Double Crossed(7)

All up and down the sidewalks, uniformed officials shouted and spat and spewed. But this woman just kept her eyes glued to the Athenia’s balcony high overhead as if she, like Kat, were tempted to scale the walls and burst inside.

And that was why Kat said, “You know her.” It was more realization than whisper. She watched the way the woman stared up at the towering hotel. “You know Macey McHenry. And you love her—there’s someone you love in there. Well”—Kat drew a breath—“you’re not the only one.”

Before the woman could say a word, Kat pulled an extra earbud out of her pocket and held it out.

“Here you go,” Kat said. “You can talk to my friend on the inside. Well, technically, he’s more than a friend, but…” Kat remembered almost too late that she was talking to a woman with a badge. “Anyhow, you can talk to him. He’s with Macey.”

When the woman took the earbud, she didn’t ask another question. She was a woman on a mission as she placed the tiny device in her ear and said, “This is Special Agent Abby Cameron. Let me talk to Macey McHenry.”



There was only one gunman in the ballroom.

Macey watched the man walk around the people who sat in a huge circle on the floor, like a conga line that had gone terribly, terribly wrong. And she thought about what it meant.

There was only one gunman in the ballroom.

Wordlessly, she slipped off her shoes. Gently, she placed a palm on the floor, shifted to stand, but that was when Macey felt another hand pressing down on hers. Hard. Too hard.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Hale hissed in her ear. His fingers burned into her skin. And Macey knew that if she was going to take out the gunman, she was first going to have to neutralize the boy beside her.

“Why don’t you let me go, and I’ll show you,” she said with only a modicum of flirt in her voice.

“Why don’t you put your fancy shoes back on and sit there like a good little girl?”

“First of all, I’m good at a lot of things. Taking orders from bored billionaires isn’t one of them. Second of all, he’s alone, and I can take him,” Macey said.

“No!” Hale said. “You don’t know anything about this guy.”

“I know he’s left-handed and has an old injury to his right knee—probably a torn ACL at some point but the details don’t matter. And the way he keeps his finger purposefully away from the safety of that gun means he’s never fired it. And he doesn’t want to.”

“You’re kinda scary.”

Macey leveled him with a glare. “My school offers a self-defense class. A good one.”

“How nice for you. Now I want you to promise me that if I move my hand, you won’t do something stupid.” Macey was just starting to protest when Hale stopped and brought his hand to his ear. “Besides, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.” He held out the extra earbud, whispering softly in the too-quiet room. “It goes in your ear and—”

But before he could finish, Macey rolled her eyes and placed the bud in her ear. “This is Peacock,” she whispered.

She watched Hale’s eyes go wide as she heard a very familiar voice say, “You’re not getting extra credit for this. Now”—Macey’s teacher took a long, easy breath—“what’s going on in there?”

“Five gunmen. Automatic weapons. Very organized. They’ve got all the hostages in the main ballroom. Looks like the gunmen have split up. I’m thinking I can pick them off one at a time.”

“No, Macey. Bad idea,” Abby said just as Hale gave her an I told you so grin. “We’ve got to protect your cover. There haven’t been any ransom demands yet, but when there are…”

“They’re not looking for ransom,” Hale said, interjecting himself into a conversation that was far above his clearance level. “They might ask for one, but it will be a distraction. That’s not why they’re here.”

Macey rolled her eyes again and told him, “Half the power players in the city are sitting on this ballroom floor.”

“Yes,” Hale agreed with a little too much vigor for Macey’s liking. “And as you pointed out, four out of five gunmen aren’t in the ballroom. So,” Hale said slowly, “whatever they want, it isn’t in here.”

Macey was just starting to argue when Abby asked, “What can you tell me about the gunmen?”

“They’re amateurs,” Hale said at the exact time Macey told her teacher, “They’re pros.”

Hale shook his head. “Just because you do something professionally doesn’t mean you’re a professional. And, trust me, these guys are just the type to get someone hurt.”