Takeover - Lisa Black [103]
Eric Moyers lay motionless on the hot pavement. Cavanaugh’s hand twitched, and she wept to see it. No hope remained for Bobby; the lower part of the back of his skull had been shredded.
He must have hit Cavanaugh in the vest, because the man now sat up and checked Eric Moyers’s condition.
Let Eric be alive, she prayed. He was trying to save us, and enough people have died today.
But Cavanaugh did not shout for an ambulance, or even radio for one. From his demeanor she knew that Eric Moyers had passed beyond help.
Lucas maneuvered her into the doorway. Rays of light struck her, heating her clothing until it burned the skin. “Cavanaugh!” he shouted.
The negotiator looked up, squinting in the sunlight, and slowly got to his feet.
“Come in here,” Lucas commanded. “Join us.”
I’ll bet he didn’t cover this situation in his book.
“I really need to stay out here, Lucas. I need to be able to make the arrangements you need, to get our efforts organized. I can’t get anything done from in there.”
“Let me clarify.” Lucas took the gun out from behind Theresa and pressed it to her right temple, skulking behind her so completely that her hair muffled his voice. “Come in here or I’ll blow her brains all over this nice marble.”
Theresa stood as still as if she’d been carved from that same marble. Snipers would be trying to get Lucas in their sights, waiting for him to move from her shadow just enough to squeeze off the shot. But he stayed so close. His body plastered hers from ankle to neck; she could not pull away or even sink down.
They could do it. They were trained for this. Just don’t move.
“Why?” Cavanaugh demanded. “What do you want me for?”
“Because your boys are getting desperate, and they’ll never launch an assault with their leader in cuffs on the lobby floor.”
“I’m not their leader. I’m only part of th—”
Lucas removed his hand from her mouth, placed it on her throat. She could feel a smear of blood, heavier than sweat, along her jaw. An expression crossed Cavanaugh’s face, something dangerously close to compassion.
“Don’t!” She didn’t need to shout; he stood only ten or so feet away. Lucas’s hand squeezed her larynx, but only for show. If he wanted to silence her, he could. “Don’t do it.”
Why weren’t they taking the shot?
Worry etched lines into Cavanaugh’s face as he looked at her. “Theresa—”
“Don’t let your hero persona think for you, Cavanaugh! It’s a trick.” She wasn’t a damsel in distress—she was bait.
“Come in here or she dies. I’ve got seven other people, Cavanaugh.”
Take the shot! “He’s lying! He won’t do it.”
“What on earth makes you say that?” Lucas asked her. To Cavanaugh he raised his voice. “Do you really want to take that chance?”
The hostage negotiator echoed Theresa’s sentiments. “Enough people have died here today, Lucas.”
“You can say that again.”
The snipers were not going to risk a shot unless she wriggled away. They would need only a couple of inches and a split second.
“I’m going to count to three, Cavanaugh. One.”
“If you shoot her, what then? I’ll be back inside the library building before you can pull out another hostage.”
“Person, Chris, person. The term ‘hostage’ is so dehumanizing. Two.”
She had forgotten all of her martial arts training except for the side kick—devastating to the knee. But she would have to be very, very fast.
“All right,” Cavanaugh said. “I’m coming in.”
She kicked. Lucas exhaled with an expression lost in the fabric of her shirt as his legs buckled, pulling her backward. His gun went off. She might have been shot, but she couldn’t feel anything past the pain in her ears.
Falling backward only protected Lucas, putting more of his body against the wall and leaving her still between him and the snipers. Her plan had not worked.
From their tangle of arms and legs she saw Cavanaugh emerge from the sunlight and reach for her, saying her name. At least his lips moved; she couldn’t hear what he said.