A Surprise Family: Against The Odds

“What the hell?”

There was a crash behind her. Lindsay whirled, saw the broken dishes lying at Bobby’s feet. The question on her lips died as she followed the direction of the boy’s gaze.

“Everyone head into the dining area. Now.”

Her brain seemed frozen. The voice belonged to Mitch Engels. But the man standing before her could have been a stranger. In faded camouflage fatigues and a bright orange hunting cap, he looked like Elmer Fudd ready to wage war on a flock of ducks.

But there was nothing comical about the shotgun strapped across his chest. Or the handgun he was holding.

“Mitch!”

His face, when he saw her, was as dismayed as Lindsay’s voice had been. “I told you not to come here. I told you!”

She couldn’t look away from the gun in his hand. It was still easy to recall the feel of a cold barrel pressed against her temple. Still all too easy to hear that voice in her ear, menacing. Amused.

Does this bullet have your name on it? Should we find out?

“Bill called me in for Chang,” she said inanely. “Mitch…” She swallowed hard, tasted fear. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way.” With a jerk of his head, he told them, “All of you, into the dining area.”

Lindsay looked at Song and Bobby. They seemed frozen in place, their gazes glued on the gun Mitch was wielding. She hesitated, a thousand scenarios fast-forwarding through her mind. There were three of them. If they all rushed him at once…or if she distracted him, would Song and Bobby react quickly enough to head for the exit?

But the other two workers were already moving to obey, leaving Lindsay remaining to face him. “You don’t want to mess with me, Lindsay,” Mitch warned. “You really don’t. Out there with them. Now.”

He blocked her path to the exit. She paused infinitesimally. A person knowledgeable about firearms was deadly. An armed person without that knowledge, even more so.

She turned, following closely behind Song and Bobby.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” She heard Neldstrom’s voice. “Are you the one who dropped the dishes in the kitchen? Because I’m taking them out of your pay, you butter-fingered little freak. I’m not made of—” His voice broke off as Song and Lindsay appeared before him. “What’s going on? Lindsay, you better not be staging a…”

Lindsay could tell the exact moment Neldstrom saw Mitch behind her. His eyes bulged and his face went a darker shade of red. “Engels, what do I have to do to keep you out of here?”

Mitch nudged Lindsay aside. “I think you’ve already done plenty, you spineless bastard.”

The color abruptly leached from the owner’s face when he saw the gun the man was holding. “Are you crazy? The place is full of people.”

“I didn’t come for them. I came for you.”

Mitch swung the gun to aim for Neldstrom, who stumbled back several steps. A woman in the nearest booth spotted the weapon and let out a window-rattling shriek. Neldstrom took the opportunity to run for the door, slamming into Bobby and knocking him to the floor.

“You aren’t going anywhere!” As Lindsay watched in horror, Mitch fired a shot, striking Neldstrom in the back. “I’m in charge here now! I’m in charge!”

Neldstrom dropped heavily to the floor, landing almost on top of Bobby. The teenager yelped, scrambling to his feet, his eyes dark pools of shock in his pale face. A baby wailed, women screamed and several patrons got to their feet and rushed for the exits.

Lindsay finally found her voice. “Mitch…”

“Everyone freeze!” Mitch raised the gun and fired two more shots in quick succession. The tableau inside the restaurant stilled, as if a movie had been paused midscene. “Bobby, lock the front door and close the shades on the windows. Now!”

The boy didn’t move. “But…but…Bill…”

“He doesn’t look like he’s up to it,” Mitch said callously. The owner hadn’t moved. Blood was pooling between his shoulder blades. Mitch raised his voice. “Everyone sit back down. Go on. Get back in your booths. No one will get hurt if you do exactly as I say.”

Lindsay studied him closely. The transformation that had come over the man was as fascinating as it was frightening. Gone was the cowed, victimized man from the bar last night. It was as if by donning that ridiculous hunter’s uniform and picking up a weapon, he’d become someone she didn’t know.

And that meant she wasn’t at all sure how to approach him.

“Mitch.” It took effort to keep her voice steady, her manner matter-of-fact. “Someone passing by is sure to report the shots fired in here.” The location of the windows made it doubtful anyone had witnessed Bill’s shooting. “You need to get away before the police come.” She was hyperaware of the body lying motionless on the floor, of the blood seeping too rapidly from it. If she could convince Mitch that he was her primary concern, maybe they could avoid any more bloodshed.

“I’m not going without Alex,” he said grimly, his eyes scanning the crowd as they returned to their seats. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. She hadn’t been outside the kitchen since arriving this morning. “But you have to leave now, Mitch. You don’t have much time.” From the corner of her eye she could see that Bobby had secured the front door and rolled down the blinds to cover the bank of front windows

“Everyone keep your hands on the tables,” Mitch called to the patrons. “And don’t worry. The only ones dying today are the ones who deserve it. And if you don’t do anything stupid…well, then you won’t deserve to die, will you?”

“You could slip out the kitchen entrance the same way you came in,” Lindsay told him, desperation tingeing her tone. Did the man intend a siege here? A sense of impending doom lodged in the pit of her belly. “If you leave now…”

Mitch reached out and grabbed Song, who seemed shell-shocked. Wrapping an arm around her throat, he told Lindsay, “Go lock the kitchen door. Then the back exit. I trust you, Lindsay. Don’t screw me over.” He placed the muzzle of the gun against the woman’s temple, and panic filled her expression. “Or the next one that dies will be on your conscience.”

Lindsay’s gaze locked with Song’s. The woman’s eyes were wide with terror and a silent plea that was impossible to ignore. A kaleidoscope of possibilities raced through her mind, but in the end she knew there was only one choice.

Jerkily, she nodded. “All right. Don’t hurt her. Mitch?” She waited for him to look at her. “Promise you won’t hurt anyone else.”

For a moment there was a flicker in his eyes and she saw the man she’d once thought she’d known. “I won’t hurt Song. As long as you do what I say.”

As Lindsay pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, it occurred to her that he hadn’t exactly given the promise she’d asked for. Casting a look over her shoulder, she saw Mitch’s attention fixed on her.

So she turned her gaze forward again and kept her movements stealthy as she reached under her apron on the way to the door. Pulled the cell phone from her jeans pocket. Sending a silent prayer to a frequently absent God, she rang Jack Langley’s number.

“This is total bullshit!” Unable to remain silent any longer, Jack surged to his feet, paced Captain Telsom’s office. “Fallon’s threatening to bring charges against me?”

“You broke his nose and a couple of his ribs,” Telsom reminded him from behind his scarred oak desk. “He’s screaming brutality, which is going to bring IA breathing down our necks. You’re sure we’re solid on that attempted rape charge against him?”

“It’s solid.” Sheila Jennings had sworn out a complaint last night while Fallon had spent the night in the hospital. There was definitely something backassed about that turn of events. He hadn’t had time to look at the report this morning, since he and his partner had been called out to check on an alleged burglary. After a couple hours at the scene, the elderly home owner had discovered his coin collection had been moved by his housekeeper. “And I’m not the one who broke his nose. That was the woman who witnessed him trying to rape Sheila Jennings last night.” In short, succinct terms he relayed Lindsay’s part in the incident, ending with, “This is just a preemptive strike on Fallon’s part. He figures a complaint is going to be sworn out against him and he’s trying to keep his ass out of jail.”

Some of the tension eased from Telsom’s craggy face. “Bradford’s statement will back up Jennings’s?”

Jack halted, folding his arms across his chest. “Yes,” he said, with more certainty than he was feeling. His persuasive powers had been singularly ineffective with Lindsay last night. But surely she’d be thinking more clearly today.

“Then bring her in here and get the paperwork done. Let’s clean this up before it gets messy, Langley.” His protruding brow and deep-set eyes were even more noticeable when he was wearing a scowl. “I don’t like messes.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jack walked out of the office, glancing at his watch. Three-ten. If he was going to get Lindsay in here for a statement today, he didn’t have much time.

When he got back to his desk and reached into his suit jacket for his cell, however, he saw he’d already missed a call from Lindsay. No message. Something inside him lightened. He knew better than to believe that she’d come to her senses and rethought her decision about the statement. More than likely she was calling to cancel their date tonight.

He pressed the redial button and held the cell to his ear, sinking into his desk chair, a sense of anticipation clenching in his gut at the thought of speaking to her again.

But the phone merely rang, and rang, and rang before switching to her voice mail.

Lindsay felt the phone vibrate in her apron pocket and thanked God she’d thought to mute it before locking the door and facing Mitch again. Because he wasn’t the same man she’d felt sorry for last night. Something had snapped inside him and he’d spiraled rapidly out of control.

Like the rest of the people inside the restaurant, her attention was glued on the scene unfolding between Mitch and Alex Gardner, who had been discovered hiding below the order counter.

“I said crawl over here, you piece of crap!”

There was a shrill ring to Mitch’s voice that had Lindsay considering him carefully. The unusual veneer of control he’d worn when he’d entered the kitchen was definitely thinning. She scanned the occupants of the restaurant, counting heads. Thirty-seven people, including the help. The customers were predominantly women, with five children and three men. And everyone wore similar expressions of dazed terror.

“Not laughing anymore, are you, funny guy?” Alex was on his knees in front of Mitch, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Mitch had the revolver pressed against the center of his forehead. “What’s the matter? This isn’t as funny as watching Bill pour juice over my head? Something’s wrong with your sense of humor, pal. This is funny as hell.”

Alex’s face crumpled. Silent tears ran down his face.

Lindsay sidled away until the hostess’s lectern was between her and the two men. Leaning against the wall, she reached one hand into the wide front pocket of her apron, in search of the still-vibrating phone. If she could just open it, Jack would be able to hear everything going on, wouldn’t he? And then maybe he could understand enough to send the help necessary to…

“Lindsay!”

Her heart stuttered to a stop in her chest, her fingers releasing the phone and slipping out of the pocket again. Mitch was staring at her, frowning. “What?” With a sense of despair she realized the cell had ceased vibrating.

“Bring me a glass of orange juice. No, bring me a whole damn pitcher. Let’s see how funny boy likes it when it’s dumped over his head.”

“He didn’t do anything to you, Mitch.” With effort, she kept her gaze off Alex and on the man holding the gun. She didn’t know Gardner well, but he couldn’t be more than twenty. About the same age as her friends were when they’d died. Had Wendy and Rick been forced to their knees just like Alex? Had Nathan been humiliated before the trigger had been pulled? She never would have thought that Mitch had anything in common with Niko Rassi.

But she’d never before considered what constant belittling and humiliation could do to a fragile ego.

“He laughed at me, didn’t he?” Mitch’s tone turned plaintive. “I told you that this morning. He watched Bill dump a breakfast special on me and the whole time he just stood…there…and smirked.” He punctuated his final words by pressed the muzzle of the gun harder and harder into Alex’s skin. “So get me that juice. He has this coming.”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

Mitch’s eyes bugged as he stared at her. “I thought you were my friend! I thought you were on my side!”

“I am your friend.” Lindsay had to force the words through a suddenly dry throat. It felt as though all eyes in the place had turned—accusingly—on her. “And as your friend, I’m saying you aren’t someone who deliberately sets out to hurt others.” She couldn’t look at the body crumpled near the doorway. Not if she was going to appeal to Mitch’s logic. “If you continue this, you’ll be just like them. Is that what you want?”

He stared at her for a long instant, and for a moment she thought she saw the old Mitch in his eyes. Before they turned hard again.

“I’m not like them. I’m fair. And Alex has this coming. You know it, don’t you, Alex?” The young man gave a jerky nod. “So bring me that orange juice.”

Lindsay drew in a deep breath. It did nothing to dislodge the cold hard knot in her chest. Would humiliating Alex defuse Mitch’s rage or escalate it? Taking a gamble, she shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

There seemed to be a collective gasp in the restaurant. From the corner of her eye, Lindsay could see Song gesturing wildly for her to follow Mitch’s orders. But indulging this little power play he was on could only lead to increased violence.

The man’s eyes widened. “Are you forgetting who has the gun, Lindsay?”

“You’re in charge. I get that. But this is wrong and you know it.”

Mitch’s lower lip jutted out petulantly. Turning his focus from her he barked, “You! First booth on the left! Bring up your glass of milk.”

And as Lindsay watched him order one customer after another to file up and pour the contents of their glasses over Alex’s head, she surreptitiously dialed Jack’s number again.

Jack was just finishing the report on the alleged burglary from this morning when his alphanumeric pager went off. In one smooth motion he grabbed it from his suit pocket and read the shorthand on the LED screen.

Shots fired—Gunman w/hostages—SWAT response—1601 Lexington.

Lexington. The same call he’d heard on the patrol radio minutes ago? Rising, he scooped up his jacket, and, catching Lieutenant Coulson’s eye, held up his beeper. Coulson nodded. Jack headed for the door.

Lexington was around the corner and down the block. He strode rapidly out of the precinct house and headed for his department-issued Crown Victoria. Only three other members of the squad came from his precinct. They’d likely be among the first SWAT respondents on scene.

He jogged to the car, mentally mapping Lexington. It was a street of businesses. A flower shop. A coffee place. A couple restaurants. Some of the stores had apartments over them. Could be a domestic call. No way of knowing for sure until he got there. And not much use taking the Vic when he was this close to the incident scene.

Popping the trunk, he swiftly unzipped his bag of gear and donned the LBV vest with the heavy ceramic plates. Securing the ballistic helmet, he reached for the 9 mm submachine gun and double-checked that he had a full magazine. He exchanged his department-issued secondary weapon for the .45 Kimber and zipped up the gear bag again, removing it from the trunk before slamming the lid shut.

Then he hefted the bag and ran to the corner. Turning left, he immediately saw the crowd gathered at the end of the street. Patrolmen had set up an outer perimeter and were pushing the crowd back. As he drew closer he could determine that Piper’s was the incident scene.

There was a quick twist in his gut. He had a moment to be grateful Lindsay wasn’t working today before he spotted the black RV that served as the tactical command post. Hitching the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, he trotted toward it.

Ducking inside the command center, he saw the SWAT tactical commander, Harv Mendel, and a half dozen entry team members already assembled. The commander was midexplanation. “…differing reports, but there appears to be between twenty and thirty hostages inside. One gunman sighted. Three shots fired fifteen minutes ago.”

“Any identity on the gunman yet?” Theo Basuk called out.

Jack’s cell rang, and he gave a silent curse. He’d forgotten to mute it. Mendel sent him a narrowed glare as he cut it off midring and the man went on.

“Not yet. We’ll station the precision marksmen on the rooftops surrounding the restaurant. The crisis negotiation team is en route. Let’s get a laser monitor system set up right away. I want to hear what’s going on in there. Run det cord under side one opening two to ready for a secondary entry distraction. All right, everybody, move!”

As the commander headed to the back of the RV, entry team leader Tom Nelson faced the rest of the members. “Langley and Basuk. Get us some ears in there. Hanks and Zook, grab the spool of det cord and let’s set this thing up.”

Jack moved to the back of the RV and took out the Pelican briefcase holding the laser monitoring system. Once he and Basuk were outside again, he said, “Rock, paper, scissors?” He already knew that the bayou-born Basuk would want the action part of the assignment for himself.

Basuk stared down his long nose at him. “First day back on the squad, Langley. You’d better take it easy.”

Jack held out his fist. The other man hesitated, then cursed and did the same. A moment later, Jack was grinning. “Scissors cuts paper. Cover me.”

Basuk uttered another oath and they headed toward the inner perimeter. “I’d say welcome back to Alpha Squad. ’Cept I’d be lying.”

“That wounds me, Basuk. Deeply.” Jack squatted beside his duffel and attached his radio and whisper mike. In his three-month absence from SWAT duty his spot had been filled. Which meant he was damn lucky a vacancy had appeared in the unit about the time he’d been cleared for the extra duty. “I was counting the days until I could work with you.” He laughed at Basuk’s retort, which was crude and anatomically impossible.

After discussing their approach, Jack donned elbow and knee pads before dropping to his belly, preparing to crawl up to the building to mount the laser transmitter on its tripod aimed at the front windows. The cell he’d jammed in his pants pocket dug into his leg. He pulled it out to shift it to his gear pouch, noting that the last caller had been Lindsay again. Dropping it into his gear pouch, he fastened the strap around his waist.

She must be real impatient to break their date. With the possibility of this incident stretching out for hours, she was probably going to get her wish.

Lindsay watched the clock on the wall. Time had slowed to a crawl. Mitch was still delighting in his torment of Alex. And her bright idea of calling Jack had gone nowhere. He wasn’t picking up.

Which brought up the question of why the man had been the first person she’d thought of to call. The answer was troubling but it was the least of her worries at the moment. She’d gotten a free moment to place calls to Jolie and Dace, and she’d gotten the same lack of response.

A baby in the back booth began wailing, and nervously she watched Mitch glare in that direction. She contemplated dialing 911. Just like calling Jack or her friends, she could keep the line open for the dispatcher to hear what was going on. But she didn’t trust the dispatcher to catch on as quickly as she thought the others would. And she couldn’t risk Mitch hearing a voice speaking at the other end of her cell.

Which left text messaging. If the police were outside, a SWAT squad would be called in, wouldn’t it? And she recalled from the conversation last night it would be the one her friends and Jack served on. She knew Jolie and Dace didn’t have the text messaging option on their phones. Did Jack? She’d never gotten particularly adept at the process but it was a way to send a silent message to him, and through him, to the police. And it would remain in his inbox until he was able to get to his phone.

Glancing at Mitch, she saw his attention had returned to Alex. But the ladies in the back corner booth, the ones with three small children with them, had their heads together, whispering.

Slowly Lindsay slipped her hand into her apron pocket, flipping the cell phone open. She couldn’t do this blindly; she needed to sneak furtive peeks at the keypad. Her fingers felt thick, clumsy as she scrolled down to Jack’s number before checking on Mitch again. She pressed in the commands for a new message and the blank screen blinked up at her.

“This is Dace Recker, with the Metro City police!” boomed a disembodied voice outside. “I’d like to talk to the person in charge in there.”

“Oh, thank God,” one woman sobbed. “Thank God.”

“About damn time,” Lindsay heard a man say.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Mitch screamed. His eyes wild, he looked around, fixing his stare on Lindsay. She stilled, certain for a moment that he could X-ray through the lectern to see her hand in her apron pocket. “It’s the police. What do I do?”

The phone on the wall began to jangle. The baby wailed louder. A man began pounding on the window above his booth. “Get us out of here! This guy is crazy!”

Alex took advantage of Mitch’s distraction and dove past him toward the kitchen.

As if in slow motion, Lindsay saw Mitch swing around, level his gun at the fleeing man and she grabbed the closest thing she could, a large, heavy, plastic-encased restaurant menu.

She heaved it at Mitch’s gun hand, shouting “No, Mitch, don’t!” just as the deafening sound of a shot split the air.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tactical Liaison Kurt Welter’s voice sounded on Jack’s radio. “From situation intel we know we’ve likely got one gunman. The owner is also verified inside. Running down the owners of the vehicles in the lot gives us at least thirty hostages. No identity of the gunman yet, although people are referring to him as Mitch. Doesn’t appear to be a robbery gone wrong. Likely a customer or maybe a worker. The crisis negotiation team has been unable to establish contact. They’re trying a throw phone.”

Jack slanted a glance at Basuk, who stood silently next to him. “What about that last shot?” he muttered to the man. If they had reason to believe the HT was killing people inside, an assault would be unavoidable.

As if in answer to the question, Welter’s voice went on. “From the reaction of those inside, however, it sounds like there’s been no further injury. Exact position of the HT has not been determined. Precision marksmen have been unable to find a vantage point for gathering intel. Right now we’re relying on the listening device.”