It was the state championship. We’d planned a family outing, but Dad caught the flu. He was really torqued about missing out. He insisted on going, but Mom wouldn’t let him. You know Mom, she prevailed.”
Her lips curved in a tender smile. “I imagine she did.”
“Pop went to every game, every school event, every Boy Scout activity when work permitted. He was a great dad.”
“He was. You’ve got some wonderful memories.”
Yeah, but this wasn’t one of them. “Grady’s alma mater won. The three of us carried him into the house on our shoulders, with Mom brandishing his MVP award. We were chanting some stupid cheer at the top of our lungs. We got halfway across the living room before we noticed the place was trashed. Stuff was missing.” Staring over her shoulder into the gloomy store, he felt the blow all over again as he relived that awful night.
“Mom tore upstairs to the master bedroom. Grady and I hit the kitchen, Aidan and Liam rushed into the family room, calling for Pop. Then they went dead quiet. A tangible wall of silence rolled out. I don’t know how to explain, but the shock hung in the air.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve experienced that feeling.”
“Grady and I looked at one another, and knew bone deep it was bad. We ran into the family room. It was worse than anything we could have imagined. Sick and weak as he’d been, Pop must have put up a hell of a fight. Blood was everywhere. Enough blood…” He faltered, then soldiered on. “For the ME to testify Pop couldn’t have survived. They never found his body.”
“I’m sorry. Losing your father is hard enough when you’ve got closure.”
They’d been forced to hold a memorial service instead of a funeral. There was no coffin to drape the flag over. After the mournful echo of “Taps” faded, the honor guard had simply handed the folded flag to his mother. “We didn’t want Mom to see the carnage. It took both Aidan and me to keep her out. We brought her to Letty’s. Grady was the most visibly upset and least functional, so he stayed with her while the CSI team worked. Hours later, when they’d finished and taken the evidence they wanted, Grady showed up. The four of us cleaned up the mess. Scrubbed away the gore.”
“Oh, Con.” She hugged him again, and her slender body trembled in his arms.
He held her, comforted by her presence. “Took us all night. We ripped out what was left of the carpet and took it and Pop’s chair to the dump. Nobody except Grady showed any emotion.” Pop’s death had hit his youngest brother the hardest. “Until we threw that torn, lumpy recliner out of my truck. We stood there, looking at Dad’s chair amongst the garbage, bloody and battered. Then we lost it. Four grown men. Put our arms around one another and cried like babies.”
She drew back and touched his face. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s understandable. No wonder you’re all so close.”
He trailed a fingertip over her wet face. She shared his pain, just as he shared hers. Her empathy made the hurt more bearable. “Mom was devastated. But when we suggested she move, she got royally pissed off. She said—” An unsteady chuckle dislodged the aching lump in his throat. “Well, I won’t repeat it. The gist was that criminals were not going to drive her out of her home and destroy her memories.”
Bailey captured his hand in both of hers. “Your mom is incredible.”
Anger crackled, burning away sorrow. He’d watched his mom fall to her knees after the death of her soul mate, then struggle to her feet and get on with living. “She should have had the privilege of growing old with the man she loved by her side.”
“We can’t change what’s done, I know that better than anyone.” Her eyes softened, deep blue pools of sympathy. “Dwelling on it will only hurt you more.” She placed a tender kiss in the center of his palm. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah.” He’d stood outside the bank racked by grief, and battled the urge to rush in and confiscate the robber’s Uzi. To turn the weapon on him and force a confession. To finally find justice. Only the thought of Bailey, alone and defenseless, hunted down by those ruthless men, had made him walk away. Each step had taken every ounce of stubborn Irish will he possessed.
Con sucked in a deep breath and yanked his thoughts out of the past. He would be fine. After he finished it.
“What do we do now?”
He looked at the woman he loved beyond all reason. Her eyes were dark with sadness. Her delicate face white with strain. Her sweet lips creased with worry. Those men had killed his father and now they were a threat to Bailey’s life. And the lives of innocent hostages. Anger boiled into rage. “I’m going to stash you somewhere safe, go back to the bank and clean house. Exterminate the vermin. No catch and release.”
She went rigid. “No! You can’t!”
“Hide and watch me, Bailey.” Years of anguish. His mother’s quiet suffering. His brothers’ pain. Tears. Loss. The ragged, empty hole in their lives that no one would ever be able to fill. No more. Never again. “They aren’t getting away without a trace this time. I’m going to stop them before they hurt anyone else.”
“Is that what you’ve been trained to do? Would your father want you to charge out there, hell-bent on revenge? I think not.”
He clenched his jaw. “That bastard has no right to wear my father’s watch like some kind of grisly trophy.”
She shook him. Hard. “Focus, Con. Those hostages need you. I need you. If you lose it, we will all die.”
She was right. Blind fury had overtaken him, pushed him too close to losing his head. To doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons. He’d come within a heartbeat of blowing off his training and throwing away his life to annihilate a criminal SOB who might very well have murdered his father. He’d nearly risked Bailey’s safety and the welfare of innocent hostages. Shame washed over him, cooling his rage. He swore.
The seesawing emotions combined with loss of control rattled him to the core. He dropped his head into his hands. He’d been in scary, unpredictable situations before, but never like this. This time, his family was at stake. The woman he loved was at stake.
This time, it was personal.
Bailey shook him again. “Look at me.”
Resolve steeled her gaze. “Conall O’Rourke is a dedicated police officer, not a vigilante. He upholds the law, does not take it into his own hands.” The conviction in her voice yanked him back from the edge of no-man’s-land. “Our objective is to go home with the same number of holes in our bodies we came with. And to get our friends out of that bank.”
He gritted his teeth. Shoved his grief and anger deep inside. Right again. His priority was to keep them both alive. He rested his forehead against hers until the confusion and pain receded and he regained control. “What would I do without you?”
She kissed him, her soft, gentle mouth reviving his strength, her sweet, fresh taste restoring his purpose. “We’re in this together, for now. So, I guess we need a…what do you call it? Tactical plan. Your forte, Officer Sexy. What’s our next step?”
He managed a shaky grin. This woman amazed him more every second. “Communication. Get word out there’s an incident going down in here.” He hesitated. Could she handle the truth?
He should have known better. She read him as easily as one of the books she always had her nose stuck in. She frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Trying to hide it from her was futile. He might as well come clean. “If my suspicions are correct, this crew has been doing bank jobs and home invasions for years. They seem to fit the profile on a number of unsolved cases. They don’t leave any witnesses. Once they crack the vault…” He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. “Oh no!” When she opened her eyes, panic laced her expression and her voice quivered. She grabbed his arm. “What can we do, Con?”
“Mike bought some time by slamming the vault door when the robbers stormed in. Calling out SWAT will buy more. The suspects won’t kill the hostages if they need bargaining chips. I wish we had access to a phone or radio. We can hardly send smoke signals.”
“Wait!” She jerked upright. “We can! What about the fire alarm?”
“The crooks disabled the electricity, phone and computer systems. Thus the earlier ‘malfunction’ announcement.”
“But they might not know the alarms and sprinklers are on an independent, protected circuit…with battery backup. I saw the schematics when I chose the layout for the bookstore’s electrical fixtures during the remodeling.”
“That photographic memory of yours comes in mighty handy at times.” He tugged a bright curl that had fallen over her shoulder. “So, we start a contained blaze, and summon the trucks. Then we have to signal the firefighters without putting their lives in danger.” He pursed his lips. “It could work.”
“The third-story windows on the sky bridge facing south are visible from the parking lot. What if we get a sheet, write SOS on it and hang it in the window?”
“Great idea.” He grinned, steady and sure, his feet again on solid ground. “Only we’ll write the police code for armed robbery in progress, with hostages involved. And add my badge number.”
She surged shakily to her feet. “Let’s go!”
“Not so fast, slugger.” He rose and flexed his cramped muscles. “First, we train.”
“But we have to hurry!”
“When you hurry, people die. We do this by the book.” He glanced around the murky store and grabbed his pack and the baseball bat he’d snatched from the sports outlet upstairs. “Let’s change locations.”
“Okay.” She picked up her pack and baseball bat. “How come?”
“Not smart to stay in one place when you’re being hunted.”
She froze with her pack dangling from one shoulder. “Are we being hunted?”
“Odds are good. The bookstore’s deposit bag wasn’t on the floor outside the bank. The robbers must have found it.”
“I’m sorry, Con.” Her delicate red-gold brows scrunched together in an anxious frown. “It’s all my fault.”
“It is not your fault. I grabbed you and scared you. Besides, we have an advantage. The bad guys don’t know about me. They think they’re after a terrified bookstore clerk. They’ll search the other end of the mall first.” He left out the fact that the criminals who were after them seemed as disciplined and heavily armed as any SWAT team. Professionals with the precise teamwork of ex-military men.
Con welcomed the sharp slap of adrenaline in his bloodstream as he shrugged into his pack. He’d need every ounce of strength, courage and wits he possessed. Every moment of training. He and Bailey were in for the fight of their lives.
Bailey followed Con to the doorway. He motioned her to a stop and then sidled out.
An instant later, he returned. “We’re headed for the Bedroom Furniture Emporium at the far end, across the way. We’ll move independently, in stages. I’ll watch your back, you watch mine. Stay low and close to the wall.”
Relief trickled through her. He was back to normal. When his composure had fractured, she’d wondered if he would recover. Or if shock and pain would send him hurtling into a suicide mission. His evaluation report again appeared in her mind’s eye. Maintains emotional control. Con’s CO knew him better than she did. However, she was learning more by the second. And the more she discovered about Con’s true character, the more she admired him. The more she trusted him. The more she loved him. The more bewildered she felt. After tonight’s events, would she still be able to walk away from him? Did she want to?
“Go!” His whisper mobilized her, and she crept into the oppressive silence. Confusion churned inside her as quickly and quietly, they took turns scuttling toward their goal. She hurried past the import store. The security gate had lowered all the way down there and at Harry’s Cigars next door. More had randomly lowered at this end of the mall.
Bedroom Furniture Emporium was open, and she ducked inside, followed by Con.
Darkness shrouded the store. She studied the spooky space, filled with towering silhouettes. Odd how everyday objects like dressers and beds looked menacing in the dark. Amber security lights broke the gloom toward the back, by the sales counter.
Con nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Lots of heavy cover.”
They rearranged the sturdy furniture until a maze of barricades led to the mall opening. That way, they wouldn’t get trapped inside. Con then taught her basic hand signals so they could communicate across distances or without speaking. He showed the same qualities as a teacher she suspected he would exhibit as a lover—focused, patient and extremely thorough.
Though he didn’t say so, she realized he was also equipping her to communicate with the SWAT team in case something happened to him. At the thought of him hurt, or worse, a giant fist squeezed her heart. She shoved the horrible image aside. Focus on the task at hand.
Every instinct screamed to hurry. Get the SWAT team on site fast. “How much time do we have? Shouldn’t we go upstairs?”
He rolled his wrist to consult his watch. “We’re okay. Breaching the vault door is gonna take a while.”
“How many white sheets do you want?” Tamping down her apprehension, she headed for the shelves on the back wall. Con had experience and training. He wouldn’t put the hostages in danger.
He carried their knapsacks to the open floor space in the rear of the store. “Two should do it.”
Amongst the rainbow of patterns and colors, plain white cotton was as rare as a missionary in a brothel. But she finally located some. She ripped open packages, unfolded the linens and shook them out, then knelt on the oak parquet floor beside Con.
He extracted the markers and passed her a red one. “Glad you picked these up. Make the letters and numbers as big as possible.”
He outlined his sign with a black marker. She knelt and logged the bedding’s cost in her notebook. That done, she wrote 10-23, code 2 on her bedsheet, and then began to fill in the spaces.
His warm butterscotch voice broke her concentration. “What kind of sheets do you have on your bed, darlin’?”
Startled, she glanced up and met his speculative gaze. He’d never been in her bedroom, nor she in his. She wanted commitment before investing her body, heart and soul in a physical relationship. He’d respected her wishes and hadn’t pushed. Resisting temptation hadn’t been easy, however. Their sexual appetites were well matched, each ravenous for the other.
“Mauve satin with cream lace.” A bewitching picture shimmered into her mind. Con, naked in her bed, his hard-muscled body tantalizingly draped in satin sheets. Warmth tingled over her skin.
A slow, lazy smile slid over his mouth, and the warmth blossomed into heat. “Ah, my girl is a sensualist. No surprise.”
Jeez, his killer smile should definitely be a felony. She swallowed hard, struggling to formulate a coherent sentence. “What about you? What kind of sheets are on your bed?”
“Dark green cotton jersey. It’s like sleeping on a favorite T-shirt.” His gaze darkened, grew intense. Desire smoldered in the rich brown depths. She read his thoughts as clearly as her own. Obviously, he had no trouble picturing her in his bed, either.
Her abdominal muscles clenched and heaviness pooled low in her belly. Had not making love been a mistake? They were fighting for their lives. If they didn’t escape, she’d never know the wonder of being in his arms, the joy of belonging to him.
No. She again squelched her worry. Negativity devoured precious resources. She needed energy, focus and every smidgen of creativity to help them escape.
Bailey gave herself a mental shake and put renewed effort into the banner. Forming each letter carefully and precisely, she recalled a recent Scrabble match. She’d concentrated on beating Con, not an easy task, and hadn’t realized what he was up to until well into the game. Until she’d really looked at what his tiles spelled. Passion. Desire. Arousal. Caress. Kiss.
When she’d glanced up, he’d arched a teasing brow. She’d lunged and kissed him soundly. They’d ended up locked in an embrace, rolling across the board and scattering tiles. How did he electrify her without uttering a sound? Without a touch? Like now.
Awareness hummed between them. His heat, his scent beckoned her. Her senses responded to every shift of his lithe body, every movement. Her tension escalated with his every quiet breath.
When the sign was nearly finished, she hesitated, the marker hovering over white cotton. “Con?”
“Yeah?” His husky reply had her stomach jumping again.
“Is it…? I’m…um…” Unable to meet his gaze, she swallowed again. “Is it normal to be sort of…turned on in the middle of a dangerous situation?”
Chuckling, he stretched, set down his marker, and then settled cross-legged on the floor. “Feeling a bit wired, are you?”
“Yes. Am I a pervert?”
He barked out a laugh. “No, sweetheart.” He tugged her into his lap. “Adrenaline sings through your veins, doesn’t it?”
“You can say that again.”
“Every sense sharpens to hypersensitive. Colors look brighter, objects more clearly focused.” He feathered his fingertips over her eyelids and she caught her breath.
“Every nerve ending quivers at the slightest touch.” He cupped her face in his hands. His soft, moist lips grazed her jawline and she shivered.
“Your hearing grows keener,” he murmured into her ear, his warm, moist breath prickling goose bumps along her skin.
“Smells become dizzyingly acute.” His mouth a whisper from hers, he held her gaze. His scent—aroused male, tangy soap and cinnamon—wove an enticing spell, and she breathed him in.
Passion flared in his eyes. “Flavors flood your palate, are more vivid, more delectable.”
She turned her body into his, and his lips touched hers. Rising on her knees, she tangled her fingers in his hair. Her lips parted and his tongue drove deep, kissing her hard. His taste jolted her system. Intense, hot, spicy. If she lived to be a thousand, she would never get enough of him.
He’d kissed her before with tender seduction. Undisguised hunger. Even nerve-jangling desire. But nothing had ever sent her pulse hurtling into a gallop, made her limbs tremble like this rapid-fire assault on her senses. The air punched out of her lungs. Her brain puddled.
Pounding heartbeat against pounding heartbeat, the fiery, shocking clash of lips, tongues, teeth flashed through her body. The heady, erotic explosion ignited her blood. Emotions blitzed her heart and lodged in her soul. Need. Love.
Possession.
Con was hers, and she would never give him up.
Someone moaned, deep and throaty. She didn’t know if it was him or her.
She jerked back, breaking the kiss. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably, yeah.” Panting, he rested his forehead against hers. He blinked, and then shook his head. “What was I talking about? Oh. Adrenaline. Razor-sharp awareness is a survival mechanism. You need an edge in a crisis.”
Stunned moments passed before her jellied brain could process thought. She inhaled much-needed oxygen. Stress must have sent her around the bend. She was living her worst nightmare. An up-close-and-personal look at the reason she’d broken off with him. Getting physical would only worsen the untenable situation. How could she still want him so much when their basic life philosophies were in total conflict? “That doesn’t explain the outrageous desire.”
He smiled. “Sure it does, when you factor in the primal instinct to mate in the face of death. To create life and preserve the species. A biological imperative hardwired into our genes since caveman days. One hundred percent normal, darlin’.”
She eased backward, putting distance between them. A moment ago, she would have followed the kiss anywhere it led. Now, she was questioning her sanity. “Biological imperative or not, I wouldn’t have felt…um…wired if I were trapped with Aidan, or even gorgeous, wild-man Hunter.”
His smile widened. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to have to pound my brother or teammate.” He stroked a finger down her nose. “Our feelings are exploding because we’re emotionally connected. Crisis is forging our existing bond into a stronger link.”
She wasn’t so sure. Was bonding supposed to be so scary? So painful?
He consulted his watch again. “C’mon, sweetheart. Time to go upstairs.”
Ashamed of herself, she wrenched her attention back to the current dilemma. “How could we waste time kissing when the hostages are depending on us?”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” In one smooth movement, he stood and lifted her to her feet. “During an incident, timing is everything. Acting at exactly the right moment can mean the difference between live hostages and dead ones.” He glanced around the store. “I’ve got the situation under control. Now, we need to find something to start a fire.”
Her shame faded. She may have momentarily forgotten the hostages, but he hadn’t. Obviously, he could compartmentalize. A perfect complement to her photographic memory. The two of them were becoming a formidable team. If they could only work out their differences, they’d be unbeatable. “Other than the one we just ignited, you mean? I’m surprised we didn’t set off the sprinklers.”
“Too bad, because the cage on Harry’s Cigars lowered completely, and we can’t commandeer a lighter. I recall from my Boy Scout days rubbing two sticks together takes a damnably long time to get results.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “This is a furniture store, they must have tung or linseed oil around.”
They found several cans of linseed oil in the storeroom. She grinned at Con. “Great! This stuff will burn like crazy.”
“We still need a source of ignition.”
“Static electricity.” She grabbed a metal trash can and headed to the linen section. “We need a polyester thermal blanket. Ah, like this one.” She opened the package. “Watch and learn.” She vigorously rubbed two halves of the blanket together until they stuck, then rapidly separated them. Sparks crackled in the darkened showroom. “If nothing else, this will do in a pinch.”
Con laughed. “Ms. Wizard, I adore you.”
Glowing inside from his open admiration, she handed him the supplies. “When we get upstairs, if we pour the oil into the garbage can and create static, it should ignite the oil. Even the fumes are highly flammable. Linseed oil-soaked rags often spontaneously combust. It might take persistence, and we’ll have to be careful. It could flare up suddenly and burn us.”
“Maybe there’s a fire extinguisher.” He hurried behind the counter. “Got one!” He rummaged on the shelves beneath. “I wonder if there’s any duct tape? We’ll need to hang the sheets.”
She folded their SOS banners, and then collected their backpacks and the bats. “Is there?”
“Nope.” He picked up the trash can.
“We can look upstairs. If we don’t find any, I have an idea.”
His grin flashed again. “I’ll just bet you do.”
When they reached the furniture store’s mall entrance, he paused. “Getting up the escalators will be tricky. They’re in the central core, visible from all sides, and we’ll be vulnerable. Don’t silhouette yourself against the horizon, or a doorway—what we call a vertical coffin.” He shouldered his pack. “If it goes to hell, run, and don’t look back. I’ll make sure nobody follows you. Stick to the plan, summon help and then hide.”
There he went again, preparing her for the worst. Preparing to stand between her and the bad guys. She fought down roiling fear and squared her shoulders. Nothing and no one would separate them. Over her dead body.
She prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
The trip up the stilled escalators to the third floor was torturously long, agonizingly slow and the scariest experience of her life. But uneventful.
Con left her in a fabric store while he scouted out the sky bridge. She collected more items for her pack and waited anxiously for his return.
Mere minutes seemed like hours. Finally, he prowled into the store and gave her the all clear sign.
She hurried to his side. “Any trouble?”
“Nope. Did you find tape?”
“Only the craft type, and that won’t adhere to glass, at least not for long. Not with the temperature difference between outside and inside creating condensation.”
“You mentioned an idea?”
“Silly Putty will stick to both the glass and the sheet. Moisture won’t affect it.”
“The way your brain works floors me.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good.” He winked. “You definitely trip my trigger, baby.”
She batted her lashes at him in mock flirtation. Teasing him was a good way to relieve the tension. “I’d love to trip the trigger on your big gun, Officer Sexy.”
He laughed. “I thought you didn’t like guns.”
“Depends on what kind of ammo they’re shooting. And if they’re rapid-fire repeaters or not.”
“Whoa! Keep talking and you’ll find yourself on the counter over there. Flat on your back and minus your clothes.”
The idea had appeal. She smiled at him. “Maybe later.”
“You want a championship marksman, I’m your guy. You’d better start me an IOU column in that notebook of yours.”
They ventured onto the sky bridge and hung the sheets. The putty worked great. They lit the signs with flashlights. Then Con stashed her in Sears while he went to initiate phase two. She found a large plastic tarp in the automotive department and draped it over two end displays for a makeshift tent. She added more items to her pack, making detailed notations about what she borrowed.
What was taking Con so long? Had he run into one of the robbers? Was he having trouble igniting the oil? Or maybe he hadn’t had trouble starting the fire, but with controlling it. Her stomach tightened. Please, don’t let him have been burned!
Seeking distraction from her distress, she started an IOU column. She wrote trip your trigger in Con’s column. Kiss any thing, any time any where was listed as owed to her, plus more inventive ideas about what he could do when she was flat on her back on a counter. Then suddenly the fire alarm clanged, and she jumped. Success!
Grinning, she sprinted for her shelter and arrived as the sprinkler system hissed on. Water rained everywhere, plopping onto the tarp and bouncing off the linoleum. The space between sprinklers meant that not everything on the shelves got soaked, but close enough. Hoo boy, the floor was a sodden mess.
Sirens wailed in the distance and grew louder. Yes! The sirens screamed into the parking lot, and then abruptly died. Had the firefighters seen the banners? She didn’t know if the sprinklers were on a timer, set to react to smoke or flames, or if the fire department had a remote shutoff, but after about ten minutes, water stopped pouring out of the ceiling.
“Yo, darlin’.”
At the sound of Con’s low hail behind her, she squeaked. “Ack! Cardiac arrest! I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”
His clothes were soaked, his short, sleek hair glistening. He hadn’t had the luxury of seeking shelter when the sprinklers erupted. Amusement flitted across his handsome face. “You aren’t supposed to. Goes double for the bad guys.”
“Did the fire trucks see the message?”
“Ten-four. SWAT should be scrambling as we speak.”
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She and Con had bought Letty, Mike and Nan a fighting chance. “Do we hide and wait for the cavalry?”
“No. We load our squirt guns. I don’t suppose we could use the linseed oil? It would sting like a mother, too.”
“It’s pretty thick. It probably wouldn’t shoot very far, and might clog.”
“Okay, so we go after the acetic acid.”
“You’d better change into dry clothes. The temperature is getting chillier by the minute.”
“I want those guns loaded first. And I have to do another recon on the bank to see how the suspects reacted to the alarm and sprinklers. When SWAT gets here, I need up-to-the-minute intel.”
Her relief died a premature death. Back downstairs? Back into the jaws of danger. Another risk to Con’s life. Cursing her jangling nerves, she picked up her pack and bat. She forced confidence she didn’t feel into her words. “Let’s go.”
“Be extra vigilant. Because of the alarm, the robbers are going to wonder who’s out here and what we’re up to. These guys aren’t stupid, they’ll be surveilling the area. After the way the fire trucks responded, then took off like bats out of hell, they’ve got to suspect the cops are on the way and be uptight. Likely to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Great. Got any more good news?”
“Yeah, the floor is slippery as a greased guinea pig. Watch your step.”
“And you’d know how slippery a greased guinea pig is?”
He didn’t say anything as they strode toward the front of the store, but his lips twitched.
“Oh, no. You didn’t!”
“Aidan and I thought Grady’s Mr. Peepers needed a slick hairstyle, like Fonzie’s. Neither Mr. Peepers nor Grady was too enthusiastic about the new do.” He chuckled. “Hey, give me a break. We were five and six. The ultra cool Fonz was our hero.”
“It’s a miracle your mother doesn’t chug antacid directly out of the bottle and toss back ibuprofen like M&Ms.”
“That’s why she took up rowing, to work off stress.”
“She must have had to row to the Pacific Ocean and back.”
He hesitated at the entrance to the mall and checked both directions. “Have you ever thought about how many kids you might eventually want?” The question was casual, his tone and body language anything but.
Con’s babies. She’d dreamed of them. Thought they were out of her reach. Longing twisted deep inside. “I always hated being an only child. Too lonely. I wouldn’t mind three or four.”
He smiled. “Four is a nice, even number. Like my brothers and me.”
“Unleashing more male O’Rourkes on an unsuspecting world…what a terrifying thought!” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I think you’d better hope for four girls.”
“Little girls are a different kind of trouble.” He trailed a callused fingertip along her ear, sending tingles racing down her spine. “So are big girls.”
“Not nearly as much trouble as big boys.”
“That’s the fourth time you’ve mentioned size. Have a fixation, darlin’?”
Warmth surged into her cheeks. “Guess you didn’t get the memo. Size doesn’t matter.”
“Whew.” He put his hand over his heart and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
She snorted. “Stop fishing for compliments. I’ve got eyes.”
He arched a brow, and her cheeks blazed. Gad. How did they end up in these impossible discussions? In the midst of sneaking around trying to avoid bank robbers, yet. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
As they made their way down the dead escalators, dread inched up her spine. Just like when she’d walked toward the bank, her senses shrieked unease. By the time they arrived at the One Hour Photo booth, every muscle screamed with tension, and the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end.
“Con,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
“I know. I feel it, too.”
Were the robbers waiting to ambush them? She peered around the corner into the shadows, but didn’t see any movement. She propped her hand on the wall to steady herself and connected with something wet and sticky. The overhanging eaves had protected the booth’s vinyl walls from the sprinklers. Whatever she’d planted her palm in wasn’t water. Some kid’s leftover slushy? Ugh!
She stared at her hand in the murky light. The wet, sticky goo was thick and dark. Chocolate? She took an experimental sniff. The sharp, metallic smell could never be confused with chocolate. Her stomach lurched.
Her palm was covered with blood!