Takeover - Lisa Black [53]
“I think Brad,” Lucas said again. “Or maybe Missy.”
Next to her, Frank whispered, “If they head for the door, Theresa, get away from this window. Immediately.”
“I know.”
“Besides, I’ll need room to aim.”
Cavanaugh kept talking. “And then what, Lucas? You’re already on the hook for whatever you did to Cherise. You want to make this situation even worse? Or do you want to quit while you’re ahead?”
“Shooting Cherise put me ahead? You must not have liked her any more than I did.”
Theresa opened her mouth to tell Frank about Oliver’s call but broke off with a frown when Cavanaugh said, “You told me she struggled with you. Did she grab the gun, make it go off?”
“He’s giving him an out,” Frank said, “not blaming the victim. He’s trying to guide Lucas into thinking he can weasel out of the murder charge with self-defense. He needs Lucas to think he can get out of jail again someday, which of course he can’t.”
“I understand that. My back aches, that’s all.”
“Want to sit down?”
“No. I want to curl up in a ball and die.”
He put his arm around her, but only for a moment. It was too bloody hot in the sunny window for that. “Your mom won’t see this on TV, will she?”
“She’s at the restaurant. What about your mom?” The sisters had perfected the science of instant communication.
“She doesn’t watch anything but the Weather Channel.”
“You’ve just wasted five minutes, Chris,” Lucas said.
“You’re afraid to come out because you’re afraid of the police snipers. But don’t you think they’ll be even more trigger-happy if you shoot that young man?”
“Or Missy.”
“Or Missy.”
They could hear the girl wail, “But my baby—”
“That’s good reasoning, Chris. You have four minutes remaining.”
“What’s the hurry, Lucas? You’ve been in there for over four hours now. What’s another twenty minutes or so to work this out?”
“I think we’re done here, Chris. It’s been a pleasure talking with you. Have the car outside in four minutes.”
Click.
“I don’t get this.” Frank lit a cigarette in his agitation. “He said he wanted more money. Now he’s leaving without it. What’s up with that?”
Cavanaugh rubbed his face, an agitated tic Theresa hadn’t seen before. “I don’t know. And don’t smoke in here.”
“Give him the car,” Theresa said.
“We can’t.”
“It will keep him from shooting that kid.”
“He’ll take the kid with him to shoot later. And maybe Mrs. Ludlow and her little boy. They’ll get in that car with him and Bobby and they’ll drive away and we won’t be able to stop them without harming the innocents, so they’ll get away, and then those people’s lives won’t be worth a pack of gum.”
“We’ll follow them. They can’t drive forever. And at least most of the hostages will be safe.”
His chair turned on a swivel, and he spun around to look at her. His face held neither encouragement nor condemnation. “And what if Paul is one of the hostages he wants to take with him, Theresa? How would that affect your decision?”
He was right, and she hated him for it. But her growing desperation made her willing to be inconsistent. “We have to do something.”
“We delay. That’s how this works. We keep him busy with details and small decisions. We send in food, cold cuts, and bread so that the hostages will have to put a sandwich together for them, which creates more bonding than a ready-made sub would. And we keep talking.”
“Until what?”
“Until his sense of self-preservation overrules his ambition.” Cavanaugh’s hand went to the phone.
Lucas picked up on the tenth ring. “I don’t see our car, Chris.”
“It’s on its way. But I can’t turn it over to you until I can be sure no one else is going to get hurt.”
“Oh, someone’s going to get hurt,” Lucas said. “And it’s going to be Brad. Sixty seconds.”
Theresa gave up on the telescope’s narrow view and watched the monitor. Lucas pointed his gun at the young bank employee, who covered his eyes with one trembling hand. His mouth moved, but his voice did not reach the speakerphone.
“We can’t work this way, Lucas.”
“You can’t.