Robert Crais - Hostage

“I want scrambled eggs and hot dogs on mine.”

“On the pizza?”

“I like it with hot sauce and butter.”

As Jennifer got a frying pan and a bowl and the other things she would need, Dennis appeared from the entry. His eyes were dark and hollow.

“Is she cooking?”

“She’s making eggs.”

Dennis grunted listlessly, then turned away without another word. She found herself wishing that he would die.

“When are you going to let us go?”

“Shut up. All you have to do is make the pizza.”

She broke all nine eggs into a glass bowl, then put the frying pan on to heat. She didn’t bother with salt and pepper. She wanted the eggs to taste nasty.

Mars stood in the family room, staring at her.

“Stop watching me. I’m going to burn the eggs.”

Mars went to the French doors.

Him walking away was like a weight being lifted. She could breathe again. Jennifer beat the eggs, sprayed the pan with PAM, then poured in the eggs. She got hot sauce from the refrigerator, then glanced at Mars. He was standing by the French doors, staring at nothing, with his right hand on the glass. She shook hot sauce into the eggs until the eggs were orange, hoping it would poison them, then she thought that she might be able to poison them for real. Her mother had sleeping pills, there was probably rat poison or weed killer in the garage, there was Drano. She thought that Thomas might be able to get the sleeping pills. Then, if they made her cook again, she could put it in the food.

She glanced over at Mars again, expecting that he had read her mind again and would be watching her, but he had moved deeper into the family room. She looked at the paring knife. The handle was sticking out from behind the food processor, directly beneath the cabinet with the plates. She glanced at Mars again. She couldn’t see his face, only the shadow of his bulk. He might have been looking at her, but she couldn’t tell. She walked directly to the cabinets, took down some plates, and picked up the knife. She fought the urge to glance at Mars, knowing that if their eyes locked he would know, he could tell. She pushed the knife under her shirt into the waist of her shorts and into the bottom of her bathing suit, horizontally so that it lay against the flat of her belly.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting plates.”

“You’re burning the eggs. I can smell’m.”

She brought the plates to the stove, feeling the hard shape of the knife low on her belly, thinking that now if they turned their backs, she could kill them.

Across the house in the office, the telephone rang.

Friday, 11:02 P.M.

TALLEY

The Sheriffs had set up a dedicated phone for Maddox and Ellison. It was looped by a cell link from Maddox’s radio car to the command van, where it was hardwired into the Smith’s phone line beneath the street. It provided the negotiators with a cell phone’s freedom of movement while allowing all conversations to be recorded in the van. Martin, Hicks, and everyone else in the van would be listening to every word. Talley didn’t want that.

Talley took out his cell phone, but he had forgotten Smith’s number and had to ask for it.

Maddox, watching him, said, “We’ve got the hard line.”

Talley ignored him.

“I’m more comfortable with this. You got the number?”

Unless the Sheriffs had changed the phone block, the Smiths’ phone should still accept Talley’s calls. Ellison read off the number as Maddox watched Talley. Talley knew they thought this was odd, but he didn’t care.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Out of the blue, you’re back, you’re calling the house. Every call has to have a point. Why?”

Talley stopped dialing the number and tried to order his thoughts. He had developed a certain amount of respect for Maddox and wanted to tell him the truth, but his fear wouldn’t allow it. He wanted Smith. That’s all he knew. Smith was his link to the people who had his wife and daughter. He considered the house and what might be on the other side of its door, then looked back at Maddox. He needed to say something that would bring Maddox onto his side.

“I’m scared that Smith is dead. I think I can push Rooney into telling us without tipping him off that the boy called.”

“If he’s dead, Rooney isn’t going to say shit and the boy would’ve told us.”

“So what do we do, Maddox? You want to breach the house?”

Maddox held his gaze, then looked back at the house and nodded.

“All right, then.”

Talley redialed the number, then waited for the ring. The front and sides of the house glowed from the banks of white lights that the Sheriffs had erected, the glare so hot that the house seemed washed out and pale. Exaggerated black shadows stretched across the lawn like grave markers. The phone rang four long times before Rooney picked up.

“That you, Talley? I saw you come back.”

For the space of three heartbeats, Talley said nothing. That had never happened before, but it took that time for Talley to push aside the anxiety that he knew would be in his voice. He could have nothing weak in his voice. Nothing that might warn Rooney or put him on guard.

“Talley?”

“Hello, Dennis. You there in the office, watching us?”

The shutters flicked open, then closed.

“I guess you are. Did you miss me?”

“I don’t like that new guy, Maddox. He thinks I’m stupid, calling every fifteen minutes, pretending he wants to make sure we’re all right, but it’s to keep us awake. I’m not stupid.”

Talley felt himself grow calm now that he was back on the phone. He had hated it earlier today, but now the familiarity of it strengthened him, just him and the phone and the subject, a small self-contained world where he played a game against the voice on the other end. It surprised him that he felt a confidence that he hadn’t known in years, a deep sense that he could control this world if not the larger one. He glanced up at the helicopters. Red and green angels.

“I came back tonight because we’ve got a big problem out here.”

Rooney hesitated as Talley knew he would, thinking. Talley knew that what he was about to say would surprise Maddox and Ellison, so he glanced at them and touched his lips. Then he filled the silence that Rooney left, firming his voice to show that he was serious and concerned.

“I need you to let me talk to Mr. Smith.”

“We been through that, Talley. Forget it.”

“I can’t forget it this time, Dennis. These people out here, the Sheriffs, they think you won’t let me talk to Mr. Smith or his children because they’re dead. They think you’ve murdered them.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Maddox and Ellison shifted next to him, staring. Talley felt the weight of their eyes but ignored them.

“If you don’t let me speak with Mr. Smith, they are going to assume that he is in fact dead, and they are going to breach the house.”

Rooney started cursing and shouting that everyone was going to die and that the house would burn. Talley expected his reaction and let him vent.

Maddox gripped Talley’s arm.

“What the hell are you saying? You can’t say somethin’ like that!”

Talley held up a hand, telling him to back off. He waited for a break in Dennis’s rant.

“Dennis? Dennis, I’m telling you right now that I believe you, but they don’t. This isn’t up to me, son. I believe you. But unless you give me something to convince them, they’re going in. Let me speak to him, Dennis.”

Talley was taking a big chance. If Smith was conscious and able to speak, Rooney might very well put him on the phone. If that happened, Talley would still try to get the information about the men in the car, but he knew the odds of that would be slim. Talley’s only hope was that Smith was still unconscious. If Rooney would admit his condition, Talley had a shot at getting Smith released.