Not Quite Perfect
Page 84
The hostage.
The hostage.
“Her name is Mary.”
“I know that, Fairchild. But I need to distance myself from that right now in order to keep everyone safe.”
“You should have thought about that when you didn’t take this case seriously.”
He heard Officer Taylor muffle the phone and bark an order.
“When you arrive I’ll let you past the police line only if you agree to remain calm and follow instructions. If you fuck that up, I’ll make you leave. Do you understand?”
Why was everyone treating him like an idiot?
“I got it. Keep her alive.”
“I plan on it.”
Glen stared out at the black, moonless sky as Trent placed a hand on his shoulder.
Mary woke on the floor in her small dining room with her feet and arms bound and a pillow from the couch under her head. The irony of that would hit her later, but for now she thought of the pain in her shoulder, her ankle, and the side of her head.
She could see the flashing of red and blue lights from outside and hear the radios and the continual request that Kent pick up the phone.
Kent sat on the opposite wall, watching her and not moving. He’d taken a knife from her kitchen and sat scraping it against the new hardwood floors of her home.
For what felt like a decade, the phone would ring, be ignored, and stop.
After what had to be the twentieth time, the phone stopped ringing and Mary finally spoke.
“Kent?”
He glared up at her.
“They’re going to want to know I’m okay.”
“Shut up!”
Mary heeded the harshness of his voice.
When the phone rang again, Kent jumped to his feet, pulled the phone from the wall, and threw it through the kitchen window.
Mary cringed in the corner and ducked her head to avoid the spray of glass.
There was one brief breath before they both heard the phone ringing from the extension in her bedroom.
The voice on the loudspeaker blasted through the house a second time. “Mr. Duvall. We just want to talk to you.”
Mary watched Kent’s reaction wordlessly.
His jaw clenched and his hands fisted around the knife as he moved back into the corner where he’d been sitting.
“Kent?” She said his name as softly as she could and still be heard. “I know you need to think.”
“Shut up!”
She sucked in a breath. “They’re going to keep calling until they know I’m okay. If they know I’m okay, they’ll give you time to think.”
He glared. “What do you know?”
She tried to smile, knew it probably looked forced. And then Mary lied through her teeth. “I worked with a hostage negotiator for over a year.” Actually, she’d read a few novels where women were held hostage and the theme had been the same. She prayed now the authors had done their homework.
“You’re not a hostage.”
She wasn’t about to disagree with him. “They just want to talk to you.”
The phone in Mary’s purse, which was still lying beside the door leading to the garage, started to ring. It was well after midnight and not likely anyone but the people outside.
“They want to know you’re okay?”
She nodded.
Kent scrambled to her purse, never truly standing up, and then over to her corner of the room.
He dumped everything out, took her phone, hovered a finger over the answer button. “Tell them you’re fine.” He put the phone on speaker.
“Hello?” The voice on the line was female and not familiar.
“Hello,” Mary said.
“Miss Kildare, are you okay?”
When Mary hesitated, Kent placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed.
“I’m fine.” She heard her voice waver.
“Can I speak to Mr. Duvall?”
Mary looked at Kent, who shook his head.
“He’s not ready to talk yet.”
“Okay. That’s all right. I’m getting everyone calm out here. My name is Fiona. Tell him I’ll call again in fifteen minutes. I want to hear what he has to say.”
Kent blinked several times.
“I’ll tell him,” Mary said as if Kent couldn’t hear the conversation.
The negotiator hung up.
It was pitch black and nearly three in the morning, and Glen waved hundred-dollar bills in front of the driver to move faster.
When he and Trent turned onto Mary’s street, there were police barricades set up and no one was being let through. As much as he hated the scene, he knew that it meant Mary was still alive.
Glen turned to Trent inside the car.
“I’ll call you from in there and let you know what’s going on.”
“I’ll keep everyone up to date.”
Glen felt the adrenaline rush from the rapid flight across the country dump into his system and tried to keep the emotion from taking over.
He shoved the door open and approached the officer keeping everyone out. “Glen Fairchild. Officer Taylor is expecting me.”
A quick conversation on the radio and Glen was being led through.
The closer he came to the outside of Mary’s condo, the harder it was to keep from running to the door and forcing his way in.
Police stood beside their squad cars. Several had guns pointed at the house.
Officer Taylor stood beside a tiny brunette wearing jeans and a sweater.
“Fairchild!” Officer Taylor extended his hand for a brief shake.
“I take it they’re still in there.”
The hostage.
“Her name is Mary.”
“I know that, Fairchild. But I need to distance myself from that right now in order to keep everyone safe.”
“You should have thought about that when you didn’t take this case seriously.”
He heard Officer Taylor muffle the phone and bark an order.
“When you arrive I’ll let you past the police line only if you agree to remain calm and follow instructions. If you fuck that up, I’ll make you leave. Do you understand?”
Why was everyone treating him like an idiot?
“I got it. Keep her alive.”
“I plan on it.”
Glen stared out at the black, moonless sky as Trent placed a hand on his shoulder.
Mary woke on the floor in her small dining room with her feet and arms bound and a pillow from the couch under her head. The irony of that would hit her later, but for now she thought of the pain in her shoulder, her ankle, and the side of her head.
She could see the flashing of red and blue lights from outside and hear the radios and the continual request that Kent pick up the phone.
Kent sat on the opposite wall, watching her and not moving. He’d taken a knife from her kitchen and sat scraping it against the new hardwood floors of her home.
For what felt like a decade, the phone would ring, be ignored, and stop.
After what had to be the twentieth time, the phone stopped ringing and Mary finally spoke.
“Kent?”
He glared up at her.
“They’re going to want to know I’m okay.”
“Shut up!”
Mary heeded the harshness of his voice.
When the phone rang again, Kent jumped to his feet, pulled the phone from the wall, and threw it through the kitchen window.
Mary cringed in the corner and ducked her head to avoid the spray of glass.
There was one brief breath before they both heard the phone ringing from the extension in her bedroom.
The voice on the loudspeaker blasted through the house a second time. “Mr. Duvall. We just want to talk to you.”
Mary watched Kent’s reaction wordlessly.
His jaw clenched and his hands fisted around the knife as he moved back into the corner where he’d been sitting.
“Kent?” She said his name as softly as she could and still be heard. “I know you need to think.”
“Shut up!”
She sucked in a breath. “They’re going to keep calling until they know I’m okay. If they know I’m okay, they’ll give you time to think.”
He glared. “What do you know?”
She tried to smile, knew it probably looked forced. And then Mary lied through her teeth. “I worked with a hostage negotiator for over a year.” Actually, she’d read a few novels where women were held hostage and the theme had been the same. She prayed now the authors had done their homework.
“You’re not a hostage.”
She wasn’t about to disagree with him. “They just want to talk to you.”
The phone in Mary’s purse, which was still lying beside the door leading to the garage, started to ring. It was well after midnight and not likely anyone but the people outside.
“They want to know you’re okay?”
She nodded.
Kent scrambled to her purse, never truly standing up, and then over to her corner of the room.
He dumped everything out, took her phone, hovered a finger over the answer button. “Tell them you’re fine.” He put the phone on speaker.
“Hello?” The voice on the line was female and not familiar.
“Hello,” Mary said.
“Miss Kildare, are you okay?”
When Mary hesitated, Kent placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed.
“I’m fine.” She heard her voice waver.
“Can I speak to Mr. Duvall?”
Mary looked at Kent, who shook his head.
“He’s not ready to talk yet.”
“Okay. That’s all right. I’m getting everyone calm out here. My name is Fiona. Tell him I’ll call again in fifteen minutes. I want to hear what he has to say.”
Kent blinked several times.
“I’ll tell him,” Mary said as if Kent couldn’t hear the conversation.
The negotiator hung up.
It was pitch black and nearly three in the morning, and Glen waved hundred-dollar bills in front of the driver to move faster.
When he and Trent turned onto Mary’s street, there were police barricades set up and no one was being let through. As much as he hated the scene, he knew that it meant Mary was still alive.
Glen turned to Trent inside the car.
“I’ll call you from in there and let you know what’s going on.”
“I’ll keep everyone up to date.”
Glen felt the adrenaline rush from the rapid flight across the country dump into his system and tried to keep the emotion from taking over.
He shoved the door open and approached the officer keeping everyone out. “Glen Fairchild. Officer Taylor is expecting me.”
A quick conversation on the radio and Glen was being led through.
The closer he came to the outside of Mary’s condo, the harder it was to keep from running to the door and forcing his way in.
Police stood beside their squad cars. Several had guns pointed at the house.
Officer Taylor stood beside a tiny brunette wearing jeans and a sweater.
“Fairchild!” Officer Taylor extended his hand for a brief shake.
“I take it they’re still in there.”
