Moving was a drastic step, but maybe drastic was exactly what she needed right now. It was only a matter of time before the endless carousel of blondes started up again, the way it was with Trick when she’d first moved in. There was no way she could live through that. Even thinking about seeing a woman walk-of-shaming it down his driveway made her whole body tremble.
She leaned forward and grabbed her laptop off the coffee table. Time to look at some real estate. She grabbed the remote to turn off the background noise of the TV she could concentrate, but the bottom line scrolling and the special report sign blazoned over the anchor’s head made her pause. She turned up the volume and set her laptop aside.
“Breaking news this morning as a hostage situation may have turned deadly in the Salem suburbs,” the blonde woman said, a grave expression marring her mall-pretty face. “A bank robbery at the small family owned bank ended with the gunman surrounded and taking three people hostage. A female customer, a security guard, and a bank teller were inside for over an hour when the SWAT team was called in, along with a hostage negotiator. After thirty minutes of tense discussion and what appeared to be a warning shot from inside the bank, a sniper was called on to take a shot at the lone gunman inside the bank. After an apparent misfire, a firefight resulted, and one police officer and two members of the SWAT squad were injured.”
The hair on Grace’s arms rose even as a band of tension tightened around the back of her neck, and she strained closer to the TV.
“Their conditions are unknown at this time, and the gunman has ceased all contact with the outside, leaving police to wonder whether or not the hostages have been injured or worse.”
The newswoman turned to face a second camera. “Our own Les Saunders is on the scene reporting. Les?”
The screen flashed to a somber, dark-haired man who nodded. “Yes, Melody, you have it right. We’re on the scene at Henderson’s Loan and Trust, and as you can see behind me, it’s abuzz with police activity.”
The camera panned to the background and Grace scanned the screen frantically, trying to make out the people. She could see the police cars with flashing lights, uniformed officers and, closest to the bank front entrance, even the SWAT crew, but from that distance, there was no way to tell whether Trick was one of them or not. As the camera panned away again, her gaze caught on a dark splotch in the parking lot directly in front of the bank. Blood? Oil? Dear god, let it be oil. She gripped the remote tighter in her sweaty palm and turned the volume even louder.
“We have no information on the hostages inside at this time and while there have been discussions about releasing their names, that hasn’t been cleared yet. We’re told that there will be a short press conference in about an hour to update the media.”
Grace’s stomach pitched as she tried to digest it all, to hold on to her calm. Odds were that Trick wasn’t one of the injured officers. There were a lot of guys on SWAT, and he was only on call three rotating days a week. If it was one of the other four days, he wouldn’t even be on the scene. She tried to remember the week before. He’d drunk wine at the Halloween party, so he wasn’t on call that night. But had he been the night before? Or was figuring his schedule a moot point, and had all available officers been called in?
She stood and ran toward the window, repeating the same mantra over and over in her head. He’s home sleeping and everything is fine. She covered her eyes as she approached the curtains, needing a second to get herself together. With a shaking hand, she pushed back the silky fabric and let her lids flutter open.
Gone.
She stifled a sob with her fist. His car was gone, and suddenly it didn’t matter that odds were he was okay, or that he might just be at the grocery store. She needed to see it with her own two eyes.
She flew across the room and grabbed her purse and keys. It was a ten minute drive to the bank, and her legs were quaking so badly, she didn’t even know if she’d be able to work the gas and brake pedals, but she was going and she was going now. Her cell phone chimed on her way down the front steps, but she ignored it until she got to the car. Maybe it was Trick, calling to let her know he was all right?
She slid behind the wheel and rifled through her purse to find her phone. Peering down, she blew out a frustrated sigh. Serena. She’d likely seen the news as well and wanted to see if she knew anything. Grace wasn’t about to take the time for a conversation, opting to ignore the call and scrolling through her contacts to find Trick’s number. She held her breath, pressing the call button, praying with every beat of her heart that he would answer. That he was okay. Because the only thing scarier than a life without Trick was the thought of him being hurt.
Or worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Trick sat on the curb, head in hand, still trying to process the cluster f**k that had just unfolded. How had things flown off the rails so damned fast? One minute, all was quiet, they were in position, and the sniper was set to make his shot. Not a kill shot, but a shot to disarm and give the SWAT team time to infiltrate the building, secure the perp, and get those hostages to safety. It had all been part of a carefully constructed plan.
Then their sniper had missed.
Trick lifted his head to see him being rolled by on a gurney. His face was a mask of agony, in spite of his superficial wound. Trick knew the look. One of failure and guilt and the knowledge that your mistake might have cost a life. It was a position they’d all spent their careers hoping they’d never be in. As regular members of the police department, SWAT was something that officers in good standing volunteered for, or, in Trick’s case, were recruited for. Once testing was done and the top candidates were selected, training was rigorous. A lot of guys dropped out when they realized exactly how draining the job could be mentally. Then even more followed when their wives or girlfriends had the same realization.
It wasn’t like the movies where kickass guys in riot gear bashed down doors, invincible in their vests, and victorious most times. There were many nights that they’d go home empty-handed after a raid gone bad, or breaking up a riot where heads were bashed in. It wasn’t glamorous. Most of the time it was just sad.
Today was shaping up to be one of those days.
“You good?”
His street partner and team member Jose Morales squatted down next to him and nudged his shoulder. “There wasn’t anything we could’ve done there, buddy. Once the shot went wide, if we’d gone in, the motherfucker would have lit up everyone in the room, including himself, and we would’ve been left holding our dicks.”
Trick nodded grimly. He knew that to be true, but it didn’t make the outcome any easier to take. Three people were injured, one critically, and the perp still had all three hostages in the bank. Whether they were alive or dead remained to be seen.
“Yep, I know. I wonder if we’d busted in right when the shot went off instead of waiting to confirm the hit if that would have been enough time…”
He trailed off, knowing the answer. It had been a second, maybe two, before they’d realized that their gunny had missed. Enough time to get through the door, but not enough time, even in the confusion, to avoid getting gunned down themselves or risking at least one of the hostages before they’d dispatched the gunman.
“Now what?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet.
The past thirty minutes had felt like a week as they waited for some sign that the hostages were still alive. The perp had moved them to another room that didn’t offer the sliver of sight that they’d managed to exploit between the crack of the blinds in the front room, so they had no idea what was happening in there except for the one, two second phone call where the gunman had shouted, “Back the f**k up or I kill them all!” before hanging up.
“We just sit here until the bastard calls again? There’s got to be a back-up plan.”
Jose stood and nodded. “They want to wait until he’s less panicked and lets his guard down a little, and then we’re going to try to contact him again. We’ve got to be patient. This one’s going to take a while, but I have a good feeling.” He tugged at the neck of his Kevlar vest and pulled out a gold cross, kissed it, and tucked it back to lie against his heart. “Something tells me those people are still alive, bro. Keep the faith.”
He walked away, heading toward the rest of the team.
“You can’t come in here, ma’am.” The tone was sharp and hard, like a whip-crack, and Trick turned to look at the small crowd forming outside the police barricade.
“I know. But please, I need to see if my—” She froze, her pale face falling in relief as her eyes locked with his. “Trick.” She mouthed his name and her chest heaved once, then again, before she nodded and turned away.
Grace. She had come. His head spun with a volatile mix of fear and relief. She must have heard the news. In spite of the crushing disappointment that they hadn’t extracted the hostages yet and the despair over his injured teammates, a piece of him he’d thought was good and dead came back to life when he saw her.
The past week had been the worst kind of torture. Waiting to get a glimpse of her for even a second. Hoping that she’d at least look at him for an instant and he’d see something in her eyes. Anything that showed she still cared even a little. He’d f**ked things up beyond all recognition and didn’t deserve a second chance, but with every day that passed, he realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get one. By the week’s end, he’d known that he wasn’t ready to give up yet. But she needed time to get past the initial anger and shock, and he had to suck it up and give her that time, no matter how hard it was.
The thing was, as hurt and angry as she was at him, she’d come because she was worried about him. He’d lied to her, and deceived her, and had broken her trust. And still, she’d come. It certainly didn’t mean that she’d forgiven him, but she still cared, and that meant everything. In that moment, it filled him with strength and purpose.
He watched her jog back to her car, feeling helpless that he couldn’t follow her. He had a job to do. But one thing was for sure.
This would be the last time he let her walk away without a fight.
…
Grace sat in the parking lot of a McDonald’s and let it all out. The sobs that she’d managed to hold in since the news report an hour before worked their way up and wrecked her. Damn Trick. He’d been the catalyst for more tears in a week than she’d cried in a lifetime.
But he was okay. Another wrenching sob rumbled up her chest. He wasn’t dead or shot or hurt. Thank God for that. Thank God.
He’d looked terrible, though. His eyes were hollow, his color gray. Today had been tough on him, and seeing his pain had been almost as hard as if she’d pulled up to see him rolling into that ambulance.
Almost.
It took another ten minutes before she trusted herself to get back on the road, and even then, she headed to the drive-through for a hot, fortifying cup of black coffee first. It was setting up to be a long day. The hostage situation was still dire and Trick wasn’t in the clear yet, but knowing he was okay was such a relief, she felt like she could handle anything.
She managed to make it back to her house and gave Serena a call. Her friend was already on her way over, and Grace was grateful not to sit through it alone. It was a long, tense two hours before the news anchor announced that the gunman had surrendered.
She slumped back against the couch in relief, her whole body weak and wrung out.
“Everything worked out okay. You’re fine. He’s fine.” Serena patted her hand and tried to say some more sympathetic stuff, but it wasn’t working. Trick could’ve been killed and the last thing she’d said was that she hated him as he walked out the door. Who was the liar now? Even after everything, she was still stupidly, madly in love with Trick Mathews. It was a real kick in the ass that, along with her relief, she’d come to the realization that she actually had the capacity to forgive him. Too bad he’d made zero effort to contact her or even ask for said forgiveness besides the kneejerk apology the day she’d found out what he’d done.