Standoff

CHAPTER

14

TIEL stood facing the door of the store for a full ninety seconds before she heard the bolt being released. As she reentered, Ronnie eyed her warily.

She dispelled his suspicion. "I'm not carrying a concealed weapon, Ronnie."

"What did Galloway say?"

"He's thinking it over. He said he has to make some phone calls."

"To who? What for?"

"I gather he doesn't have the authority to grant you clemency."

Ronnie gnawed his lower lip, which had already been so brutalized it was raw. "Okay. But why'd you come back?"

"To let you know that Katherine is in excellent hands."

She told him about Dr. Emily Garrett.

"Tell Sabra. She'll want to know that."

The young mother's eyes were half closed. Her breathing was shallow. Tiel wasn't sure she was completely aware

and listening, but after describing to her the neonatal specialist,

Sabra whispered, "Is she nice?"

"Very. When you meet her, you'll see." Tiel glanced over at Doc, but he was taking Sabra's blood pressure, his eyebrows pulled together in the steep frown she'd come to recognize. "There's another very nice doctor waiting to take care of you. His name is Dr. Giles. You're not afraid to fly in helicopters, are you?"

"I did once. With my dad. It was okay."

"Dr. Giles is standing by to whisk you off to the hospital in Midland. Katherine will be glad to see you when you get there. She'll probably be hungry."

Sabra smiled, then her eyes closed.

By tacit agreement, Tiel and Doc retreated to their familiar posts. Seated on the floor with their backs propped against the freezer chest, legs extended in front of them, watching the second hand on the clock tick off the time limit Ronnie had imposed, it was the ideal moment for

Doc to ask the question that Tiel expected from him.

"Why'd you come back?"

Even assuming that he would ask, she had no clear-cut answer prepared.

Several moments elapsed. His jaw was dark with stubble, she noticed, but it must be going on twenty-four hours since his last shave. The webwork around his eyes seemed more defined now than earlier, a distinct sign of fatigue.

His clothes, like hers, were grimy and bloodstained.

Blood was a cohesive agent, she realized. It wasn't necessarily the comingling of blood from two individuals that formed an irrevocable, almost mystical, bond between them. It could be anyone's shed blood that united people.

Consider survivors of plane crashes, train wrecks, natural disasters, and terrorist attacks, who had developed lasting friendships because of the trauma they had shared.

Veterans of the same war spoke a language among themselves that was incomprehensible to those who hadn't been there and experienced similar horrors. Bloodshed at the explosion in Oklahoma City, the public school shootings, and other unthinkable events had soldered former strangers together so solidly that the relationships would never be severed.

Survivors shared a common ground. Their connection was rare and unique, sometimes misinterpreted and misunderstood, but almost always unexplainable to those who hadn't encountered identical fears.

Tiel had taken so long to answer that Doc repeated his question. "Why'd you come back?"

"For Sabra," she replied. "I was the only woman left. I

thought she might need me. And…"

He raised his knees, propped his forearms on them and looked at her, waiting patiently for her to complete her thought.

"And I hate to start something and not finish it. I was here when it started, so I figured I should stick around until it's over."

It wasn't quite as simple as that. Her reason for returning was more complex, but she was at a loss to explain her multilayered motivation to Doc when even to her it was unclear. Why wasn't she out there doing a live remote, taking advantage of the extraordinary insight she had on this story? Why wasn't she recording a voice track to couple with the dramatic images Kip was getting on video?

"What were you doing out here?"

Doc's question roused her from her musings. "In Rojo

Flats?" She laughed. "I was on vacation." She explained how she was en route to New Mexico when she heard of the so-called kidnaping on her car radio. "I called Gully, who assigned me to interview Cole Davison. On my way to

Hera I got lost. I stopped here to use the rest room and call Gully for directions."

"That's who you were talking to when I came in?"

Tiel's gaze sharpened on him, her expression inquisitive.

He raised his shoulder in a slight shrug. "I noticed you back there on the pay phone."

"You did? Oh." Their eyes connected and held, and it was an effort for her to break that stare. "Anyway, I concluded my call and was buying snacks for the road when… who should walk in but Ronnie and Sabra."

"That's a story in itself."

"I couldn't believe my good fortune." She smiled wryly.

"Be careful what you wish for."

"I am." After a beat of five, he added quietly, "Now."

This time it was she who waited him out, giving him the opportunity either to expound on his thought or to let the subject drop. He must have felt the same implied pressure from her silence that she had felt from him earlier, because he rolled his shoulders as though his burdensome reflections were resting on them.

"After I found out about Shari's affair, I wanted her to…" He faltered, began again. "I was so pissed, I wanted her to…"

"Suffer."

"Yeah."

The long sigh he released around the word evinced his relief over finally getting the confession off his chest. Confidences wouldn't come easily to a man like him who had dealt in life-and-death situations on a daily basis. To have the courage and tenacity to battle such a seemingly omnipotent enemy as cancer, there was surely a generous degree of the god complex in Bradley Stanwick's makeup.

Vulnerability, any sign of weakness, was incompatible with

that personality trait. No, beyond incompatible. Intolerable.

Tiel was flattered that he had confessed a weakness, had revealed to her even a glimpse of this all-too-human aspect of himself. She supposed traumatic situations were good for that, too. Like a deathbed confession, he might be thinking this was the last chance he would have to unburden himself of the guilt he had carried over his wife's terminal illness.

"Her cancer wasn't punishment for her adultery," she argued gently. "It certainly wasn't your revenge."

"I know. Rationally and reasonably I know that. But when she was going through the worst of it—and, believe me, it was sheer hell—that's what I thought about. That I

had subconsciously wished it on her."

"So now you're punishing yourself with this self-imposed banishment from your profession."

He fired back, "And you're not?"

"What?"

"Punishing yourself because your husband got killed.

You're doing the work of two people to make up for the industry loss created when he died."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it?"

"Yes. I work hard because I love it."

"But you'll never be able to do enough, will you?"

An angry retort died on her lips. She had never examined the psychology behind her ambition. She had never allowed herself to examine it.

But now that she'd been confronted with this hypothesis, she had to admit that it had merit. The ambition had always been there. She had been born with a type-A personality, was always an overachiever.

But not to the degree of the last few years. She pursued goals with a vengeance and took perceived failures hard.

She worked to the exclusion of everything else. It wasn't a

matter of her career taking precedence over other areas of her life; it was her life. Was her mad, singular desire to succeed a self-inflicted penance for those few ill-chosen words spoken in the heat of anger? Was guilt her propellant?

They lapsed into silence, each lost in his own troubling thoughts, grappling with the personal demons they'd been forced to acknowledge.

"Where in New Mexico?"

"What?" Tiel turned to him. "Oh, my destination?

Angel Fire."

"Heard of it. Never been there."

"Mountain air and clear streams. Aspen trees. They'd be green now, not gold, but I hear it's beautiful."

"You hear? You haven't been there either?"

She shook her head. "A friend was lending me her condo for the week."

"You'd be there by now, all tucked in. Too bad you placed that first call to Gully."

"I don't know, Doc." She glanced at Sabra, then looked at him. Closely. Taking in every nuance of his rugged face.

Plumbing the depths of his eyes. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

The urge to touch him was almost irresistible. She did resist, but she didn't break eye contact. It lasted a long time, while her heart thudded hard and heavily against her ribs and her senses hummed with a keen, sweet awareness of him.

She actually jumped when the telephone rang.

Clumsily she scrambled to her feet, and so did Doc.

Ronnie grabbed the receiver. "Mr. Galloway?"

He listened for what seemed to Tiel an eternity. Again she curbed the impulse to touch Doc. She wanted to take his hand and hold on to it tightly, as people are wont to do when waiting to hear life-altering news.

Finally Ronnie turned to them and placed the earpiece against his chest. "Galloway says he's got the district attorney of Tarrant County, and whatever this county is, plus a judge, himself, and both sets of parents, agreed to meet and hammer this thing out. He says if I admit to wrongdoing and submit to counseling, maybe I'll get probation and not have to go to jail. Maybe."

Tiel nearly collapsed with relief. A small laugh bubbled from her throat. "That's great!"

"It's a good deal, Ronnie. If I were you, I'd grab it," Doc told him.

"Sabra, is that okay with you?"

When she didn't respond, Doc nearly knocked Tiel off her feet as he brushed past her and knelt beside the girl.

"She unconscious."

"Oh, God," Ronnie cried. "Is she dead?"

"No, but she's got to get help, son. And I mean fast."

Tiel left Sabra in Doc's care and moved toward Ronnie.

She was afraid that in his despair, he might yet turn the pistol on himself. "Tell Galloway you agree to the terms.

I'm going to cut the tape binding them," she said, gesturing to Cain, Juan, and Two. "Okay?"

Ronnie was transfixed by the sight of Doc lifting Sabra into his arms. Blood immediately saturated his clothes.

"Oh, Jesus, oh, God, what've I done?"

"Save the regrets for later, Ronnie," Doc said in a stern voice. "Tell Galloway we're coming out."

The dazed young man began mumbling into the mouthpiece.

Tiel quickly retrieved the scissors they'd used earlier and knelt down beside Cain. She sawed through the tape around his ankles. "What about my hands?" His tongue seemed thick. The man probably had two concussions.

"When you get outside." She still didn't trust him not to try and be a hero.

His eyes narrowed to slits. "You're in deep shit, lady."

"Usually," Tiel quipped, and moved to the Mexican men.

Juan was enduring his leg wound stoically, but she could feel resentment emanating from him like heat from a furnace. Keeping as much distance as possible between him and herself, she cut the tape around his ankles. It took some effort. Vern had done an excellent job.

She felt even more aversion for the one she'd nicknamed

Two. His dark eyes roved over her with unconcealed malevolence and an intentionally demeaning, sexual suggestiveness that made her feel in even more need of a shower.

That chore completed, she said, "Doc, go first," and motioned him toward the door. "Right, Ronnie?"

"Right, right. Get Sabra to someone who can help her,

Doc."

Tiel moved to the door and held it open for him. Sabra looked like a faded rag doll in his arms. She looked dead.

Ronnie lovingly touched her hair, her cheek. When she didn't respond, he moaned.

"Hang in there, Ronnie, she's alive," Doc assured him.

"She'll be okay."

"Dr. Giles," Tiel told Doc as he moved past with the girl.

"Got it."

In a blink, he was gone, running across the parking lot carrying the unconscious girl.

"You next," Ronnie said to Tiel.

She shook her head. "I'm staying with you. We'll go out together."

"You don't trust them?" he asked in a voice made high and thin by fright. "You think Galloway will try and pull something?"

"I don't trust them." She hitched her head back toward the other three hostages. "Let them go first."

He contemplated that, but only for an instant. "Okay.

You. Cain. Go."

The vanquished FBI agent skulked past them. Because his hands were still bound, Tiel once again held the door open. More injurious than the two clouts to his head was the blow his pride had sustained. No doubt he dreaded facing his fellow agents, particularly Galloway.

Ronnie waited until Cain had been swallowed up by a crowd of paramedics and officials before he motioned

Juan and Two toward the door. "You next."

After trying twice to escape, they now seemed reluctant to leave. They shuffled forward, muttering to one another in Spanish.

"Come on," Tiel said, impatiently motioning them through the door. She was frantic to know how Sabra was faring.

Juan went first, limping noticeably. He hesitated on the threshold, his eyes darting to various points on the parking lot. Two, she noticed, was practically on Juan's heels, standing belly to butt as though using the other man as a shield. They stepped through the door.

Tiel had turned to speak to Ronnie when suddenly the front of the store was seared with blinding light. The

SWAT team, looking like black beetles, came scurrying from every conceivable hiding place. Their number amazed her. She hadn't seen a third of them when she'd gone out to confer with Galloway.

Ronnie cursed and ducked behind the counter. Tiel screamed, but from outrage, not fear. She was too livid to be afraid.

Oddly, however, the tactical officers surrounded Juan and Two, ordering them to lie facedown on the ground.

The injured Juan had no choice but to comply. He practically crumpled.

Heedless of the warnings shouted at him, Two took off at a dead run but was almost immediately tackled and knocked to the concrete. Before Tiel could assimilate what had happened, it was over. The two men were shackled and dragged away by the SWAT team.

The lights went out as suddenly as they'd come on.

"Ronnie?" His name was bellowed through a bullhorn.

"Ronnie? Ms. McCoy?" It was Galloway. "Don't be alarmed. You've been in the company of some very dangerous men. We saw them on the videotape and recognized them. They're wanted by the authorities here and in

Mexico. That's why they were so eager to escape. But they're in our custody now. It's safe for you to come out."

Far from being calmed by this information, Tiel was furious.

How dare they not warn her of the potential danger!

But she couldn't vent her anger now. She would take it up with Galloway and company later.

With as much composure as she could muster, she said to Ronnie, "You heard him. Everything's okay. The lights, the SWAT team had nothing to do with you. Let's go."

He still looked afraid and uncertain. In any case, he didn't move from behind the counter.

God, please don't let me make a deadly mistake now, Tiel prayed. She couldn't push him too hard, but she had to push hard enough to get him moving.

"I think it would be best if you left the pistols here, don't you? Lay them there on the counter. Then you can walk out with your hands up, and they'll know that you're sincere in wanting to work things out." He didn't move. "Right?"

He looked tired, depleted, defeated. No, no, not defeated, she corrected. If he looked upon this as a defeat, he might not leave. He might take what would seem to him the easier way out.

"You did an exceptionally brave thing, Ronnie," she

said conversationally. "Standing up to Russell Dendy. The

FBI. You've won. What you and Sabra wanted all along was an audience, someone to listen and play fair with you.

And you've got them to agree to do just that. That's quite an achievement."

His eyes strayed to her. She smiled, hoping it didn't look as phony and wooden as it felt—indeed, as it was.

"Set the guns down and let's go. I'll hold your hand if you like."

"No. No. I'll go out by myself." He placed the two pistols on the counter, and as he wiped his damp palms on the legs of his jeans, Tiel exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

"Go ahead. I'm right behind you."

She hesitated, worried about the handguns, which were still within his reach. Was his seeming compliance a trick?

"Okay. I'm going. Coming?"

He licked his bruised lips. "Yeah."

Nervously she turned toward the door, opened it, and stepped through. The sky was no longer black, she noticed, but dark gray, so that the silhouettes of all the vehicles and people showed up against it. The air was already hot and dry. There was a light wind, carrying sand that abraded her skin as it blew across her.

She took a few steps before glancing back. Ronnie had his hand on the door, ready to push it open. There was no sign of a weapon in his hand. Don't do anything harmful now, Ronnie. You're home free.

Ahead, waiting for her, she could make out Galloway.

Mr. Davison. Gully. Sheriff Montez.

And Doc. He was there. Standing a little apart from the others. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair lifting in the wind.

From the corner of her eye she saw the SWAT team herding Two into the back of a van under heavy guard.

The door was slammed closed and the van sped from the parking lot with a screech of tires. Juan had been confined to a gurney, where paramedics were tending to him.

Tiel's glance had just moved past him when she did a double take. He began wrestling against the paramedic trying to insert an IV needle into the back of his shackled hand. Like a madman in a straightjacket, he twisted his body, his head, his arms. His mouth was moving, forming words, and she wondered why she found that so puzzling.

Then she realized that the words he was shouting were in English.

But he didn't speak English, she thought stupidly. Only

Spanish.

Furthermore, the words made no sense because he was yelling at the top of his lungs. "He's got a rifle! There!

Somebody! Oh, Christ, no!"

The words registered with Tiel a split second before

Juan sprang off the gurney, executed a horizontal body dive off the concrete, and went airborne. He launched himself into the man, his shoulder landing hard against the other's torso and knocking him to the ground.

But not before Russell Dendy got off a clean shot with a deer rifle.

Tiel heard the shattering sound and spun around to see the door of the convenience store raining glass onto Ronnie's prone form. She didn't remember later if she screamed or not. She didn't remember later crossing the distance back to the entrance of the store at a full-out run, or dropping to her hands and knees despite the glass.

She did recall hearing Juan shout—to save his life— "Martinez, undercover

Treasury agent! Martinez, Treasury agent, working undercover!"