Silent Night Standoff. Susan Sleeman

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      Skyler sat quietly, praying her squad arrived soon to set up their command center and get everyone out before the situation turned ugly.

      Time ticked by.

      Slowly. Painfully. A minute feeling like an hour.

      The soothing strains of “Silent Night” played from the speakers, but nothing was calm or bright in this room. Just the opposite.

      Skyler was aware of every breath she took. Of the perspiration sliding down her back. Of her purse lying against her leg, the gun inside. The change in Faith’s breathing and the face of an elderly man wearing a tattered suit reddening like a ripe tomato.

      Why did they have to have a heat wave in December of all times? The seventy-plus afternoon temps made it seem more like an Oregon summer. Mix that with the fear pulsing around them and the space felt like a muggy, breath-stealing jungle. A situation that could cause panic.

      “People are hot and looking like they might pass out,” Skyler said to Clyde. “Would it be okay if they took off their coats or sweaters?”

      “Not happening.” He didn’t even bother to look at the group.

      “I’m really worried about them.” Skyler grabbed a brochure from a rack and fanned Faith. “Especially Faith here. Her pregnancy makes her much hotter than the rest of us.”

      Bonnie spun. “Another word out of you, and I’m coming over there to shut you up,” she shouted, her face tightening in anger.

      Skyler could see Bonnie was starting to lose it, so Skyler clamped her mouth shut while continuing to fan Faith. When a police siren sounded nearby, Skyler held her breath, fearing that her worst nightmare was coming true. It was protocol not to run the siren and take cover out of view when responding to a robbery. The procedure kept robbers from panicking and causing a deadly hostage situation.

       Please let it be a simple traffic stop. Not a rookie flying high with adrenaline and failing to follow procedures.

      The whoop, whoop, whoop of the siren wound closer, an eerie warning of problems to come. The wail stopped just outside.

      No. The officer was responding to the robbery.

      “Cops!” Panic flooded Bonnie’s face as she ran across the room and tugged on Clyde’s arm. “We need to get out of here now.”

      Clyde jerked his arm free and jumped onto the counter. He shoved the gun into the nearest teller’s forehead. Without a siren, Bonnie and Clyde would’ve left the bank, giving waiting officers the chance to arrest them. Now, combine their panic with drugs that were known to cause paranoid psychosis, and Skyler faced a full-blown crisis.

      Clyde got in the teller’s face. “You press the panic button?”

      “No.” Her terrified voice cut to Skyler’s core.

      “Then who did?” He stepped along the counter, his sloppy tennis shoes slapping on the Formica as he pointed his gun at the male teller. “You?”

      He shook his head, his eyes cutting around the space as if searching for a way out.

      “How about you?” Clyde waved his gun at the last teller.

      “N-no.”

      “One of you had to or the cops wouldn’t be here this fast. I’m going to start shooting you one by one until you tell me who sounded the alarm.”

      “No, Clyde,” Bonnie begged. “Let’s get out of here while we can.”

      “The cops have to get organized, and this won’t take long.” Clyde lowered his finger to the trigger guard and sneered down at the tellers. “Who’s first?”

      The female tellers started sobbing. The male’s face paled. Skyler couldn’t let them pay for her actions.

      “Stop!” She came to her feet.

      Clyde whipped around. He pointed his weapon at Skyler’s heart, but she didn’t back away.

      “It was me. I texted a cop friend of mine,” she said, purposely not mentioning she, too, was a deputy. She held her breath as she waited for him to fire.

      He jumped from the counter and marched across the room. She was hyperaware of every second passing while he advanced on her. His baggy jeans whispering. The thump, thump, thump of his shoes. His body odor and foul breath.

      Inches away, he pressed the gun into her mouth and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

      She resisted gagging on the cold steel and handed over her phone. The acrid smell of burned carbon filled her nostrils. He’d fired this gun before. Maybe it was the same gun used to kill two hostages in California.

       Please, God, don’t let his finger slip.

      He turned his attention to the phone and woke up the screen. She knew once he discovered her ongoing call to Jake, he’d squeeze the trigger, ending her life. In all her negotiations, she’d never been this close to death. Sweat rolled down her back and beaded above her lip.

      “Clyde, c’mon,” Bonnie said. “We stay here any longer and the place will be swarming with cops.”

       Yes, Clyde, run. Now. Fast. Down the street and into the arms of my team.

      He stared at Skyler’s phone and didn’t respond.

       Please, God, don’t let this be the end.

      A sick smile spread across Clyde’s thin lips, revealing teeth rotted from a meth addiction and confirming her suspicions of drug use. She braced herself for his finger curling on the metal. The report of gunfire. The weapon jerking in her mouth. Death taking hold.

      “Jake, huh,” he said, his sneer widening. “You didn’t just text him—you called him, too.” He lifted the phone to his mouth. “Well, Jake.” He jiggled the gun, and Skyler’s heart threatened to stop beating. “Sorry you hurried on over here. You cost this pretty little lady her life.”

      His finger slid to the trigger. “Say buh-bye to Jake, missy. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

      * * *

      Adrenaline spurring him on, FBI Agent Logan Hunter approached the police barricade outside the bank robbery in progress. He’d caught the perfect break. He’d just gotten into town, when the call came in about Bonnie and Clyde. His team was en route to the standoff, but as the case agent tasked with bringing in the robbers, Logan was in the right place at a critical moment. True, he still had to convince the local authorities to let him in on the action, but that was a piece of cake.

      He paused to take in the scene and plan his approach. He’d been briefed on the unique First Response Squad—a division of the county sheriff’s department—on the way over. He spotted the man who was clearly their commander, Lieutenant Jake Marsh, standing outside their large white command truck. He was talking to the team’s sniper, who was unzipping a rifle case. Both were dressed in the team uniform of black tactical pants and polo shirts, but the sniper added a СКАЧАТЬ