The Negotiator

“I know the drill, Lena, but those kids in there are nine and ten years old. Do you want them living with the sight of a man’s brains getting blown out for the rest of their lives?”

“I want them to live, Beck. That’s my only concern and it ought to be yours, too.”

“But—”

“If you have a problem with this, we’ll discuss it later.” She interrupted him, ending the argument sharply. “Right now, act like a team member and do your job. Get the man to the window. When the time comes, I’ll decide if we shoot or not.”

THE CHILDREN were getting restless.

Jennifer had done her best to keep them corralled—without much help from Betty—but they couldn’t be expected to huddle in one corner forever. Howard had let them use the bathroom attached to the classroom, but other than that, they hadn’t really moved. She glanced down at her watch and was shocked to see the time. It was past eight!

The drinks had helped. A dozen cans had been left outside the classroom. Howard had made Juan retrieve them, then report back to him. Were there police in the hallway? No? Was he sure?

It was hot, too, and that didn’t help. The air-conditioning had shut down hours ago. It was on an automatic timer, but Jennifer suspected it’d been purposely shut down early. She pushed a sticky strand of hair off her forehead and glanced toward Howard. He was standing by the door. Obviously growing weary, his expression was one of pure dejection, his shoulders slumped, his face shadowed. The gun had never left his side, and she’d given up the idea of grabbing it. It was just too risky.

They’d talked on and off, but he’d refused to say much more than “It’s too late.” When she’d pressed him, he’d simply shaken his head, and she’d finally moved to the rear of the room to be near the children. Trying to reassure them, she’d sat down and waited for the phone to ring again.

When it did, though, what would happen? They weren’t really going to give Howard his truck…or get his job back for him. He wasn’t going to just drive away from the school and off into the sunset. Surely, he understood that.

The phone sounded shrilly, startling her even though she’d expected it. Jennifer looked at Howard and he gave her an almost perceptible nod. She jumped up and ran to the front of the room to grab the receiver. “Hello?”

He answered as he did each time he’d called. “Everyone okay in there?”

Jennifer closed her eyes briefly and leaned against the wall. “We’re all right,” she said. “But getting tired.”

“I understand. It’s a tough situation, but you’re doing a terrific job keeping everyone together.” His voice turned lighter. “How ’bout coming to work for us when this is over? I could get you a negotiator’s job. Sound good?”

Jennifer shuddered. “No, thank you. That’s way more excitement than I want. Ever.”

“It’s not all that thrilling. Mainly I sit here, then I talk but no one really listens, and when it’s finally settled, I do paperwork. The next day, we do it all over again.”

“Sounds like my job.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it does at that. You like being a teacher?”

“I love it,” she answered, surprised by his question. It seemed like a strange time to be talking like this, but it made sense in a weird kind of way. He was trying to keep her relaxed. “The kids are fantastic and I feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile. Most days, that is.”

“You are doing something worthwhile—all the time—but especially right now. You’re holding this thing together, Jennifer, and you really are doing a great job.”

For just a second, she almost felt she was somewhere else, in a different time and place. The warmth of his praise eased her fear. “Thanks.”

His raspy voice went serious. “So now…you have to help me some more. The truck’s finally on the way. Put Howard on the phone so I can tell him.”

“I’ll try.”

Jennifer turned and looked in Howard’s direction. He was staring into the distance, his mind obviously not in the present. “Howard?” she asked gently. “Howard? Please come talk to the officer.”

He didn’t respond at all. She rested the phone’s receiver on a shelf and walked to where he stood. Her stomach in knots, she ignored her fright and spoke firmly, as if talking to one of the children. “Howard, you need to come talk to Officer Winters. He’s on the phone and he has something to tell you.”

“You tell me.”

“No. You need to hear this yourself.”

To her total surprise, he nodded once, then lumbered across the room and picked up the phone. She hurried behind him. He held the receiver to his ear but didn’t say anything.

A moment later, he turned and handed her the phone.

Jennifer spoke. “Yes?”

“I told him the truck’s on the way. In the meantime, you’re going to have to do something else, too.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, he waited a moment, the seconds ticking by almost audibly. Once again, Jennifer found herself imaging the man behind the voice. His words carried the same timbre of authority her father’s always had—academies taught you how to do that, she suspected, military or police, it made no difference—but absent from Beck Winters’s tones was the overlay of cruelty her father’s voice had always possessed. Winters had children of his own, she decided, and was a good father. Patient. Kind. Loving. Emotions and actions that had been empty words to her father. With a start, she realized she was connecting with Beck Winters, this stranger, on a level she seldom did with men.

“You have to get him to stand by the window. I won’t bring the truck down the street until that point.”

She felt a flicker of unease. “Why?”

“Because that’s how we do things. These are negotiations, and he gets nothing for free. When he sees the truck, then he has to talk to me and release another child. You’ve got to get him to do this.”

Her mouth went dry. “I understand but…”

Beck’s voice dropped, and she felt as if he were standing right beside her, his warm eyes on hers. “Jennifer…how else can he see the truck? This is the only way.”

Her chest eased a tad and she took a deep breath. He was right, of course.

“It’s going to be fine, Jennifer. He trusts you, and I know you can get him to that window. Once he’s there, then…then we’ll start to talk and I can influence him.” He fell silent. “I have to be able to talk directly to this guy, Jennifer. The most dangerous hostage takers are the ones who won’t talk to me. If I can’t get some kind of conversation going with him, this is going to end badly. I can almost guarantee that, especially with Howard’s history.”

“His history? What do you mean? He’s never done anything like this before.”

The officer answered quickly. “He’s male, he’s urban, he has below average intelligence. These are people who turn to violence as an answer. It’s not the boss at the steel plant, it’s not the manager at the oil company. It’s the worker, Jennifer. The poor slob at the bottom who has no control over his life.” He paused. “He has nothing to lose. He thinks it’s hopeless anyway.”

“I understand how you could read it that way, but you don’t know him the way I do—”

“And you don’t know everything I know.” He bit off the words, as if he’d said more than he’d planned. “Just help me out, okay? Are the kids still at the back of the room?”

“Yes.”

“It’s imperative you keep them back there. I’ll bring the truck down the street as soon as I see Howard at the window. You just get him over there.”

“Okay.”

She started to hang up, but before she could put the receiver down, she heard his voice say her name. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Yes?”

Static rippled over the line, faint and barely discernable. The noise made her wonder if they were being recorded. “Be careful, Jennifer. Just…be careful.”

She started to answer, then realized he was gone. Hanging up the phone, she looked over at Howard and said a silent prayer.

BECK WIPED HIS FACE and looked over at Lena. “Is the truck here yet?”

“There’s a traffic tie-up on Highway 98. One Q-Tip rammed another. Surprise, surprise. The road’s blocked in both directions, but Dispatch said they’d have it moving in just a few minutes. It should get here anytime.”

Beck shook his head. Everyone on the force called the older local residents “Q-Tips” because they all had white hair and wore tennis shoes to match. Florida had its share of elderly drivers, but Beck wasn’t sure they were any worse than the tourists who drank too much then got on the road. At least the older people drove slowly.

Lena ducked her head toward the building. “How are they doing? The teacher holding up?”

“She’s the only reason there hasn’t been gunfire yet. She’s keeping French appeased and the kids quiet.”

He stared out the window of the motor home into the dusk. They’d cut the electricity to the school and the building had fallen into darkness as soon as the summer sun had dipped behind them, rimming the school in gold. Occasionally he saw the beam of a flashlight near the rear of the room. Beck wasn’t surprised to see the teacher was prepared. Classrooms were supposed to have emergency supplies in case of hurricanes, but people forgot, and batteries went bad. Not in Miss Barclay’s class, though. He’d bet money she had the correct number of bandages and aspirin as well.

Lena sank into a chair by his side, her fingers going to the shuffle of papers beside the phone. She picked out Jennifer’s photo, studying it intently. Without looking at him, she spoke. “She’s pretty.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Lena’s head came up. “Right.”

He flicked his eyes toward the picture, but immediately returned his gaze to the school. He didn’t need the fuzzy image anymore—Jennifer’s face was planted firmly in his brain. Too firmly, in fact. It’d be a while before he was able to get those brown eyes out of his mind, no matter how this all ended. They sat without talking for a few minutes, then Lena spoke once more. “Did you tell her to get him to the window?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d she say?”

He turned and looked at her. “I didn’t explain why—”

“Of course not.”

He turned back. “She’ll do it.”

Lena leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Beck, listen. I know you don’t agree, but we can’t let this go on forever—”

Lena had taken off her headset and had been using a radio. It came to life with garbled speech. She pushed the button on the side and barked, “What is it?”

“The truck’s here.” Lincoln Hood, one of the entry men, spoke, the noise of the crowd behind him filtering into the radio’s microphone along with his voice. “I’m switching places with the driver right now, then I’ll bring it down the street when you’re ready.”

“Go slow, Linc,” Tamirisa said immediately. “Less than five miles an hour, okay?”

“No problem.”

Beck resisted looking at Lena. She stood and paced the tiny aisle. “Listen, Randy—French is going to be facing the window, looking down the street. Are you sure it’s going to be a cold shot? If it isn’t, I don’t want you taking it. Not with those kids in there.”

When he’d been younger and gung ho, the euphemisms had meant something to Beck. They’d made him feel as if he were part of a secret club that ordinary cops didn’t belong to; now the words made him feel tired and old. Why didn’t she just say what she meant?

Can you kill the guy with one shot?

“It’ll be so cold, you’ll freeze.” Randy’s cocky answer spilled into the room with arrogance. “Hear that, Officer Winters?”

“That’s enough. I’m not giving you the green light yet,” she snapped. “The man’s promised Beck he’ll talk so let’s see how it goes down first.” She turned and motioned for Beck to pick up the phone. “Beck’s calling now to get him in place. On my word, Linc, you go. If necessary, if necessary, I’ll give you the code, Randy, otherwise, standard ops are in effect. Heads up, everyone. This is it.”

JENNIFER JUMPED when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”

“Everyone okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Then it’s time. We’ve got the truck and we’re bringing it down the street. You need to get Howard to the window.”

Although it was just as calm and reassuring as always, his voice sounded different. The tension was getting to him, too, Jennifer thought. How could he do this day after day? What kind of man would want this crazy life?

“All right,” she said. “We’re going right now—”

“Not you!” Beck’s voice went up, then he spoke again, in a more reasonable tone. “That’s not necessary. Use this time to calm the children. Go back to where they are and wait there.”

The suggestion seemed perfectly reasonable.

“Okay,” she answered.

“Let me talk to him first.”

Holding the receiver at her side, she turned to Howard. He was standing right beside her, the rifle cradled in his arms, crossed before his chest. “They want you at the window, Howard. Your truck is here. But Officer Winters needs to talk to you first.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not going,” he mumbled. “Won’t talk.”

“Howard…” She put a warning in her voice, and the students at the back of the room lifted their heads as one. They knew that tone. “You asked for your truck,” she said. “And it’s here now. You have to be reasonable about this, or Officer Winters isn’t going to help you.” She held the receiver out to him. “Talk to him. He wants to help you.”

“No.”

She found patience from somewhere deep inside her. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.”

“All right, then. Forget talking to him. Just go to the window and look out. Right now. No more messing around.”

He glanced at her, but there was no other warning.

He simply grabbed her and she screamed without thinking. From the back of the room, one of the children cried out. Jennifer dropped the phone. Then Howard dragged her roughly toward the window.

“OH, SHIT!”

“Jennifer!”

“What’s going on?” Beck spoke again, overriding Randy’s curse. “Randy? Can you see them?”

“He’s heading to the window, but…I’m not sure…wait, wait a minute…he’s coming to the window. Goddammit—”

Beck leapt from his desk and peered out into the night. It was completely dark now and the outline of the window was nothing more than a square of blackness. He fumbled for the night vision binoculars that had been sitting on the desk but Lena had already grabbed them and brought them to her eyes. “Tamirisa? What’s going on? Can you see?”

“He’s coming to the window and he’s got the teacher with him. Oh, man…I don’t frigging believe this!”

“What? What is it?”

“A kid…a little boy…he’s just run up to both of them—” His voice turned deep. “Don’t do it, you son of a bitch, don’t do it—” Randy’s voice broke off abruptly.

Beck yanked the binoculars out of Lena’s hands but before he could even focus, the horrible sound of glass shattering split the humid night air. A second later, a scream followed, the kind of scream he knew would be replayed in his dreams for months to come. When it stopped, Beck heard nothing beyond the beating of his heart.

Another second passed, then that stopped, too.

CHAPTER FOUR

JENNIFER HAD ALWAYS heard time slowed in a moment of crisis.

Not true.

One minute she was standing beside the window, Howard’s hand painfully gripping her arm, and the next instant Juan’s sturdy ten-year-old frame was flying through the air to knock her unexpectedly to the ground. In less time than could be counted, the two of them pitched to the linoleum, a shower of breaking glass somehow accompanying their fall. Jennifer could think of only one thing: the child in her arms. She had to protect him.

The impact between the hard floor and her shoulder sent pain streaking up her arm then down her spine, but she barely felt it. She forced it away so she could deal with everything else. Raining glass, screaming children, a strange pop she couldn’t identify at all.

Jennifer lifted her head and stared at Howard. He was standing, exactly where they’d been a second before, but something wasn’t right. A small red circle had appeared at the base of his throat. Above this spot, their gazes collided violently then he began to sway. A second later, his mouth became a silent O of surprised betrayal. The rest of his face simply collapsed—a balloon with the air suddenly released. He fell to the floor beside them, and as he landed with a heavy, dull thud, the back of his head disappeared in an exploding red mist.

Jennifer screamed and covered Juan’s face with both her hands, but the movement was useless. The child had seen it just as she had—the moment of Howard’s death.

She told herself to move, to get up, to do something but the odor of cordite hung in the air, sharp and biting, pinning her down. She wanted to gag, but she couldn’t do that, either. She couldn’t do anything. He’d promised, was all she could think. He’d promised no one would be hurt….

Juan’s urgent voice, crying out in Spanish from somewhere beneath her, finally jarred her. “Señorita Barclay? ¿Qué pasa? ¿Cómo está usted? Are you okay?”

She rolled off the child and he jumped up, his shocked gaze going instantly to Howard. He covered his mouth with his hand and pointed toward the man, still clutching his rifle. “¡M-madre de Dios!”

Jennifer scrambled to her feet. Maybe he wasn’t really dead. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could do something…. Before she could think of what, the door to the classroom opened with a loud bang. Adrenaline surged and she grabbed Juan again. Shoving him behind her red-flecked skirt, she faced the door.

Men spilled into the room. They were dressed in black, a barrage of noise and brutal action coming with them as they surged inside. They divided by some prearranged, silent signal; one group fanned across the classroom, obviously searching for more danger. Their guns held out before them, they quickly covered every corner and empty space. A second, smaller group raced toward Jennifer and Juan while a third team rushed to the back where the children were screaming.

“Are you all right? You weren’t hit, were you? The kids okay?”

A black-garbed figure paused at Jennifer’s feet, putting a hand on Howard’s neck. Only when she spoke, quickly but with composure, did Jennifer realize the officer was a woman. “W-we’re fine,” Jennifer answered.

Standing up, the woman nodded then pulled Juan from behind Jennifer and pushed him toward a man waiting behind her. Holding Howard’s rifle, he quickly turned away from the body to lead Juan to the back of the room.

“I-is he?”

Though lean and muscular, the woman in black had soft gray eyes and a sweet face. She looked out of place, especially when she said calmly, “He’s dead.”

A thick fog descended over Jennifer, blanketing all her emotions but two. Disbelief and betrayal. “He’s dead,” she repeated numbly.

The woman nodded again, then barked an order to the men surrounding them. To Jennifer, what she said didn’t even register but it was obviously an all-clear sign. The words passed through the group like a wave, and in its wake, another figure pushed to the front.

In a daze, Jennifer stared as the man approached. Everything was over—the damage had been done—why now, she thought almost trancelike. Why did time stop now?

He was huge, well over six feet, his chest a blur of black as he moved, his legs so long they covered the distance between the door and the window in three strides. Adults always looked bigger in the classroom where everything was reduced in scale, but this man absolutely towered over the child-size desks and bookcases. Reaching Jennifer’s side, he ripped off a black helmet to reveal thick blond hair. It was plastered to his scalp, but the pale strands gleamed, and she realized—illogically at that moment—that the lights were back on. He was intimidating and all at once, she understood the true definition of authority. It was none of this, however, that made her feel the clock had stopped.

His eyes did that.

In the fluorescent glare overhead, his cold blue stare leapt out at her. She might have thought the color unnatural, it was so disturbing, but she knew immediately it wasn’t. No one in their right mind would actually buy contacts that shade. The color was too unnerving, too strange.

His eerie gaze swept over her bloody clothing then came to a stop on her face. She forced herself into stillness and looked directly at him. When he spoke her name, she recognized his voice.

She knew without asking that this was Beck Winters.

SHE WAS COVERED in blood and bits and pieces of something else Beck noted but didn’t need to analyze. For one inane moment, he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right, but he’d be lying if he did. It wouldn’t be all right. Not for a very long time—if ever. Not for her, not for the kids, certainly not for Howard French. For the survivors, a hostage incident didn’t end when the team busted in.

In fact, Jennifer Barclay’s wide brown eyes told him shock had inched its way in, leeching the color from her face and forcing into her eyes the kind of glazed disbelief he’d seen too many times. She’d been stronger than most, but that was over.

It was a mistake of monumental proportions and he knew it, but Beck decided he didn’t care. He reached out for her.

She stepped back so quickly she almost slipped and fell. Grabbing the windowsill behind her, her eyes blazing, she spoke from between gritted teeth. “You bastard!”

Immediately Beck’s mask fell into place. Her words weren’t what he’d expected, but different people reacted in different ways. He’d once rescued a woman who’d slapped him as he’d carried her out under fire. Jennifer Barclay’s anger was a coping technique. She’d been holding her emotions in check for hours and now she was going to erupt.

At him.

Beck took a step away from her and held up his hands, palms out. “Calm down, Miss Barclay, please…. It’s over now. You’re safe—”

She blinked, and he saw some measure of relief in her expression, something that seemed to loosen for a moment, but she put the response behind her so fast, he almost missed it. Her voice was low but scathing as she lashed out at him. “You lied to me! You promised—promised—no one would be hurt.” She flicked her eyes downward to where Howard lay. “He’s dead!

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re damned right I don’t understand!” She pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. They were red and rimmed with exhaustion, her face contorted with the obvious anguish she was feeling. “He wouldn’t have killed anyone—”

“He raised his gun at that child.”

“He wasn’t going to shoot! He was trying to stop Juan from grabbing the gun—”

“That’s not how it looked to us.”

“But he wouldn’t have shot! He wouldn’t have done that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know him, that’s how!” Her gaze filled with angry tears. “My God, I told him to go that window and then you shot him! What happened? I can’t believe this….”

Beck watched the emotions cross her face. She made no attempt to hide them, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. He understood better than she did what she was feeling.

I feel guilty because I couldn’t stop this.

I feel guilty because I survived.

I feel guilty because I helped.

Before he could say more, Lena broke in. Introducing herself formally, she put her hand on Jennifer’s arm and spoke gently. “Miss Barclay, why don’t you come with me now? We’ll get you cleaned up, then we need to talk to you. Everyone in the room will have to speak to an officer and give their version of what happened.”

Jennifer turned her back to Beck and answered Lena quickly, her voice filled with dismay. “Of course…but not the kids—”

She wanted to protect them above all, Beck realized. That was the only thing that mattered to her.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to. It’s standard, but it’s necessary, too. Especially after a shooting.”