Chapter 3
WILLOW
I have a very bad feeling about this.
Before I opened my big mouth and told Ryan about my patch, I was already worried he’d try to take on Daniel himself.
Ryan didn’t say he was thinking about it, but I could tell he was by the way he kept sneaking glances at the shelves behind us whenever Daniel wasn’t looking.
I had a hunch Ryan was considering a confrontation by the angry set of his features and the way his hands kept clenching into white-knuckled fists.
Would it be dangerous? Absolutely.
But could I see Ryan doing it? Yes.
Ryan’s a protector, through and through.
Maybe he’s not out there chasing down criminals or rushing into burning buildings, but he’s driven to protect people, just the same.
He takes time out of his busy schedule every week to volunteer at the Ambulance Corps.
And he doesn’t just dispense medications at the pharmacy, he actually helps his patients.
He counsels them on safety. If a patient can’t afford their medication, he figures out a way to cover the expenses.
So a situation like this, with twelve people in danger, it makes sense that he’d want to do something about it.
But I don’t think he’d actually decided to act until my recent admission.
And now I’m filled with a suffocating sense of dread.
If Ryan makes a move on Daniel and ends up hurt, God forbid, killed, I’ll never forgive myself.
Because it’ll be my fault. If I’d lied about my blood sugar and the stupid patch, he’d still be contemplating instead of actively planning. We would wait this out together, side by side, and I’m sure everything would be fine in the end.
Well, unless this hostage situation goes on for hours longer. If I’m stuck here another four, six, eight hours without insulin, then I might really be in trouble. And not the shaky, thirsty, lightheaded kind of trouble, but the kind that can land me in the hospital.
Still. That probably won’t happen. Surely, the police will talk Daniel down soon. And everything will be just fine.
Which is why, when I notice Ryan scanning the shelves behind us again, I whisper, “I’m okay. Really. Forget I said anything.”
His head jerks in my direction. Determination is written all over his face. “You’re not,” he replies quietly but firmly. “You need your insulin. And I’m going to get it for you.”
My stomach squinches into a knot. “No. You don’t have to. Forget—”
“This is your fault!” Daniel yells. He advances towards Greta and raises his gun to point at her head. “All these people! It’s your fault they’re here! It’s your fault if they die!”
Greta lifts her head as she meets his gaze. “How is it my fault? You came in here with a gun? You’re holding everyone hostage. I didn’t make you do that.”
“You fucked me!” he retorts. “You kicked me out. You stole from me. Now you’re living the high life and I have nothing!”
“You can have it all,” she replies. “I told you. I’ll give you whatever you want, Daniel. Just let everyone else go. Then we can work it out.”
Daniel hesitates.
Hope flickers to life.
Maybe he’ll accept her offer. Even though it would be patently unfair, because everything Greta has, she worked for herself. But maybe he’ll accept, and we’ll all be let go. Then Ryan won’t feel like he has to do something, and—
“NO!” Daniel bellows. “No! You need to suffer for what you did!”
Greta stares at him. “Isn’t this enough?”
He shakes his head. “No. I want you to suffer. Just like I did. And I want everyone to know it’s your fault they’re in this situation.
” Daniel turns away from her and casts his gaze around the semicircle of hostages.
“This is her fault,” he announces. “Hers. When you’re thinking about how scared you are, how you’re missing Christmas with your families, just remember it’s this bitch’s fault you’re here. ”
One of the other hostages, Emily Diamond, who has twin girls back at home, asks shakily, “You’re not letting us go?”
Daniel smirks at her. “Not yet. I’m not close to being done here.”
Ryan stiffens beside me. His jaw sets.
Oh, crap.
He has that determined look again.
“She has kids,” Greta tells Daniel. “Little girls. They need their mother. Just let Emily go, at least.”
As soon as his attention shifts back to Greta, Ryan touches my arm. In an undertone, he says, “I have an idea. But I need your help.”
“Ryan,” I whisper, “just let it go. I’m sure he’ll give me my purse, eventually.”
“No. We can’t risk it.” Watching Daniel carefully, Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keychain. On it are a car fob, a couple of keys, and a small flashlight. He lets me look at it for a moment before curling his fingers around it again.
“You’re going to use that?” I’m struck with a vision of Ryan rushing at Daniel with his keys held firmly between his fingers, just as I was taught to do in the self-defense class I took back in college.
But that was a defense meant to be used in a desperate emergency. Not as an actual plan to take down someone armed with a gun.
Ryan waits until Daniel starts ranting at Greta again before explaining, “Not the keys. The flashlight. It’s a tactical one. With enough lumens to blind someone temporarily.”
A flashlight?
I don’t want to be a skeptic, but he wants to attack Daniel with a flashlight?
“Ry—” I start.
“It’ll work. Especially with the strobe function.” He pauses several seconds before adding softly, “Trust me. I wouldn’t try this if I didn’t think it would work. I should have tried it sooner, but I was hoping…”
He doesn’t need to explain more. He was hoping, just as I was, that this would be over quickly. But with Daniel’s most recent announcement about keeping us here through Christmas, I’m not so sure about that.
Still. I don’t want Ryan in any more danger than he already is.
“Willow.” Ryan covers my hand with his. “I need to try.”
There isn’t just determination in his eyes. There’s something deeper. Something heavy with meaning. Something that plucks at my heart and makes me wonder if I’m not the only one who’s ever wished for more than friendship.
I don’t want him hurt. I want to explore that something in his eyes.
But if he’s asking me to trust him, how can I not?
So, though it terrifies me, I swallow hard and reply softly, “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Like that game in elementary school,” he replies. “Tell everyone to get down the second I call Daniel’s name.”
He doesn’t add the rest of it. Get down so if the gun goes off, they don’t get shot. Except Ryan won’t be crouched down with the rest of us. He’ll be vulnerable. Anything could happen to him.
“Trust me,” he repeats. “I can do this.”
So I do.
And as soon as I have the opportunity, I pass along the message to Harold White, who’s sitting directly to my other side.
He hesitates, but does what I ask and passes the message to the woman beside him. And in a matter of minutes, Ryan’s request makes it to all the hostages.
Then it’s just waiting for Ryan to pick the perfect time to make his move.
Nausea rises, along with my growing fear.
I pray silently, bargaining for Ryan’s safety.
I vow to ask Ryan on a date if—when—we get out of here.
Enough with the excuses, I tell myself. If I ask him out and he says no, the rejection will be nowhere near as bad as this. And at the very least, I can stop wondering if there could be something more between us.
Ryan squeezes my hand and leans his head close as he murmurs, “I’m doing it. Get ready.”
My heart lurches.
Now?
But it’s too soon.
What if something happens?
What if I never get to ask Ryan out?
What if—
Ryan lets go of my hand.
Then he shifts slightly, moving his legs so he’s better poised to jump to his feet.
I stop breathing.
I send up one last silent prayer.
Please. Protect Ryan. He’s a good man. A great man. He deserves to live.
And then.
He calls out, “Daniel!”
Though I desperately want to watch, I do what Ryan asked and flatten myself to the ground.
Like a row of dominos falling, the rest of the hostages do the same.
“What!” barks Daniel.
A blinding light flashes, its beam pulsing rapidly.
A moment later, there’s a surprised yelp.
Footsteps rush by me, pounding the laminate floor.
An angry roar precedes the sound of flesh meeting flesh.
There’s another yelp, but this time it’s pained.
“How dare you?” growls Ryan. “On Christmas Eve! All these innocent people!”
Something solid hits the ground with a metallic clunk.
Though I’m supposed to lie flat, I turn my head in hopes of catching a glimpse of Ryan, wishing with all my heart that he’s okay.
At first I can’t tell. It’s just a blur of bodies tangled together.
Then I spot the gun off to the side, maybe six feet away.
So I leap up and run over to the gun, snatching it up with my sleeve covered hand.
Harold—who was obviously watching, too—shouts, “He doesn’t have the gun anymore!”
I turn around just in time to see Ryan cock his arm back and let it fly.
His fist connects with Daniel’s face in a burst of blood.
Broken nose, I note with satisfaction.
Daniel screeches, “My nose! You broke it!”
Ryan snarls darkly, “Good.”
And then, in a scene that could be plucked straight from an action movie, Ryan flips Daniel over and wrenches his arms behind his back. “I need restraints,” he calls out. “Ropes. Zip ties. Something.”
Greta scrambles to her feet and rushes over to the display of scarves. She snatches a handful of them off the rack and runs to Ryan’s side. “Here,” she says. “They’re stronger than they look. They should hold until the police get here.”
Ryan gives the scarves an appraising look. “They should,” he agrees. And he quickly ties Daniel up, first his wrists, and then his ankles. Once Daniel’s fully restrained, Ryan stands and scans the room, his gaze jumping to me.
“Willow.” He spots the gun in my hand. “What? You shouldn’t… You need to sit…”
“I’m okay,” I reply.
“I can take that,” Harold says. He comes to my side and holds his hand out. “I’ve been hunting for decades.” He stops. “Unless you’d like to hang onto it.”
“That’s okay.” I pass it over to him, muzzle pointed down. As soon as he takes the gun, I jog over to Ryan and fling my arms around him. “You’re okay,” I blurt. “You’re okay.”
His arms come around me. “I’m okay.”
A beat later, I realize I don’t really know that. Just because the gun didn’t go off doesn’t mean Daniel didn’t get some good hits in. So I jerk away from Ryan and inspect his face, then his body, searching for some sign of injury.
Ryan smiles, then pulls me into his arms again. “He didn’t hurt me. He was too surprised to do much of anything. And—” He pauses. “I’ve been taking karate classes for years. So I had the advantage.”
Relieved tears spring to my eyes. “You’re really okay.”
His lips press to the top of my head. “I am.”
In the background, I hear someone on the phone, saying, “The hostage-taker is down. No, not dead. But he’s tied up. And we got the gun away from him.”
Well, Ryan did. But I’m not going to argue semantics right now.
“Come on,” Ryan says. He moves me to his side, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around me. “Let’s get that insulin. Okay?”
“Okay.” As we head to the counter, I add, “But after. Once we get out of here. Will you go out with me? I promised myself I’d ask if—”
“Willow.” Ryan grins at me, and some of the horror of the day slips away. “I was going to ask you out after this. You beat me to it.”
“You were?”
He nods. “I was. I’ve wanted to. There were always reasons, but… they don’t seem very important anymore.”
“No, they don’t,” I agree. “And I’ve thought about it, too.”
Ryan snags my purse from the counter just as the police come swarming in. He flashes me another smile. “Well. The answer is yes. Definitely.”
“What about tonight?” I blurt. “If you don’t have plans. We could watch a Christmas movie and you could try some of my eggnog to see if you like it.”
“Will you be up for it?” he asks. “After all this?”
Up for spending time with my personal hero, Ryan, after years of wondering what if?
“Yes,” I tell him firmly. “I will definitely be up for it.”