“You read that trash?” Sara sounded affronted by the prospect.
Rafe shook his head. “Hell, no. But Maggie does.” As Sara knew, Maggie was their daytime dispatcher, and she loved to share station gossip and, lately, Bachelor Blog news.
“I don’t know how Maggie finds the time,” Sara said.
“Saves her from focusing on her own life.”
Suddenly a loud shriek and the sound of shattering glass broke through the dull hum of the crowd, interrupting their conversation.
Rafe whipped his head toward the sound, hand on his pocket, ready to draw his weapon.
“The waiter has a knife!” someone next to them shouted.
“And he’s got Coop’s girlfriend,” Sara groaned.
Instinct kicked in, and Rafe met Sara’s gaze, both silently acknowledging they needed to get closer to the action.
Rafe inclined his head, and Sara immediately started clockwise around the room, heading toward the waiter with the knife. Rafe went counter and worked his way through the startled crowd.
Hopefully one of them, Rafe or Sara, could distract the waiter while the other got a jump or a clear shot.
“He’s got the ring!” The warning came from the woman being held hostage.
A piece from the Lancaster Foundation. Rafe swallowed a curse.
“Shut up!” the panicked waiter yelled at her.
Rafe glanced over in time to see the man prick his hostage’s skin with the tip of his blade.
“Just how do you think you’re getting out of here?” Suddenly Sam Cooper stepped forward. Hands in the air, he eased toward the waiter who held his girlfriend at knifepoint.
Ordinarily Rafe wouldn’t want a civilian trying to talk a crazy man down, but Coop wasn’t stupid. And at least he was buying Rafe and Sara time to get closer.
“Who the hell are you?” the waiter asked.
“I’m with the lady. Now, just relax.” Coop attempted to take another step.
“Stay there!” the waiter shouted.
Rafe still wasn’t close enough, nor could he risk scaring the man who’d already escalated from stealing a ring to taking a hostage.
The waiter shifted his grip on the woman. “Look, I’m just gonna walk out of here, and nobody’s going to stop me.” He made his way toward a steel door marked Stairwell, pulling his hostage along with him.
Rafe sought and found Sara across the room. She was close enough to confront the man, and Rafe gave her silent encouragement, knowing she could handle talking him down. They’d been in negotiation basics together, though she’d had no interest in specializing.
Without warning, the waiter shoved the hostage into the crowd, taking everyone off guard.
In the chaos that followed, he yanked the door and bolted from the room. Sara took off after him.
Rafe surged forward, but the door slammed shut before he could reach it, costing him precious time. Heart lodged in his throat, he pushed his way through the guests, opened the door and ran up a dark stairwell.
He launched through another door and onto the rooftop, gun already drawn, only to find he had a different hostage situation on his hands.
The waiter had obviously misjudged his exit strategy. There was no way out from here, and he now held Sara at knifepoint. He’d obviously been expecting company and grabbed her as insurance.
Rafe broke into a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat and humidity swirling around him.
“Drop the gun,” the waiter ordered.
Rafe gauged his chances of shooting the suspect and missing Sara. The moonlight was on his side, illuminating the roof. But considering the other man held her as a complete body shield, knife to her neck, his chances were not good.
“Come on, man. Let her go. You don’t want to go down for assaulting a cop,” Rafe said, beginning the process of talking the man down.
The waiter’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t flinch or drop the knife. “Is she really a cop?” Sweat poured down the man’s face.
“We both are,” Sara said, voice calm.
Rafe admired her cool and hoped she could hold on to it.
The waiter spat a curse. The hand holding the knife shook, and the blade pricked her skin. A small trickle of blood oozed onto her neck.
Nausea swamped Rafe, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Your day just gets better and better,” Rafe said, his gun level with Sara’s chest. “Let her go. It’ll still go easier on you if you don’t stab a cop.”
“I need to think,” the man said, obviously shaken. Panic warred with the irrational need to go down fighting, and his indecision was tangible.
Rafe had seen it before. The guy had to make a choice. So did Rafe. Where another trained negotiator might talk his guts out until he was out of time, Rafe had the advantage of knowing the hostage. And she knew how to read his mind and his cues. Acting presented a risk, but Rafe trusted his ex-partner.
Decision made, Rafe met Sara’s gaze, giving her an imperceptible nod. “Drop!” he yelled at the same time as he dove for the other man’s legs.
Everything next happened in a blur. Sara’s body went limp, surprising the guy while Rafe barreled into him, knocking him off balance. Sara rolled free, and Rafe tackled the other man but was unable to get a grip on the knife. He wasn’t sure how long he grappled and deflected before he obtained the upper hand, landing a smooth blow to the man’s jaw that ultimately subdued him.
“Don’t move!” Sara stood over the waiter, gun raised.
Breathing hard, Rafe rose to his feet. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I would’ve been better if he hadn’t gotten the jump on me,” she muttered. “He knocked the gun right out of my hand.” She shook her head in disgust.
Light-headed, Rafe braced his hands on his thighs. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“Someone probably called the cops by now. They should be here any minute.”
Rafe glanced over at her. “Way to keep a low profile.”
She managed a laugh.
The waiter on the ground groaned, redrawing Rafe’s attention.
“Easy,” Sara warned the man. She moved closer and winced as she stepped around him, pain etching her features.
“Where are you hurt?” Rafe asked her.
She shook her head. Ever stoic, she’d never admit she was injured.
Without warning, the dizziness hit Rafe harder. He dropped to his knees, everything around him blurry as he became aware of a sharp pain in his chest.
He pushed his tuxedo jacket out of the way and glanced down. Blood oozed through his white shirt.