Chapter Twenty-Six
Dom wound his way through the crowd, heading for the ballroom. With the number of people in attendance, the overflow was backing up into the lobby. Soon it would be standing room only.
There were so many people chattering away, admiring the hotel’s decor and high-end furnishings, no one noticed how casually he was dressed. Or the muzzle of the SIG 556 rifle sticking out from under his vest.
The Swiss-made rifle was a phenomenal piece of machinery, adjustable to single- or triple-shot bursts, along with fully automatic. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to use it on any setting. But Marsden was prepared to die. Like him, the colonel was a solider, and going down without a fight wasn’t in either of their genetic makeups.
He flowed with the crowd into the ballroom, pretending to look for his seat when he was, in fact, systematically searching the room in quadrants for Marsden. With the flashy uniform, he’d expected the colonel to stand out, but he still couldn’t get a bead on the man’s twenty.
In addition to the mayor, he’d spotted two state senators and congressmen, along with countless other top investment bankers. And standing in strategic locations was the mayor’s protective service detail—six NYPD officers trained to protect the leader of the city at all costs. If one of them spotted the rifle beneath his vest, he’d be a dead man.
While the remainder of those standing found their seats, Dom skirted around the other side of the room, blending in with the waitstaff that was wearing black, as he was. With every step, he searched for Marsden.
Where the hell is the colonel?
The microphone on the dais squealed as a man he recognized addressed the crowd. It was Andrew, the wimp who’d danced with Daisy at Gray and Alex’s wedding.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.” The crowd hushed. “Thank you for being here with us for the grand reopening of the world-renowned Piazza Hotel.” When Andrew began clapping, the audience joined in. “Without further ado, I give you Mr. Christopher Shane, CEO of Fairhaven Hotels and Resorts.”
The audience was on its feet, applauding loudly, giving Dom the cover he needed to keep moving, continually searching the crowd. Along the way, he noted Shane’s remaining two security guards standing well off to the sides of the raised stage.
As he neared the back of the ballroom, he caught sight of Gray and two other detectives from his squad—Teddy Pulaski and Artie Griffin—pushing their way through the overflow of people jamming the lobby. What the hell? None of them were making any effort to evacuate the building. As soon as the crowd thinned, they bolted for the balcony stairs.
“This beautiful hotel,” Shane said, “is my crowning achievement. My baby. It’s taken three years and four hundred million dollars, but what I’ve achieved is a testament to my perseverance and the grandeur of the Piazza’s landmark history. This hotel contains the most beautiful trappings money can buy. I even installed an underground mall.”
The crowd burst out in laughter and more clapping just as Dom caught up to Gray and the others.
“Gray!” he yelled over the applause.
At the bottom of the stairs, Gray spun, as did the other detectives. “Dom, thank the fuck you’re all right.”
“Why aren’t you evacuating?” he shouted back. “We need every bomb squad in the city here posthaste!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gray stared at him like he was crazed off his ass.
“Didn’t Daisy tell you? Marsden’s got the hotel wired to blow.”
“No. I haven’t seen her.” Gray grabbed a radio from his belt and began calling in the threat.
“Jesus Christ, Carew,” Griffin muttered. “Gray told us you were up to your eyeballs in some seriously deep-cover shit, but this is beyond deep.”
“And then some.” Pulaski nodded. “We got your back. What do you need?”
“Dammit.” Dom twisted his head to the main entrance, then all around the lobby and up to the balcony. With every passing second worry pinged his brain. “I’m here with a woman—Daisy Fowler—she should have met you guys at the door, and now I don’t know where the hell she is. She’s tall, brown hair, and wearing a red dress that should stand out like a beacon on a lighthouse. If you see her, get her to safety outside the building.” He stared hard at Griffin and Pulaski. “She’s my woman. You got me?”
“We got you,” both men said simultaneously.
His fingers curled tightly around the gun’s stock beneath his vest. Something was wrong. He knew it with every fiber of his being. And where the hell was Smith? He seriously doubted Smith was ready to die at the colonel’s side. Smith wasn’t a solider. That bastard’s only allegiance was to himself and money.
“There’s no way we can evacuate everyone in time.” He estimated there were roughly four hundred guests packed into the giant ballroom, plus more jamming the lobby. He ran to the nearest fire alarm box on the wall, flicked up the plastic cover, and pulled down the activation lever. Nothing happened. No alarms, no strobes, no spraying water. Just a twinge of pain radiating from the bullet wound in his shoulder down his entire side.
“Fuck.” He looked over at Gray, who was staring at him through narrowed eyes.
Gray charged over and whipped back one side of Dom’s vest. “Goddammit.” His jaws tightened. “You shoulda told me you got fucking shot. You need—”
“Not now.” Dom shook his head. “Fire alarms are deactivated. I’ll go after Marsden. You convince the mayor’s detail to get His Honor the hell out of here, then do what you need to do to evacuate. And keep an eye out for Daisy.” Next he directed his attention to Pulaski and Griffin. “You guys meet ESU outside. If hotel security gives you any shit, handcuff their asses to those magnetometers.”
“You got it.” Pulaski turned to Griffin. “Let’s go!” he yelled.
As they all turned to move out, a woman screamed, followed by a chorus of gasps.
Colonel Bud Marsden stood on the dais next to Shane. One hand held a gun aimed at Shane, the other held the detonator.
The mayor’s protective service detail officers drew their weapons, aiming in on Marsden.
Shit.
Marsden strategically hid partially behind Shane and the podium, using both for cover. Shane’s remaining security guys had also drawn their weapons, but he doubted those clowns had a clue as to how to handle a hostage situation.
Dom gripped the SIG beneath his vest. He could take the shot, but not from here. As fine a weapon as the rifle was, it wasn’t a sniper rifle. He needed altitude and a better angle.
Time was running out. For everyone.
Jerking his head around, Dom searched the ballroom, frantically looking for a place from which to take a shot and not be seen. There was none.
“All of you will leave here alive.” Marsden held the detonator above his head as he addressed the crowd. “But first, you must listen, or I’ll blow up this hotel with all of you in it.”
Dom’s gaze landed on the balcony. He spun, but a hand on his arm halted him.
“Wait!” Gray said. “You’ve got enough medals already, so don’t be pulling any more of that hero shit and get your ass killed.”
Pausing for half a second, he tipped his chin at the man who’d been his partner and best friend for over a decade. “Same goes.” Without waiting for a response, he bolted for the stairs. Right outside Room 225 he’d have a clear shot into the ballroom. He took the stairs at a dead run, his heart racing, his shoulder throbbing like hell. He stumbled and nearly blacked out.
Shit. Stay conscious.
Taking quick breaths through his mouth, he blinked to clear his vision, then pushed from the stairs. Blood dripped onto his hand, and he wiped it on his jeans. He was losing blood faster than he’d thought.
Marsden’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom, into the lobby, drifting up to the balcony as he disgraced Shane in front of the entire city.
At the top step, Dom cranked open the rifle’s folding stock, locking it into place. Pain lanced to his shoulder, and he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He charged to the center of the balcony and rested his left forearm on the mahogany rail. His hands shook as he flicked the tiny latch to single-shot mode.
More screams punctuated the air, and men shouted, but for Dom the entire hotel was eerily silent. All he heard was his own sharp intake of breath and the blood pumping through his veins.
Daisy.
Smith had his arm clamped around her neck as he made for the ballroom steps, using her body as cover. The sonofabitch was trying to get out of there before the bomb went off.
Daisy’s eyes were wide, and she clawed at Smith’s arm, trying to dislodge it from her throat.
Ignoring the intensifying pain, Dom tightened his grip on the rifle’s stock. The rage blazing through his mind nearly incapacitated him. “That fucker. I’ll kill him.”
He wanted to take out Smith like he’d never wanted anything in his life. But Marsden came first. If the colonel hit the button on that detonator they’d all be dead.
Focus.
He took a deep, calming breath, blowing it out of his mouth. He repeated the process twice more until his hands steadied and his pulse slowed. He was barely breathing at all. He could do this. He had to or four hundred people would die.
Daisy will die.
As he sighted in through the SIG’s scope, tears trickled from Shane’s eyes and a stain darkened the CEO’s slacks as he pissed his pants. Dom tried aiming in on Marsden’s forehead, but the colonel was smart, using just enough of Shane’s bulk to shield him while still holding the audience captive with his loud, raspy voice.
“Christopher Shane, this sorry piece of inebriated garbage, killed my son. Ran him over in his pricey sports car, then took off like the coward he is.” Marsden paused to sneer at Shane. “He doesn’t deserve your applause. He deserves to pay.”
With the detonator in one hand, Marsden shoved Shane away from him and fired a round into the man’s kneecap. Shane screamed and dropped like a stone, clutching his knee.
Dom squeezed the trigger. The single shot blast echoed off the ceiling. Through the scope, he saw a red dot appear dead center on Marsden’s forehead. The colonel froze, as if suspended in time.
The detonator was still clutched in his hand. They’d know in a heartbeat whether he’d pressed the button before the signal from his brain to his finger had been cut off by the bullet. The small device fell to the floor an instant before Marsden did.
For a few more seconds, Dom held his breath. The building didn’t explode. Calming himself, he exhaled slowly.
One threat down. Now for Smith.
Masses of screaming people streamed from the ballroom.
Instinct took over. He was back in Afghanistan, taking out enemy combatants with the cold, calculation of a finely honed Delta sniper. He shifted right, centering the rifle’s crosshairs on where he’d last seen Smith. But he was no longer there.
Wrenching his gaze from the scope, he searched the panicked crowd for a red dress. He easily picked Daisy out amidst the mass of people running for the doors.
Smith still had his arm around her neck, dragging her with him, trying to escape along with the four hundred others desperately scrambling for safety.
Remain cool. Detach.
He sighted in, trying to align the crosshairs on Smith’s head, but the crowd was moving too quickly. One minute he had a clear shot and the next, Smith’s head ducked out of sight, hidden by Daisy’s body or someone else pushing and shoving their way through the mass of people clogging the lobby.
Still aimed in, he tracked their movement. The fucker was smart, keeping his back pressed against the wall. With Daisy’s natural height plus her heels she was nearly as tall as Smith, enabling him to use her body effectively as cover.
Dom wished like hell he had a true sniper rifle. The shot was less than twenty-five yards and with no wind to impact the bullet’s trajectory. But it wasn’t a sniper rifle.
You can do this. Her life depends on it.
People continued swarming into the lobby, screaming and tripping over each other while Gray and the other uniforms tried unsuccessfully to calm the fleeing crowd. Smith worked his way slowly to the doors, his arm gripping Daisy tightly around her throat. The scope gave Dom a clear image of her face, and it was all he could do not to fixate on the sheer terror in her eyes.
He lined up on Smith’s nose and was about to take the shot when Smith yanked Daisy tighter to his chest. Fuck. If he’d taken the shot just then, he would have drilled her between her eyes.
His control began to slip. His vision blurred, and he blinked to clear it.
I can’t do it. There’s no way.
Not without divine intervention. Still, he had to try. Without him, Daisy didn’t stand a chance. She knew too much. If Smith got her outside, he’d kill her.
Again he sighted in, forcing his heart to slow until he barely heard the telltale thump indicating it was beating at all. He began applying pressure to the trigger. Wait for it. Wait for it.
With his finger poised to take the shot, his wounded shoulder spasmed and his arms shook so badly he could barely hold the rifle. His vision began blurring even worse as the blood loss caught up with him. He released the trigger. Shit. If he couldn’t take the shot soon, he doubted he’d be able to do it at all.
Never give up. Never surrender. Never say die.
Renewed conviction thrummed through his head. He returned his finger to the trigger, refocusing, about to risk a shot, when Daisy released her death grip on Smith’s wrist. She clenched her right hand into a fist, then cocked her elbow and rammed it backward into Smith’s gut. She followed with an uppercut jab to his jaw and a sideways punch to his face.
Smith’s eyes widened in shock, and as he turned his head to the side, making a grab for Daisy, Dom squeezed the trigger.
Blood and gray matter splattered the wall, some of it spraying onto Daisy’s face and chest.
Smith slid to the floor. Daisy stood rooted, her chest heaving.
She was alive.
Dom eased his finger from the trigger and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. His heart began beating so frantically he felt as if he were having a heart attack. He fell to his hands and knees, his entire body shaking. The rifle clattered as it fell from his hands and landed on the balcony floor.
Images he’d kept buried for over a decade sprang to life like a movie rewinding, then fast forwarding.
Blood. Afghanistan. Anika. Pieces of her body everywhere. The unspeakable pain as he’d buried her remains in an unmarked desert grave. Seeing Daisy nearly killed brought the past crashing down on him. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk loving with everything he had, only to have his heart shattered again. The agony would be too great, and he wouldn’t survive.
He felt the balcony railing beneath his fingers as he rose shakily to his feet. The next thing he felt and heard was the rush of cold air and a metal door slamming behind him as he exited the hotel out the loading bay door. He didn’t know how he got there, and he didn’t know where he was going.
The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t go there again.
…
Daisy trembled violently. She looked down at Smith. His eyes were sightless. A small hole dead-center in his forehead, just above his nose, oozed blood. Behind him, the wall was smeared with more blood, and something gray and sticky. The same substance that was now stuck to one side of her face, neck, and chest.
Blood. Brains. It was all over her, and she wanted to scream. She gulped in air, clenching her fists. She looked up at the balcony, searching for Dom. She’d seen him there with the rifle in his hands, but now he was gone.
All around her, people screamed and ran for the doors. Someone shoved her backward until she slammed into the wall, right next to the dead man at her feet. Still shaking, she glanced at the balcony stairs, then searched the multitude of faces in the panicked crowd, expecting Dom to charge toward her and take her into his arms, telling her everything would be okay. But he didn’t. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.
Someone grabbed her arm, and she jerked it back, but it was a uniformed police officer ushering her toward the exit.
“No!” She tried pulling free, straining toward the balcony stairs, but his grip was too strong.
The next thing she knew, she was sitting in an ambulance while an EMT wiped at the blood and gore spattering her face. Through the open rear doors she watched the total chaos ensuing on the street.
Sirens blared. Blue and red lights flashed as police cars and fire trucks rolled in, blocking the intersection in front of the hotel. People poured from the building, some screaming, all pushing and shoving to evacuate the area. One woman tripped and went down hard on her knees. An officer helped her to her feet, then directed others down the block.
Daisy peered around the EMT’s shoulder, straining to catch a glimpse of Dom in the frenzied rush, but she didn’t, and she had no way of contacting him or Gray. She gripped the edge of the gurney, struggling with the need to charge into the hotel and search for him, knowing there was no way she’d be allowed back inside.
He could be dead, or lying in a corner somewhere, bleeding out, and she would never even know it.
Please, please let him be okay.
A sob rose in her throat, and she buried her face in her hands.