Chapter 25
There was no snow tonight, the bright light of the moon throwing everything into relief.
Jefferson Park sat in the middle of downtown Poughkeepsie, a wide space containing a playground, basketball court, picnic area, and a small amphitheater showcasing local graffiti.
The entire park was surrounded by buildings, including the library and courthouse, though this part of downtown was deserted at night.
At its center stood a statue of Thomas Jefferson, flanked by a park bench and a large black garbage can.
That was where the drop was to be made. Joanne had been told to come by herself.
If any of the men could have passed for her size and physique, they would have gone instead, but in the end, it needed to be her, leaving Sloan terrified he could end up with both her and April being gone—or worse.
Sloan and Moto were positioned in the library with a prime view of the statue, Champion on the roof with a high-powered sniper rifle.
Mac and Trace were in the courthouse, Chop and Razorback in a van parked close to the basketball court, and Gavin and Asher each stationed farther out at either end of the park.
Chop and Razorback had been surveilling the area for nearly nine hours but had yet to see anyone who could be Bannon or one of his associates, much less Joanne’s daughter.
Sloan checked his watch. Nine fifty-four.
Any second now, a series of events would be set in motion, the final outcome still unknown, and the tension was eating him alive.
It occurred to him he had more to lose tonight than he’d ever called his own, and he said a silent prayer for help.
Champion’s voice came over the comm set in his ear. “Here comes Jo.”
He opened his eyes. She was walking up one of the sidewalks that went out from the statue like bicycle spokes, the shade of mature trees hiding her form before she emerged once more into the moonlight.
He lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He could hear her breathing, the anxiety she so barely held under control.
Her voice was a whisper in his ear. “I don’t see anyone. ”
“Don’t talk,” snapped Sloan. “You can’t let them see your mouth moving. Just put the money on the bench and get out of there.”
Mac spoke next. “I’ve got eyes on a dark minivan heading your way. One block out, east side of the park.”
Sloan stared through the binoculars. “Get out of there, Jo.” She appeared from the shadows walking quickly out of the park, and the invisible noose around his neck loosened a degree.
He trained the binoculars down the road, the minivan approaching in the distance.
“It’s got tinted windows. Can you see inside, Champion?
” The sharpshooter had a night vision scope on his rifle, which he hoped could see through the glass.
“Affirmative, but I don’t see the girl. Got two male tangos in the front seat.”
The van approached the center of the park, stopping just behind the van with Razorback and Chop inside. “Fuck,” said Razorback. “I think we’ve been made.”
“Hang tight,” said Mac. “Wait ’em out. They might just be checking to see.”
Minutes passed, the blood rushing in Sloan’s ears as sweat formed on his brow. Joanne spoke on the comm set. “I got a text. It says, ‘Come out here.’”
“Shit,” bit out Mac.
“I’m going,” said Jo.
“No!” barked Sloan. “Stay where you are. They’re on to us with the van. They could use you as a hostage to tie our hands.”
“I’m telling them I want to see April.”
She was thinking about doing it, putting herself directly in harm’s way to save her child, rendering HERO Force defenseless against an attack. “Jo, we’ll move the van. Stay put.”
The side of the minivan slid open. Joanne gasped. “She’s tied up on the floor.”
“Affirmative,” said Champion. “I have a visual on the girl.”
“They say for me to come to the van. I’m going out there.”
“Damn it, Jo, no!” But he was too late, Joanne already moving quickly onto the scene. Just as he feared, the passenger-side door opened, a figure in black holding a gun trained directly on Jo. She raised her hands, unmoving.
They only had a moment before she became his hostage. Sloan saw the slightest window of opportunity. “Champ, can you get a shot?”
“Negative. The girl’s too close to the tango from this angle.”
“Goddamn it!” Sloan watched in horror as the man in black crossed to Jo, wrapping one arm around her neck and using her body to shield his own.
“Hold your fire!” shouted Mac. “We have a hostage situation. Stand down. Gavin and Asher, move to the southern entrance to the park. Now!”
Sloan ran for the library door, drawing his Sig Sauer, Moto on his heels. He exited the building and hopped the railing, landing behind a hedgerow that hugged the foundation and hid him from view. He rounded the corner of the building and crouched low in the plants.
The man had pulled Joanne to the bench and taken the money and was making his way back to the minivan. “It’s all there, I promise you,” Jo said, and Sloan filled with fear the tangos would find her comm set.
“And you promised to come alone,” said the man. “Your word is no good.”
“Just let her go. My daughter didn’t do anything wrong.”
The duo went into shadow then popped out again, Joanne clearly having a hard time walking with his arm around her neck. He was still holding her against his torso as he ordered, “Get in the van. You’re my ticket out of this place.”
“Don’t do it,” Sloan hissed. “Try to get away.”
“I’ll come with you if you let her go,” Jo said.
Sloan wanted to scream at her not to do it, but knew his voice might be heard over the comm set in her ear if he did.
“What is this?” demanded the man.
Fear went through Sloan like an icy breeze. Had he found the comm set anyway?
“You stupid whore.” The man pushed her into the waiting minivan, following her in.
“Give me that thing.” The sound of the comm set in the man’s hand was followed by the click of it hitting the pavement.
The van door slid shut and the vehicle took off down the road, Sloan instantly on the run after it.
“Hit the tires,” barked Mac, gunfire erupting on the scene from Champion’s rifle.
Sloan was running as hard as he could, his horror causing time to stretch out like taffy. Those men had April, Joanne, and the counterfeit money. It was only a matter of time before they realized it wasn’t real and took retaliatory action.
Sparks flew from the back hubcap and the minivan went hard right, kissing a tree before continuing on awkwardly.
Sloan stopped running and aimed his weapon on the opposite tire, which deflated instantly.
The vehicle all but stopped. Asher appeared some fifty feet away, preparing to cut off the van from the passenger side.
Sloan positioned himself perpendicular to the van and trained his gun on the driver as Asher approached from the other side.
The passenger fired. Sloan did, too, putting several shots into the front seat of the vehicle but careful to avoid the back. Moto and Gavin arrived on the scene, quickly followed by Mac, each of them with the now-unmoving tangos now in their sights.
Sloan moved carefully to the sliding door and opened it, his weapon ready to fire.
There on the floor was April, tied up and sobbing as Joanne untied her bindings.
He checked the men in the front seat, finding them both dead—Bannon and a younger man.
“Tangos down,” said. He moved to the back and took April’s tied ankles into his lap, cutting the ties with his tactical knife and a shaking hand.
“Any injuries?” he asked, aware of the strange emotion-filled quality of his voice and the tears that streamed down her face.
She shook her head.
He gestured to the younger man. “Is that the guy from Instagram?”
She nodded, her face crumpling as she sobbed. “He has a big cut on his arm.”
“You scared the hell out of me, April. Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry.”
Joanne opened her arms and held her. Mac ushered the three of them out of the car as local law enforcement arrived on the scene, blue and red lights bouncing off Thomas Jefferson and the park.
With April and her mother settled together on a bench, Sloan walked back toward the library, dropped into a squat, and wept for the terrible things that could have happened that day.
He cried for the loss of Joanne and for finding her again, for her children and the chance to be part of their lives, if only for a moment.
Bannon was dead. They’d gotten him. Joanne and her kids would be safe from now on, and no matter what happened between Sloan and Jo, he would forever be grateful.
He wiped his face and stood, turning back to the chaos, and was startled to find a man silhouetted against the emergency lights. Sloan was hyperaware of his lack of a gun, having left his Sig Sauer with the police officer in charge. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“It isn’t over.” He took off his hood, his features just barely visible in the low light. “I wish for Joanne’s sake it was.”
There was something familiar about this man, his height, his build, his voice…
“Bannon was only the beginning. It’s McKenzie you need to be worried about.”
Suddenly, Sloan knew exactly who stood in front of him, and dread settled in his stomach like a heavy weight. “David fucking Regan. I was wondering when you would rise from the dead.”