Chapter 3
DAVE
She doesn’t look as if she believes me.
Not in her words—Hollis still hasn’t responded to my confident claim—but in the frightened look in her eyes and worried V of her brows. Her hand clutches mine to the verge of pain, hanging on as tightly as if she were clinging to the last life raft of a sinking ship.
I can’t say I blame her, based on what she knows.
In the brief time we’ve known each other, we haven’t yet ventured into our backgrounds—old jobs, past relationships, and memories we’d prefer to leave buried.
So she only knows me as firefighter Dave. A guy who runs into burning buildings but doesn’t have the skills or training to take on an armed robber.
Or is he here for something more sinister?
With his hood pulled up like it is, it’s impossible to get a good look at his face. So there’s no way of knowing if this is random or if he intentionally targeted this place.
If he targeted one of us.
I can’t help but wonder if this is the man who hit Hollis earlier, still angry, now drunk, and here for revenge.
Or…
Could my own past possibly be back to haunt me?
“Dave.” It’s a hissed whisper as Hollis catches my gaze. “What are you talking about? He has a gun.”
Fear flickers through her eyes. Her nails dig into my palm.
“It’s okay,” I reply quietly. I cast a quick glance at the armed intruder, who’s now pointing his gun at the waitress and shouting at her to throw her phone on the floor.
Satisfied his attention isn’t on me, I add, “I promise. I can handle this. But when I tell you to get down, I need you to do it right away.”
“What?” Her eyes go wide. “Dave. You can’t. We just need to… I don’t know. Give him our money. Try to get to our phones. Something.”
“Hollis.” I give her hand a little squeeze.
Still speaking in an undertone, I lean forward slightly so she can hear me.
“I’m not just a firefighter. Back when I used to live here, I was a cop.
So I’m trained in situations like this. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I’m going to ask you to trust me. ”
“You were a—” She clamps her lips shut, no doubt realizing that’s the last thing we want this asshole to know. After a steadying breath, she whispers, “What do you need me to do?”
Damn.
I knew Hollis was something special. But this?
Most women would fire questions at me, no matter the circumstances. Or they’d freak out, putting us in more danger than we are already. Not Hollis. Instead of panicking, her instinct is to ask how she can help.
When we get out of this—and we will get out of here safely—I’m asking her out on a date. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t known her long or that we live across the state from each other. In my gut, I know if I let her go, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
“I’ll need to get him close,” I tell her. “Once he’s within striking distance, I can disarm him. But that’ll be when it’s most dangerous for you. So, when I give you the signal, I need you to drop down and hide under the table. Okay?”
She stares at me, unhappiness clouding her expression. “So I’m just supposed to hide while you’re facing off against a guy with a gun? What if…” Trailing off, she pauses to think. “What if I distract him? Then you can disarm him while he’s not looking. It would be safer…”
Oh.
My throat goes unexpectedly thick.
I dated Jane for over a year, and I know damn well she would never have put herself in danger for me. But after less than half an hour, Hollis is offering without hesitation.
Though it’s the most incongruous time, some of the bitterness I’ve held on to for the last six years falls away.
The betrayal of my ex-fiancée and my former partner doesn’t seem as important anymore.
At the time, it was the worst hurt I could have imagined.
The woman I thought I loved, thought I’d spend my future with, cheating on me with my own partner.
And I’d worked with Darren for years. I trusted him to have my back.
But after one devastating mis-text, I discovered the truth.
They’d both been betraying me for months.
What made it even worse? Some of the other cops knew, too. And they never thought to tell me about it. Their loyalties lay with Darren instead.
That’s why I left. Why I threw away the job I’d worked so hard to get. I couldn’t face the humiliation of walking into the station every day with everyone knowing. With Darren still there, still sleeping with my ex.
I could have found a job with another police department. But then I saw the posting for a fire marshall in Sleepy Hollow and remembered how much I’d enjoyed working as a volunteer firefighter back in college. I thought, maybe this is the fresh start I need.
And it was. I found almost everything I’d always wanted.
As crazy as it sounds, now that I’ve met Hollis, I think she just might be the missing piece.
“What are you staring at?” yells the gunman, this time pointing his gun at the older man in the corner. “Throw your damn phone on the ground. Now!”
“I don’t have a phone,” the other man replies shakily. “My daughter is always telling me to carry it with me. But I keep forgetting.”
“Empty your fucking pockets, then!”
“Dave,” Hollis says. Her gaze skitters to the gunman and back again. “What if… what if it’s the man at the bar? What if he came here for me? Then… it’s my fault. All these people—”
“It’s not your fault,” I interrupt. “At all. Even if this is the same man, which we don’t know, you’re not responsible for his actions.”
After a silent beat, she nods. But once again, I can tell she’s unconvinced.
“Stop talking!”
Hollis lets out a tiny yelp of fright as the gunman advances on us.
“What are you fucking talking about?” he roars. “Plotting against me?”
As he gets closer, more of his face catches the light. Just his chin is exposed for now, but if I could just see a little more…
Hollis shakes her head quickly. Her voice quivers as she replies, “We’re not. I promise.”
“Yes, you are!” The gun levels at Hollis as the man steps even closer, now less than ten feet away from our table.
For a moment, my confidence wanes.
I’ve been in similar situations before, back when I was a lieutenant with the Utica Police Department. Not often, thankfully, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been on the wrong end of a gun, and I’m trained to know how to handle it.
With Hollis here, it’s an uncontrolled variable.
My instincts tell me that if he were going to shoot Hollis, he would have done it right away. That this is all part of an act—using the threat to her as leverage over me.
But I don’t know for sure. This could be the man who hit her. Or he could be on drugs. He’s twitchy enough for it. I can’t see his eyes, but there’s definitely a hint of alcohol on his breath. And the way his hand trembles just the tiniest bit as he holds the gun…
“I’ll give you money,” the owner calls over from the kitchen. “It’s not a lot; I make a deposit every day. But I can give you what I have. Just…” His gaze flickers to his discarded phone on the floor. “Just leave us alone,” he adds somewhat desperately. “Leave her alone.”
“Shut up!” the gunman snaps. He cocks the trigger. “Unless you want me to shoot you first.”
Hollis glances at me, barely-banked fear darkening her gaze. Though she doesn’t say anything, I can read her expression as clear as day.
We need to do something.
My fingers twitch towards the phone still in my pocket. I could use the emergency SOS feature to call 911. And based on our proximity to the nearest police station, they would probably arrive in under ten minutes.
But.
He’s so close.
And all my speculations and gut feelings are worth nothing if he realizes what I’m doing and shoots Hollis as punishment. Or if he does something before the police arrive, and my 911 call is for nothing.
No. I need to take care of this now.
Pitching my voice so it’s low and non combative, I say, “Hey, man. We’re not trying to cause any trouble here. Just tell us what you want, and we’ll help you get it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Hollis nods in agreement. She adds quietly, “I can give you my tip money. It’s about a hundred in cash. Just—”
He cuts her off with a harsh laugh, gravel grating on sandpaper. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take your money. I’ll take everyone’s money before I leave.” A beat later, he adds in an ominous tone, “Before I finish what I came here to do.”
From across the restaurant, the waitress bursts into tears.
The asshole flicks a quick glance in her direction, and as he turns his head, his hood slips.
Not completely. But enough.
My heart drops to the floor.
Hollis blinks. Then she lets out the tiniest exhale.
Relief.
It’s not the man who hit her outside Maxwell’s. She didn’t inadvertently bring him here.
I did.
Shit.
What are the odds?
The first time I’m in Utica in six years, a city with a population of over sixty-thousand, and I have to run into one of the only people who have a reason to hate me.
Brad Simmons.
I arrested him on assault charges only a few months before I quit, after his neighbor called to report a domestic violence claim.
Simmons liked to beat his girlfriend, and that time, it escalated to the point where all the neighbors could hear him.
By the time Darren and I got there, the girlfriend had a broken arm and concussion, and if we’d taken much longer, I think there’s a good chance he might have killed her.
His girlfriend—Ellen, I still remember her name—wasn’t going to file charges until I convinced her.
As a result of her testimony, Simmons was sentenced to a minimum of five years in prison. Which wasn’t enough, in my opinion, but it was better than nothing. Five years gave Ellen long enough to relocate to Buffalo, to lose herself in another city where he hopefully wouldn’t find her.
But apparently, he’s out. Still living in Utica. And most likely, carrying an enormous grudge against me.