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“Get down!” Gage ducked and went to one knee. There was zero cover. “Everyone get down!” The last thing he needed was for an innocent to get hurt.
The guy ran for a collection of cars parked on the street, angled spaces people could pull into and out of quickly. A dark-colored van had been backed up to the sidewalk under cover of some trees.
Dakota sprinted up the sidewalk to Gage’s right. He was going to get there first, but not before the guy jumped in and hit the gas.
He pulled out and nearly sideswiped a guy on a motorcycle.
Someone honked.
Dakota drew his gun and aimed at the van.
No.
He squeezed off a shot and hit the van tire.
Gage ran past him. “Stand down!” He raced out into the street after the van, watching to see where it went.
It veered dangerously and careened across the turn lane into oncoming traffic. Someone laid on their horn as they streamed past. The van bumped the curb and headed at the front window of a department store.
Glass shattered. The van broke through siding and crashed into the storefront.
Gage ran to the turn lane and narrowly missed getting hit by a pickup truck. He slowed two steps, waited for the sedan to pass, and held up his hand so no one else tried to run him over.
On the far side of the street, in front of the store, someone jumped out of the window. A woman, flustered and breathing hard. She ran into him.
He grasped her elbows. “Be careful.”
The guy climbed out of the van and moved farther into the store.
“Benson PD. Stop! Put your hands up!” He climbed over debris into the store. The chatter in his earpiece registered, and he connected the fact his team were right behind him, taking flanking positions and backing him up.
The guy reached for a woman half lying on the floor and started to drag her to her feet.
“Don’t! Stand down and put your hands up!” Gage stared at him, gun aimed. Trying to get a shot.
There was no way he could fire—like Dakota had done—without putting an innocent in danger. That had been a reckless move. Someone could be dead under the van. Hurt in this store, bleeding out while they took precious moments to detain this guy.
“It’s over.”
The guy hauled up the woman and held her in front, his gun to the underside of her chin. If he pulled the trigger, half her head would be gone in a split second.
“Don’t do this.”
“He’s right.” Clare stepped up next to him. “You don’t want to do this.”
TWENTY-SIX
Clare took a step forward. “We can talk about this. Figure out a solution that works for all of us.”
“I know you.” The gunman’s expression bored into her for a second, then something behind her drew his attention. One of the SWAT guys moving into position, probably.
She had to admit, it felt good knowing she wasn’t alone. Backup wasn’t something she’d had much lately. Having an armed elite team of cops with her meant she wasn’t unprotected. She could take another step, assured they wouldn’t let her get hurt.
Which left it to her to focus on the hostage. Up the chance she’d walk out of this alive.
“Yeah, I was in that bank.” Clare held her hands up, her gun still holstered under her jacket. She wouldn’t be able to draw it before he shot either the hostage or her. “Why don’t you let that woman go and we’ll talk about it? Figure out a way you can walk away from this.”
His lips curled back. “I don’t think so. I’m the one in charge here, and I don’t need you interfering.”
