Terms Of Surrender

Chapter Three

It was more than a little anticlimactic to be relegated to onlooker after taking an active role in neutralizing the situation. Dace stood a few feet away from Jolie, near the edge of the inner perimeter, chafing at the change. An hour had ticked by since they’d briefed the feds and left the NOC unit. If they hadn’t been ordered by Lewis to stand by, he’d have gone back to the precinct to duty. At least there he’d be allowed to do something productive. There was no way the feds were going to accept help from the locals.

“Hey, Jolie!”

Dace turned his head to see Ron Wetzel, a sergeant from Jolie’s old precinct, pause as he was hurrying by.

“I didn’t know you were back in these parts. Had enough of busting movie stars and director wannabes and came back to the real people, huh?”

“You guessed it, Ron.” There was none of the guardedness in her tone that was present when she spoke to Dace. Her voice was friendly. “The glamour got to be too much for me. Give me a barricade any day over taking burglary complaints from self-important wine growers.”

“Where were you assigned there?”

Dace listened unabashedly to their conversation, more interested in her answers than he wanted to admit.

“Fifth precinct. Partnered with Selma Garcia. You know her?”

“I don’t think so.” Someone nearby shouted the man’s name, and he started to move away. “Hey, come on down to the Blue Lagoon sometime. See some of the guys.”

“I’ll do that. Tell everyone hello for me.”

“You got it.”

Dace kept his gaze trained on the bank, what he could see of it from this distance. So the rumor he’d heard had been right. She’d gone from here to the LAPD. He’d asked around after she’d moved out. After he found she’d changed her cell-phone number and left her job. Officers in her old precinct had been pretty closemouthed, but he’d heard she might have headed to LA. And that had been the end of it. Hard to find someone in a city of four million who obviously hadn’t wanted to be found. At least not by him.

That’s when the bitterness had swamped him and he’d forced himself to stop thinking about her for good.

At least he’d given it a damn good try.

But those efforts were going to be shot to hell if he had to see her every time they were called out to an incident. Metro City PD was large enough for them to coexist without running into each other often. With a population of half a million and a police force of over eight hundred, she could have been back in the city a year without them ever bumping into each other.

But instead, they’d been thrown together on the same HNT unit, requiring them to work closely together on volatile incidents. Which only went to prove yet again that fate was a fickle bitch with a mean sense of humor.

“What happened to Rob Marlow?”

Her question interrupted his dark thoughts. He and Marlow had been paired on HNT for three years, and the man had been his mentor in incident response.

“Took his twenty and out last month. He and his wife are moving to Burbank. And Thompson took a promotion and left HNT in January.”

“Burbank?” Her voice sounded as incredulous as he’d felt when his partner had relayed the news. “What are they—”

“So are you going to ask to be reassigned, or am I?” He didn’t glance in her direction, but knew she’d heard him. Sensed the stillness that came over her. “This is a distraction. For both of us. We can’t afford distractions in situations like this.”

“I don’t know. I thought we did all right together in there.”

He did look at her then, anger flaring abruptly at her even tone. Was she saying their proximity didn’t bother her at all? That it didn’t elicit the unwelcome bits of memory? The welter of suppressed emotion? He studied her, noting her composed expression, which gave away nothing of her thoughts. That had always been the problem—he’d never known what the hell she was thinking. Feeling. And rarely had she told him, even when he’d asked.

He’d had sex with her. Lived with her. Had a child with her. But he’d never really known her.

“I’ll ask for the transfer then,” he said flatly. Their messy personal history wasn’t something that could be swept neatly under the rug. And it would be unprofessional to enter situations like these and pretend otherwise. There was just too much at stake.

“No.” Although her expression didn’t change, her voice sounded strained. “It wouldn’t be fair for you to go. This is your squad. Your friends. If I’d known you’d returned to Alpha Squad I’d never have accepted this assignment. I’ll ask for a reassignment.”

He nodded curtly and returned his attention to the bank front. The food had been delivered, but it still sat untouched in front of the bank door. The second hostage hadn’t been released yet. What the heck was going on with the negotiations?

No answers were forthcoming. Reluctantly, he slanted a glance at Jolie. “What will you tell them?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to hurt my chances of being reassigned, and there’s only one other HNT unit anyway. I’ll have to see if that team has a vacancy.”

Dace went silent, refusing to feel guilty. She was bilingual, which made her a good prospect for any HNT vacancy that came up. And it wasn’t his problem if she couldn’t get a different position. Hell, if she’d been assigned to the other squad, they wouldn’t be doing this now. He could have gone along for months, never even knowing she was around. Whoever had said ignorance was bliss had been dead-on.

“I’ll think of something.”

“You could always leave again. You’re good at that.”

The instant the words left his mouth he wanted to retract them. He didn’t often stoop to being petty and mean. But right now he was feeling petty and he was feeling mean. When she didn’t respond he reached out, snagged the sunglasses off the bridge of her nose and watched her eyes. Sometimes he could read there what he couldn’t see in her expression.

They stared at each other in silence and for an instant their surroundings faded away. For the second time that day he felt like he’d been sucker punched. Her eyes were laser blue, an unbelievably pure color. Sammy had had his mother’s eyes with Dace’s dark hair.

But he’d never seen Sammy’s eyes filled with the misery he read in hers.

“Jolie…”

“Recker! Conrad! Get back to the NOC unit!”

Lewis’s barked order shattered the moment, and Jolie retrieved the glasses he’d removed before heading back toward the converted ambulance. Dace followed, strangely shaken. He had no idea what he’d been about to say earlier, but whatever it might have been would have been a mistake. It was too late for words between them. There was too much history, most of it painful. Better that they get through the next few hours and then go their separate ways.

He’d spent the past sixteen months getting some sort of order back into his life. New apartment. New furniture. New women. He’d moved on, and he had no desire to revisit whatever had existed between him and Jolie Conrad.

There was a cluster of individuals standing outside the NOC unit, too many to fit inside. The tension, when they joined the group, was palpable. Besides Lewis, Dace and herself, there were nine others, five of whom Jolie recognized as the agents who had taken over the negotiation.

“Special Agents Dawson, Hart and Truman.” Lewis gestured to each newcomer in turn, before indicating the lone female. “And Special Agent in Charge Fenholt, all out of the Los Angeles field office. The FBI’s negotiators haven’t had much luck with the HT since our team left.”

“I’m sure given enough time, the gunman would respond to the Bureau’s negotiators,” Hart said stiffly. Jolie wondered if he was as young as he looked. He could have been a pledge for a college fraternity.

“We don’t have time,” Lewis said bluntly. “We just wasted an hour.”

“That’s right.” SAC Fenholt was a woman who looked to be pushing the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age. Her dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled severely back from a face with strong bones and an angular jaw. “Looking over a summary of your contacts, I didn’t think we had anything to lose by trying a new team. But the HT hasn’t answered a call since he discovered the change in negotiators. He demands to speak to Conrad.” Fenholt flicked a glance her way. “Each time he answers and doesn’t hear your voice he hangs up again. It doesn’t make sense to waste more time trying to reestablish a rapport with different negotiators. We want you two to resume the duty, under our supervision.”

Dace sent a pointed look at the crowd of individuals. “Sure. Maybe we can stack agents in a corner of the NOC so we don’t have to sit on each other’s laps.”

Fenholt ignored his sardonic tone. “In addition to you two, we’ll keep Agents Meadow and Spading on the team to serve as scribe and profiler.” She indicated two of the men from the FBI negotiation unit that had replaced the MCPD squad. “Special Agent Dawson will act as command center liaison. Special Agent Truman will serve as tactical liaison.” Truman, a forty-ish man with a graying buzz cut and a permanent scowl, pulled open the NOC door and heaved himself inside. Jolie and Dace stepped aside, waiting for all the other agents to enter first.

Fenholt paused, shot them a hard look. “Get the subject talking again. I understand that threats were issued earlier. I want him defused.”

“Why don’t you let us first assess the changes to his mood since you reassigned negotiators?” Jolie kept her voice bland but she saw the flicker in the woman’s expression before she turned and walked away. She hadn’t made a new friend, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Jolie and Dace sat down at the table inside. She scanned the notes that had been added to the situation board in their absence. Other than the HT’s demands for their return, there was no new information except for a few tactical details.

Dace picked up the phone and handed it to her. “He’s asking for you, so go ahead and make the call. We may have to make up some ground with him after this.”

She nodded, scanning the other members as each picked up headphones. Special Agent Dawson sat closest to the door. He hadn’t said a word through the entire exchange. His face, the color of fresh-brewed coffee, was completely expressionless. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that every word she and Dace uttered from here on out would be weighed and evaluated.

She made the call, let it ring. Eight times. Nine. Then it was picked up, but no one spoke.

“John, it’s Jolie Conrad. How are you? Everything okay in there?”

“Where’s Recker?”

“He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”

“That’s okay.” The strain in his voice eased infinitesimally. “Took them long enough to get you two back. They were feds, right? The other two bozos on the line earlier? What’d they do, come in and claim jurisdiction?”

Although the words brought a smile to her lips, Jolie said only, “We all want the same thing here, John. For you to get through this okay. For the people inside to remain unharmed. Everybody still all right in there? I see the food has been delivered. It’s still setting outside the door. You’ve got to be getting hungry.”

“I’ll send someone out for it.”

“And then it will be time to release the second hostage. That was our earlier agreement.” She glanced at Dace, who gave her a slight nod. “I know you want to do the right thing.”

“We never agreed that you’d turn this over to the feds, though, did we? I feel a little betrayed, Jolie.” Despite his words, the man sounded calm. “You don’t want to do that again.”

“It was just bureaucratic politics. You understand that, right?”

“Now you understand why I went into business for myself.” There was dark humor in the words. “Being your own boss can be very rewarding.”

She didn’t need Dace’s gesture to pursue this line. Anything they could find out about the captor’s background would assist them in judging whom they were dealing with. And what he was capable of. “You sound like you have some experience with difficult bosses.”

“Enough to know that I never want another one. Nine-to-five wasn’t my thing.”

“I hear you there. The routine can get tiresome. What about it—”

There was a loud clatter, then the line went dead.

“What the hell happened?” Jolie threw out the question even as she tried to ring the phone again. “Find out what’s going on.”

Truman exchanged his earphones for a radio headset and listened intently. “The kid is putting up a struggle. Sounds like the HT is having trouble subduing him.” He turned away to speak urgently into the mike, alerting tactical that a hostage was about to be released. Special Agent Dawson slipped away, presumably to the command center.

Jolie tried the phone several times, but got no answer. Agent Meadow added notes from the last conversation to the situation board. Spading looked at her, his pale blue gaze assessing. “Sounds like he missed you.”

“We were making headway when our team got pulled,” she said shortly. “We’d won concessions. But another hour’s been wasted and the child has to be exhausted.” The HT didn’t strike Jolie as the patient sort. “The longer this goes on, the more upset he’s going to get.”

“An increasing danger to the child will be a big consideration in the decision for a tactical response,” Spading pointed out.

“As it should be,” she retorted. There was a tense knot in her chest that wouldn’t dissipate until Truman delivered the tactical report about what was happening in the bank. She threw an impatient look at the man, but his expression as he listened to his headset gave away nothing. “But I don’t think the HT’s at that point yet. He still thinks he’s going to get out of this thing.”

Spading gave a slow nod. “Agreed. But sooner or later it’s going to occur to him just how unlikely that is, and that’s when he’s at his most dangerous.”

“Unless we convince him to give up by that point,” Dace interjected.

Finally, Truman took off the headset. “A second hostage has been released unharmed. Hopefully he’ll be able to provide more intelligence than the first one did.”

Dawson picked that moment to reenter the NOC unit. “Special Agent in Charge Fenholt is growing increasingly concerned about the child’s welfare. She’s putting a time limit on negotiations. You’ve got no more than two hours before we mount an assault.”

“So far none of the hostages have been harmed.” The snap in Dace’s voice was barely discernible, but it was there. “An assault ensures injuries. Time limits are counterproductive when talking to—”

“Two hours,” the man repeated, taking his seat again.

“Go ahead and make contact,” Dace instructed.

But Jolie already had the phone ringing. And although she’d half expected otherwise, John answered after only a moment. “You okay in there, John?” First and foremost, a negotiator had to express concern for the hostage taker. It was crucial to maintain the rapport that was built one painstaking conversation at a time. A rapport the feds had disrupted with their arrival.

“I’m fine. You’ve got your second person released. I’ve kept my word.”

“Never had any doubt about that.” There was definite tension showing in his voice, Jolie decided. “But I’d be even more excited to see you come out. Unharmed. How about it? Put down your weapon and come out with your hands raised. That’s the surest way to end this thing peacefully. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll be out. When the time is right. I want the car’s gas tank full. See to that.”

Jolie sent a questioning look at Dawson, who shrugged. “I’ll check on that for you, John.”

“I don’t want anyone charging in here,” he warned. “I’ll come out, but I set the timeline.”

“That’s good. I like to hear you talking about coming out. No one wants to go in there, John. No one wants to hurt you.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” The HT gave a short laugh. “Everyone wants something in this life. And there’s not much doubt what all the cops out there are waiting for.”

“What do you think they’re waiting for?”

“Me. Getting carried away in a body bag.”

Jolie leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “John, you’re wrong about that.” Her voice was firm. “The best sight we could get is you walking out of there on your own volition, bringing this thing to a peaceful end. Seeing all those people in there unharmed. That’s what we want. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“You do this a lot?”

She followed his sudden switch of topic seamlessly. “You mean talk to people in trouble? I’ve had some experience. Lots of people just want to be listened to. I’m here to listen, John.”

Dace slid a slip of paper into her view. At least he’d taken the care to print, always a bonus when it came to reading his handwriting. She read the directive and glanced his way, giving him a short nod.

“No one really listens,” the man on the other end of the phone said flatly. “It’s everyone for himself in this world. Yeah, you have friends, coworkers, if you’re punching a clock. But in the end, you’re alone. And people who don’t recognize that are suckers.”

The words struck a chord. There was a time when the sentiment was not so far from Jolie’s own attitude. People invariably let you down. It was one of life’s absolutes. It was infinitely easier, wiser, to rely on yourself. But that was before she met Dace. Before she’d had Sammy. Before she’d been the one to let the people in her life down. Big time.

“You forgot family,” she said smoothly, bringing up the topic on Dace’s note. “You have family, John?”

There was a pause, and the ensuing silence was charged with emotion. In the background Jolie could hear Tyler fussing. Calling for his mother. She blocked out the sound. Blocked out everything but the man’s answer.

“Yeah, you’re right. Family matters. About the only thing that does, when it gets down to it. How about you? You have any family?”

And suddenly the charged emotion had nothing to do with the man’s response. Now the air of expectation emanated from Dace.

Jolie hesitated. “No,” she said finally, taking care not to look in Dace’s direction. “There’s just me. But if there’s someone we can call for you, John, you need to let me know. We can make that happen.”

“No, I’ll be talking to him soon enough. When I walk out of here.”

“When will that be, John? When are you planning on walking out of there?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know.” And with that the line went dead.

Disconnecting, Jolie looked at Dace. “So what do you think? Is he considering giving up, or does he still think he’s taking that vehicle and heading out to Never-Never-Land?”

“He’s hanging on to the thought of escape.” Spading nodded agreement while Dawson said nothing. “We still have a ways to go in convincing him to give up.” Dace scratched his jaw, which was already showing signs of a shadow. He’d often shaved twice a day while they were together. The memory snuck into her subconscious, unbidden. Before he’d join her in bed, his jaw would be smooth, inviting her fingers. Her lips. Whatever else had gone on between them, they’d never lacked communication in bed.

A slow heat suffused her body and Jolie forced her gaze away. It was only when actual words were needed that they both had fallen short.

“The way he’s still talking about that car, I don’t think he’s given up on the idea of getting out of there with a few hostages.”

“Maybe not.” With effort she shifted her thoughts firmly back into the present. “But we have time, if we can convince Fenholt to drop this ridiculous time limit and allow us to continue the process.”

“Activity inside.” They all stared at Truman as he recounted the information coming through on his headset. “He’s bringing people to the lobby by twos. Handing them zip cords and having them bind one another’s hands and feet.” He sent a meaningful look to Dawson. “He’s lining them up on the floor below the windows.”

Without a word, Agent Dawson left the NOC. “He’s protecting himself against a tactical assault,” Jolie said.

Spading added, “His actions aren’t that of a man getting ready to give up.”

“His actions also aren’t escalating,” Dace countered. “He hasn’t been violent. Hasn’t made threats for a couple hours. We’ve got no reason to rush this.”

But they were being rushed. Fenholt’s time limit hung over their heads, the minutes ticking away. Jolie glanced at her watch and reached for the phone. They couldn’t make progress when they weren’t engaged in negotiations.

Dawson returned just then. His face, usually so impassive, was set in hard grim lines. “Establishing contact again? Good. Tell him the vehicle is going to be gassed and running, pulled up closer to the back door.”

“What?” Dace exchanged a look with Jolie. “Why? What’s the rush? We’ve got over an hour left on Fenholt’s timeline. The HT is still talking. There’s no reason to deliberately draw him out now.”

“You know the procedure. Just work the subject.”

Jolie felt the frustration coming off Dace in waves, but concentrated only on the ringing phone. Communication between command and HNT unit was a sensitive process at the best of times. As negotiators they had to know enough about what was going on to sound knowledgeable to the gunman. But it was dangerous for them to be apprised of tactical plans. There was too much risk that they’d say something to alert the hostage taker.

That was hard enough to accept when she trusted the people in command. That wasn’t the case here. Foreboding knotted her chest.

“Jolie.” The HT’s familiar voice sounded.

“John. How are things going in there? Have you given any more thought to my earlier suggestion?”

“About coming out? I’ve done nothing but think about getting out of here since this morning, so yeah, I guess you can say I’ve been thinking about it. Been taking precautions in here, too. Just in case some of those cops get anxious to get inside.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s good to hear, and it’s not that I don’t trust you, Jolie. Really.” His tone was sardonic. “Let’s just call my measures a little extra insurance.”

“Tell me about what you’re doing, John.”

“Nothing more than a little rearranging. No one’s been hurt. But the hostages are now tied up and lying under the windows and across the doorways. Do you know what that means, Jolie?”

She did. The measure guaranteed that a SWAT entry would injure hostages. “That’s unnecessary. I’ve already said no one’s coming in to get you. Why would we? You’re coming out. You told me so yourself.”

“And I’m a man of my word. Proved that earlier, didn’t I? By sending those hostages out.”

“You did. It was the right thing to do, John. And I’ve got some good news for you. Your vehicle is going to be pulled up closer to the back door of the bank. Can you see it?”

“Somehow I thought the feds would start seeing things my way.” Dark humor tinged his tone. “I’ll almost be sorry to say goodbye, Jolie.”

And with that, the line abruptly went dead.