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At the end of the lane, he could see the ranch house. Travis’s room showed a dark window. With luck, he would already be asleep. Slowing the Jeep, he drove quietly through the gate and turned off the headlights.
“I promise,” he said. “And I’m ready to listen.”
Chapter 11
The Jeep was warm inside, but the chill of memory was so intense that Jess felt a shiver pass through her body—the shock of the tragedy, the burden of self-blame, the interview with the reporter literally backing her into a corner, pummeling her with questions as cameras flashed. And then there was the photograph of her horror-stricken face as that woman attacked her—the one that had been published with the story in papers all over the country, exposing the shock and grief over her failure to anyone who wanted to look.
Tonight, sitting around the kitchen table, almost like family, she’d felt a yearning so powerful that it had almost brought tears to her eyes—the need to share herself with someone else. Was that the urge driving her now?
She wanted to move forward with Cooper. Still, in trusting him—a journalist—she was taking a fearful risk. Maybe she should just make an excuse, get out of the vehicle, and flee into the house.
“It’s all right, Jess. Take your time.” He was leaning into the corner of his seat, half facing her. His arm lay across the seat back. It was now or never, she told herself.
Taking a deep breath, she began. “It happened three years ago. My team was stationed in Reno. It was late one night when we got the call from a family resort near Lake Tahoe. A man was barricaded in one of the cabins with two kids—a boy of seven and a girl about nine. According to his wife, after the kids were asleep, she’d told him that she’d met someone new and wanted a divorce. He’d taken the news calmly, said they could work things out. But after she went outside to the vending machine for cigarettes, she came back to find her husband locked in with a gun, threatening to kill the kids and himself.
“When she couldn’t talk sense into him, she called the local police. The police called us, a three-man SWAT team and one negotiator—me. There was no helicopter available, so we had to drive. When we got there we found three police cars, an ambulance with paramedics, and the father still inside the cabin with his children. As we were climbing out of the car, a news crew rolled up in a van. The place had become a three-ring circus.”
Jess did her best to keep her tone calm and professional. Cooper listened in thoughtful silence. Jess could sense that he had questions. But he held them back, letting her tell her story.
“The wife was with the paramedics. They’d given her something to calm her down, but she became agitated again when she saw me and found out that I’d be the one negotiating with her husband. ‘Not a woman!’ she shouted. ‘Floyd won’t talk to a woman! Get a man!’
“The police chief had someone sit with her in one of the cruisers. I took the phone that somebody had hooked up to the one in the cabin and began by introducing myself. The plan was to talk him into letting the two children go. Nothing else was to happen until they were safe. After that, if Floyd didn’t surrender, the SWAT team could move in.
“Floyd was hostile. He kept repeating that he wanted to talk with his wife. I kept telling him that as soon as he let the children come out, he could talk with her all he wanted. This was protocol—the way I’d been trained. You don’t give the suspect anything he asks for until he does something you want. That’s why it’s called negotiation.”
Jess paused to take a deep breath. Her unsteady fingers raked a lock of hair back from her face.
“Are you all right?” Cooper’s voice was gentle.
“I will be. I’m just getting to the hard part, that’s all.”
“Take your time.” His hand moved from the seat back to rest on her shoulder. Its warm weight lent her comfort and courage. She took a deep breath and continued.
“The standoff continued for more than two hours. Then the line went dead. A silhouette, outlined by a lamp, moved behind the window blind. Was he about to let the children go? Was he going to surrender? The SWAT team moved in close, to be ready if the police chief gave the order. I kept trying the phone connection, but it was no use. All I could do was pray in my heart that the children would make it out all right.
“The door latch turned. The door opened slightly. Nobody dared to breathe. That was when Floyd’s wife came flying out of the police car, screaming, ‘Don’t come out, Floyd! They’ve got guns! They’re waiting to kill you!’
“The door closed again. A moment later, before anybody had time to move, we heard two shots, then after a pause, a third shot. The SWAT team rushed into the house, too late, of course. Even before I saw the bodies, I knew they would all be dead.
“I remember that poor woman wailing, the paramedics trying to calm her. When she saw me walking away, she came rushing after me, screaming, ‘This is your fault! You should’ve let me talk to him! I could’ve talked them out! I could’ve saved them all!’
“And the reporters—they were on me like vultures, snapping photos of the woman attacking me, shoving their microphones and TV cameras into my face. “The next day I turned in both my report and my resignation. I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Her voice broke. “So now you know.”
“Oh, Jess.” His arms went around her, pulling her against his chest. “Damn it, I’m sorry. If I’d known what I’d be putting you through, I never would have agreed to listen.”
Trembling now, she nestled against him. “The worst of it is the thought that maybe the poor woman was right—it reallywasmy fault. I chose to follow protocol—to do everything by the book. And two innocent children may have died because of it. I never want to face a choice like that again.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” His lips skimmed her forehead as he spoke. “You did your job.”
“My job was to save those children. If I’d done it right, they’d be alive today.”
“Don’t torment yourself. All you can do is move on and maybe make things better for other children. That’s your job now.”
“Is it? Sometimes I wonder if I’m making any difference at all.” Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed, trickling down her cheeks. Cupping her jaw with his fingertips, he used his thumb to stroke them away. “Don’t,” she said, drawing back. “Don’t pity me, and don’t feed me platitudes. I don’t deserve them.”
“Blast it, Jess—” He kissed her, not tenderly but with a fierce possession that set off a Fourth of July’s worth of fireworks. Her response was a burst of need, hot and deep. Her hands caught his head and pulled him down to her, lips softening, molding to his, seeking what she’d wanted from the first time he’d touched her.
“Jess—” He pulled her against him, hands fitting her body to his. His breathing roughened, hardened, igniting swirls of heat in the depths of her body.
