He’d had sex with her. Lived with her. Had a child with her. But he’d never really known her.
“I’ll ask for the transfer then,” he said flatly. Their messy personal history wasn’t something that could be swept neatly under the rug. And it would be unprofessional to enter situations like these and pretend otherwise. There was just too much at stake.
“No.” Although her expression didn’t change, her voice sounded strained. “It wouldn’t be fair for you to go. This is your squad. Your friends. If I’d known you’d returned to Alpha Squad I’d never have accepted this assignment. I’ll ask for a reassignment.”
He nodded curtly and returned his attention to the bank front. The food had been delivered, but it still sat untouched in front of the bank door. The second hostage hadn’t been released yet. What the heck was going on with the negotiations?
No answers were forthcoming. Reluctantly, he slanted a glance at Jolie. “What will you tell them?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to hurt my chances of being reassigned, and there’s only one other HNT unit anyway. I’ll have to see if that team has a vacancy.”
Dace went silent, refusing to feel guilty. She was bilingual, which made her a good prospect for any HNT vacancy that came up. And it wasn’t his problem if she couldn’t get a different position. Hell, if she’d been assigned to the other squad, they wouldn’t be doing this now. He could have gone along for months, never even knowing she was around. Whoever had said ignorance was bliss had been dead-on.
“I’ll think of something.”
“You could always leave again. You’re good at that.”
The instant the words left his mouth he wanted to retract them. He didn’t often stoop to being petty and mean. But right now he was feeling petty and he was feeling mean. When she didn’t respond he reached out, snagged the sunglasses off the bridge of her nose and watched her eyes. Sometimes he could read there what he couldn’t see in her expression.
They stared at each other in silence and for an instant their surroundings faded away. For the second time that day he felt like he’d been sucker punched. Her eyes were laser blue, an unbelievably pure color. Sammy had had his mother’s eyes with Dace’s dark hair.
But he’d never seen Sammy’s eyes filled with the misery he read in hers.
“Jolie…”
“Recker! Conrad! Get back to the NOC unit!”
Lewis’s barked order shattered the moment, and Jolie retrieved the glasses he’d removed before heading back toward the converted ambulance. Dace followed, strangely shaken. He had no idea what he’d been about to say earlier, but whatever it might have been would have been a mistake. It was too late for words between them. There was too much history, most of it painful. Better that they get through the next few hours and then go their separate ways.
He’d spent the past sixteen months getting some sort of order back into his life. New apartment. New furniture. New women. He’d moved on, and he had no desire to revisit whatever had existed between him and Jolie Conrad.
There was a cluster of individuals standing outside the NOC unit, too many to fit inside. The tension, when they joined the group, was palpable. Besides Lewis, Dace and herself, there were nine others, five of whom Jolie recognized as the agents who had taken over the negotiation.
“Special Agents Dawson, Hart and Truman.” Lewis gestured to each newcomer in turn, before indicating the lone female. “And Special Agent in Charge Fenholt, all out of the Los Angeles field office. The FBI’s negotiators haven’t had much luck with the HT since our team left.”
“I’m sure given enough time, the gunman would respond to the Bureau’s negotiators,” Hart said stiffly. Jolie wondered if he was as young as he looked. He could have been a pledge for a college fraternity.
“We don’t have time,” Lewis said bluntly. “We just wasted an hour.”
“That’s right.” SAC Fenholt was a woman who looked to be pushing the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age. Her dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled severely back from a face with strong bones and an angular jaw. “Looking over a summary of your contacts, I didn’t think we had anything to lose by trying a new team. But the HT hasn’t answered a call since he discovered the change in negotiators. He demands to speak to Conrad.” Fenholt flicked a glance her way. “Each time he answers and doesn’t hear your voice he hangs up again. It doesn’t make sense to waste more time trying to reestablish a rapport with different negotiators. We want you two to resume the duty, under our supervision.”
Dace sent a pointed look at the crowd of individuals. “Sure. Maybe we can stack agents in a corner of the NOC so we don’t have to sit on each other’s laps.”
Fenholt ignored his sardonic tone. “In addition to you two, we’ll keep Agents Meadow and Spading on the team to serve as scribe and profiler.” She indicated two of the men from the FBI negotiation unit that had replaced the MCPD squad. “Special Agent Dawson will act as command center liaison. Special Agent Truman will serve as tactical liaison.” Truman, a forty-ish man with a graying buzz cut and a permanent scowl, pulled open the NOC door and heaved himself inside. Jolie and Dace stepped aside, waiting for all the other agents to enter first.
Fenholt paused, shot them a hard look. “Get the subject talking again. I understand that threats were issued earlier. I want him defused.”
“Why don’t you let us first assess the changes to his mood since you reassigned negotiators?” Jolie kept her voice bland but she saw the flicker in the woman’s expression before she turned and walked away. She hadn’t made a new friend, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Jolie and Dace sat down at the table inside. She scanned the notes that had been added to the situation board in their absence. Other than the HT’s demands for their return, there was no new information except for a few tactical details.
Dace picked up the phone and handed it to her. “He’s asking for you, so go ahead and make the call. We may have to make up some ground with him after this.”
She nodded, scanning the other members as each picked up headphones. Special Agent Dawson sat closest to the door. He hadn’t said a word through the entire exchange. His face, the color of fresh-brewed coffee, was completely expressionless. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that every word she and Dace uttered from here on out would be weighed and evaluated.
She made the call, let it ring. Eight times. Nine. Then it was picked up, but no one spoke.
“John, it’s Jolie Conrad. How are you? Everything okay in there?”
“Where’s Recker?”
“He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“That’s okay.” The strain in his voice eased infinitesimally. “Took them long enough to get you two back. They were feds, right? The other two bozos on the line earlier? What’d they do, come in and claim jurisdiction?”
Although the words brought a smile to her lips, Jolie said only, “We all want the same thing here, John. For you to get through this okay. For the people inside to remain unharmed. Everybody still all right in there? I see the food has been delivered. It’s still setting outside the door. You’ve got to be getting hungry.”
“I’ll send someone out for it.”
“And then it will be time to release the second hostage. That was our earlier agreement.”