Chapter 3 #2
“Yes! How else could I know when this damn place was supposed to be empty?”
But HQ is never empty. We always have at least one team member on site, plus the women and kids. That’s why Rylan is here while Cole, Leo, and Zane are working a job in Boston, and Nora and Jackson are visiting his family in Albany.
“Empty?” Rylan asks. “What would make you think that?”
Our captor rounds the conference table and advances on him.
“Because. I told you. I called to hire you. Not really, of course. I wouldn’t hire Blade and Arrow if you paid me.
But I just said I wanted to hire the full team for a big security job.
And the lady who answered said the team was already booked.
Then I asked about hiring a couple of you instead.
She said no, that she couldn’t get me on the schedule until after the New Year. ”
“So you thought that meant the place would be empty?” I ask. His reasoning doesn’t make sense. “How did you know the team wasn’t working locally? They all could have been here tonight.”
“Because I watched the fancy company car leave,” he retorts. “Yesterday morning. And then another car with two more people in it. That should have been everyone. I didn’t know there was a fucking family reunion going on here.”
Okay. So this guy clearly isn’t a local. If he lived in Sleepy Hollow, he’d know HQ isn’t just for business, but houses all the families, too. From what he’s saying, it sounds like he thought he could break in while the place was empty, to do… what?
“Well,” Rylan grits out. “You counted wrong. Because I’m here.”
“Just you wouldn’t be a problem!” Our captor aims his weapon at Rylan. “I already shot you once. I could easily have killed you then!”
“You wouldn’t have gotten a shot off if you weren’t threatening to kill her.”
“She shouldn’t have been here!”
“She lives here!” Rylan’s face flushes with anger. “You broke in, grabbed an innocent woman, hurt her, held a gun—”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her! She was going to run!”
“You shoved a gun into my stomach,” Georgia interjects. Her voice is thick with tears. “You threatened to kill me.”
The tension in the room is escalating quickly. Rylan looks furious. Bad Breath Needs a Shave appears to be on the verge of panic. Georgia and Charlie look absolutely terrified, and I’m not close behind.
“Just tell us what you want,” I persist. “Money? Do you want them to work a job for you?”
“Work a job for me?” He barks out a laugh. “Hardly. I wouldn’t hire this group of arrogant assholes for anything.”
Rylan frowns. “Arrogant assholes? Why do you say that?”
“You think you’re so perfect. Bragging about your”—he makes little quotes with his fingers—“Special Forces experience. Going on about how great you are, how selfless, how brave…”
“They are,” Charlie snaps. Her cheeks flush an angry pink. “They’re braver than some coward who threatens a bunch of women and children.”
“I’m not a coward!” he roars. “I’m braver than anyone who works here! But these fucking assholes didn’t want to hire me because I didn’t serve. Like that’s a measure of skills, or some shit like that.”
My head jerks back in surprise.
He applied to work here?
While I’m still working through the most recent revelation, Rylan is already two steps ahead of me. His expression shifts to one of recognition, and he says, “I know who you are. Lance Forrester. Right?”
Bad Breath Needs a Shave—or, apparently, Lance Forrester—turns a surprised gaze back to Rylan. His tone holds a hopeful note. “You remember me?”
Rylan nods. “We don’t get many applications. Most of the ones we do get are from veterans. But you—”
“I worked in security,” Lance interrupts. “Ten years.” His features twist. “But that wasn’t good enough for you. I didn’t even get called for an interview. Just a thanks but no thanks email.”
“We don’t do open hires,” Rylan replies. “Military experience or not.”
Charlie stares at Lance. “So you took us hostage because you’re mad they didn’t hire you?”
“No!” Lance shakes his head. “That’s only part of it.”
“Then what else is it?” she asks.
“It’s everything,” he snaps. “It’s the arrogant assholes who work here, pretending to be so great and taking all the jobs. It’s impossible for anyone else to build a security business around here, not with perfect Blade and Arrow Security hogging the best jobs.”
“Wait.” At the sound of my voice, Lance turns to me. “You’re pissed that they’re competition? Is that what it is?”
“I’m not pissed about some competition. Regular competition, that is. But this? This is bullshit.” Lance uses his gun to gesture around the room. Georgia cringes in her chair. Charlie lets out a startled meep. My heart leaps to my throat.
“I tried to start my own business out in White Plains,” Lance continues. “But could I get any clients? Oh, no. Of course not. Not with perfect Blade and Arrow around.”
“There are plenty of jobs we don’t take,” Rylan says. “Home security gigs. Smaller events. Why wouldn’t you start with those?”
It’s a reasonable question. But clearly, Lance isn’t a reasonable guy.
“Because I don’t want to do small events. I want my company to be big. I want the plum jobs with the Fortune 500 companies, like you get. But it’ll never happen with Blade and Arrow around. So—”
“So you decided to shut us down,” Rylan interrupts. “You thought you’d wait until we were all away for work, and then… What? You’d burn the place down?”
Lance’s gaze skitters away, a small tell he’s been busted. “Don’t worry about what I was planning to do,” he says defensively. “It’s none of your business.” A beat, and then, “Now. Would you just shut up so I can think?”
As he stalks towards the other side of the room, I glance at Rylan again. With Lance’s back to him, he’s actively struggling against the handcuffs restraining him. But the way his arms are stretched behind the back of the leather office chair, there’s no room for him to maneuver.
I know he could get free if he could just get to the right tool. If not a lockpick, a paper clip or a ballpoint pen. Crap, if I could give him a shoelace, he could use that, just like Elle did when she was abducted.
But I’m at the opposite end of the table from Rylan. Which means, even if I could find a tool, I’ll never be able to get it to him without Lance noticing.
Charlie, on the other hand, is sitting in the chair beside Rylan. She could hand him something if she had the opportunity.
The big question is, do I try something?
Or do I wait in hopes that Lance will come to his senses?
Maybe he’ll realize he’s in way over his head.
Maybe we can convince him to let us go in exchange for leniency.
Leo could work some of his computer magic, as we call it, and probably get some years knocked off Lance’s sentence.
While I’m sorting through our options, I catch a snippet of Lance’s mutterings.
“I can leave the kids outside,” he says to himself. “Or better yet, the garage. They’ll be safe in there. And they can’t identify me. The rest of them can stay…”
My stomach lurches.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
He is not sticking the babies in the garage and leaving the rest of us to burn. No way.
I sneak a quick look at Charlie, and judging from her horrified expression, she just heard the same thing as me. She widens her eyes, silently asking, What do we do?
Scanning the room, I search for a tool that Charlie could grab. Something close. Something small. Something like—
A paperclip. On the shelf behind her, there’s a little plastic organizer filled with staples, thumbtacks, pens, and paperclips.
And if she could push her chair up against the shelf, I think she might be able to snag one.
Then she just needs to get it to Rylan, and he can work his lock-picking magic…
With a pointed look, I turn my attention to the shelf behind her. Then I wait to make sure Lance isn’t looking before I mouth, Paperclip. For the handcuffs.
She looks confused at first, but a second later, understanding dawns. She mouths back, How? before jerking her chin in Lance’s direction.
How, indeed?
The only way to ensure she gets the opening she needs is to create a distraction.
I’ll do it, I mouth to her.
Charlie pales. Then she shakes her head slightly. She doesn’t want me to put myself in danger. I’ll admit, I’m not crazy about the idea, myself. But of everyone in here, I’m the best person to do it.
And if it means protecting the people I care about most in the world, I’ll do anything.
Soon, I add silently. Get ready.
As Lance passes by, I overhear him muttering again. “I’ve got to do this soon. Before anyone gets back.”
Crap.
I watch as Charlie leans towards Rylan and whispers something to him. His gaze jumps to mine, his worry evident. He’s not crazy about my vague plan any more than Charlie is. He shakes his head, just as Charlie did. Wait, he mouths to me.
No.
I can’t.
Not when the survival of my Blade and Arrow family is at stake.
Shifting my focus to Lance, I cast about for the best plan of attack. Or distraction, more aptly.
Then I remember the story Elle told me about how she helped Zane get free when they were both being held by organ traffickers.
The situation wasn’t terribly dissimilar from this one—they were both restrained, and their captors were threatening to hurt Elle if Zane tried anything.
But Elle was determined to do whatever she could to help him, even if it meant putting herself at risk.
So she pretended to have a panic attack. A bad one. And in the chaos that ensued, Zane broke out of his bindings and took their captors down.
I could do that. Pretend to have a medical emergency, capture Lance’s attention, and then…
Charlie can get the paperclip to Rylan. He can pick the lock on the handcuffs. And at the next opportunity, he can take Lance down.
Decision made, I take a long, steadying breath to settle my jumping nerves.
I quickly run through the symptoms I want to display.
I remind myself that I’ve been through things just as scary as this. And that I can get through this one, too.
I close my eyes for a second as I gather my courage.
And then I let out a loud, wheezing gasp.
I hunch over in my chair, then rock back, so the chair wobbles on two of its wheels.
“Help,” I beg. “Help.”
Lance freezes mid-step. His head jerks towards me. “What did I say about being quiet?”
“Help,” I gasp. “I can’t—”
Then I start coughing hard enough to make my eyes water.
The chair rocks again.
Georgia cries out, “Hanna!”
Guilt jabs at me. She doesn’t know. She thinks something’s really wrong. But it’s better this way. More convincing.
“What’s going on?” Lance demands. “Why are you doing that?”
“My heart. I have… condition—”
Then I let out an agonized howl.
The chair tips over.
“Hanna!” Georgia screams. “Help her!”
“What the fuck!” Lance barks. “This isn’t part of the plan!”
No. It’s not. Part of his, at least.
But it’s part of mine. And I hope like anything it works.