That done, he climbed into the shaft and closed the access panel behind him. He held on with one hand and used his phone as a light as he searched for the tool belt.
It wasn’t there.
All he found was a coil of rope, which he hooked over his shoulder.
Feeling a displaced cowboy, he started down the ladder, then paused at the next access panel to listen and check his surroundings.
The ledge at the sixth floor access panel held a duffel bag. Frowning, Damien reached for it, then let out a soft whistle when he tugged at the zipper to expose at least two dozen bricks of C4.
If Damien hadn’t recognized the explosive material from the work that Stark International did with various construction and military groups, he would have been convinced by the label that conveniently read C4-Explosive.
Since he doubted that the building management had any need to leave explosives in the elevator shaft, he could only assume he was going to have company soon. Even if they weren’t looking for him, they’d be coming back for the explosives. The plan, he assumed, was to take it down to the lobby level, then blow their way into the vault to get to the red beryl gem.
With luck, the local teams that Ryan and Dallas called in would manage to take down the perimeter guard before any one of them got a warning off to the inside team. But that was a big if.
And if any one of those perimeter men had already relayed a message to the leader, Barclay and the rest would be coming for this explosive—and fast. They’d want to finish the job, get the goods, and trade their way to freedom through the hostages.
All of which meant that Damien needed to hurry.
He grabbed the duffel and continued down. At the very least, he could befuddle them. They’d come for the duffel, and the duffel would be gone.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
He continued down, down, down until he reached the fourth floor, then paused at the lobby-level access panel, just in case. But as Jackson had told him, he needed tools for that, and all he had was a rope.
Well, hell.
Looked like he was going out the elevator doors whether he wanted to or not.
Chapter Twelve
“And you’re sure it was him?” Red asks.
I nod, still glowing from the certainty that Damien is alive. Alive. And yes, some time has passed, but I’d felt that tap from the watch and I know what it means—that he’s safe and that he’s coming for me. With help, too. Because if I know Damien, he’s already all over that, and everyone from the Coast Guard to the Air Force will be mustering arms to come nail these assholes.
All I have to manage until then is staying alive. And I try not to think of just how iffy that proposition is. They’d taken the blonde away, there was gunfire, and she hasn’t come back. And though they’ve taken no one else, I can’t relax. Neither can Red beside me.
My new fear, of course, is that something has happened to Damien between the tap and now, but I can’t let that fear get to me. I’m strong, dammit. Doesn’t Damien tell me that all the time?
And I don’t intend to let him down now when it really counts. He’s going to make it through this. We both are. There’s no other option. We have to, if for no other reason than the child inside me. The baby that Damien doesn’t even know exists.
“Do you think he’s—” Red begins, then cuts himself off sharply. “Look.”
I glance toward the front where the man in black—the one they call Malone—speaks in a hushed voice with a man with tattooed arms, one I haven’t seen before.
“Who—?”
Red holds up a hand, then starts to whisper. “He says the C4 is missing, but Malone doesn’t seem to care.”
“C4?” I repeat. “Explosives?”
“The man’s not worked up about that at all. But Ron and someone else—Deake, I think—are dead. He’s pissed. He’s very pissed. They need to find the fly in the ointment. They need to snap the head off the monkey in the wrench.”
He sits back, his eyes on mine. “His words.”
“Handy trick,” I say.
“My mother’s deaf. I wanted to see the world the way she did.”
I smile even as tears prick my eyes, and Red puts his hand over mine. “You’ll be fine. And you’ll be back to those little girls in no time.” He lifts a shoulder in response to my sideways glance. “Nikki, you gotta be used to that by now. You two don’t fly under the radar.”
“We need too, though. For at least a few more hours.” Because if we don’t, I may end up being more of a hostage than I already am. “What’s he saying now?” I ask as the two men resume their conversation.
“Their men outside on the perimeter aren’t responding. They think the police may have rounded them up. Now he’s—well, let’s just say he’s not a fan of your husband.”
“Well, dammit, Barclay.” Malone’s voice rises. “Who the fuck is he?”
I start to shrink back, but Red takes my hand. “Calm, wife of mine,” he says, barely moving his lips. “We’re going to be cool.”
I swallow, moving my chin in what could be a nod.
“I’ll find the fucker,” Barclay says, loud enough that I can hear. “If he’s in that elevator shaft, you better believe I’ll find him.”
“Of course, he was in the shaft, you idiot,” Malone retorts.
Barclay scowls. He turns, scanning the room as if we’re all to blame for his mistake, and though I can’t be sure, I think his gaze lingers on me before moving on.
He shifts, so that his back is toward the bar as he says something else to Malone.
A moment later, Malone nods. “Let’s be clear. You should have already gone into the shaft and killed him. You fucked up, but this information is worth something, so I’m giving you a pass. For now. But I expect you to do it right. You find him, you kill him. That’s how to handle a problem.”
“You got it,” Barclay says. He whispers something to Chuck, then strides out, leaving me with a sick burning sensation in my gut.
For a moment, everyone in the room is silent. The couple on the bad date are sitting closer together, their hands held tight. The anniversary couple are slunk low in their seats, the woman tight in her husband’s embrace. Aubert has an arm around the one woman still at his table, his face pale.
Malone ignores all of them. Instead, he walks toward me. “Tell me who he is, you fucking bitch.”
“Who?” My mouth is dry, my voice barely audible.
“The fly in the ointment. The pain in my ass. The motherfucker who is messing with my plans.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Because you’re just hanging out in the bar with your husband?”
I nod, and his attention turns to Red. “You two got a good marriage?”
“The best.”
“The little woman buy your clothes?”
Red frowns. “My clothes?”
Malone picks up Damien’s jacket, still on the bench seat of the booth. “Not very good a shopper, is she? Can’t imagine this cut fitting your broad shoulders.”
“It was here when we sat down,” he says.
Malone’s attention is on me. “What’s your name, blondie?”