Terms Of Surrender. Kylie Brant

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      No answer. But the other man was still there. He could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. Keeping his voice easy, Dace continued. “What’s your favorite? Ham sandwiches? Pizza? We can get enough for you to feed everyone inside. But we need to talk about the boy, John. Tyler Mills. He’s only twenty-two months old. Kid that age needs diapers. Regular meals. Naps. He has to be getting cranky. Now’s the time to send him out. Believe me, you don’t want to be dealing with a two-year-old who’s short on sleep.”

      “The kid stays.” John’s voice, when he finally spoke, was flat. Emotionless. “But you can send in the food. Diapers. And something for him to drink.”

      “Good idea. I’ll get on that right away. But I want you to think more about the boy. Tyler. You don’t need him. How about an exchange, the boy for the vehicle.”

      “Like I said, I’m keeping the kid.” There was a hesitation. “But I’m a fair man. I’ll give you two different hostages. One now, and another when the food arrives.”

      Dace saw Jolie gesturing in vehement disapproval, but he answered, “Fair enough. But it’d be best to send the boy out, John. All those people inside, you don’t need him.”

      There was an eerie laugh. “I do need him. He’s my goodluck charm. Keeps your snipers from getting trigger-happy, doesn’t he?”

      “We all want a peaceful ending to this. We’re not looking for anyone to get hurt. You need to start thinking about how we can get everyone home safe. You included. That’s what’s important here.”

      “Now there’s where you’re wrong, Recker.” There was chilly amusement in the other man’s voice. “What’s important is me walking out of here with the cash. The rest is your agenda, not mine.”

      “Hey, we’re on the same page, John.” Dace didn’t let a hint of frustration tinge his words. “I don’t want anything happening to you. We’re ready to do what it takes so everyone gets what they want.”

      A click was his only answer. Dace set the phone down, raising his brows at the group. Dr. Ryder said, looking thoughtful, “I think we were dead-on with our first impression of this guy. Likes to be in control. May even be used to a position of authority. He uses a totally different tone with you, Dace, than he does with Jolie. I still think he believes she’s a soft touch because she’s a woman.” He glanced at Jolie. “No offense. But when things don’t go the way he wants, he demands to talk to the male. It’s a man he expects will be making the decisions. You also get the blame when he doesn’t like how things work out.”

      It was very possible. But an entirely different thought had been forming in Dace’s mind during the course of the last conversation. He leaned over to look at the notes Jolie had been making. He was struck at once by the similarity of their thinking. When it came to their work, at least, he and Jolie disagreed on very little. It had been their private life that had ended with neither able to communicate with the other.

      Which was ironic as hell, given their background as trained negotiators. Why did it seem so much simpler for him to talk to a sociopath like the one locked inside that bank than to the woman he’d lived with? Had a child with?

      He had a mental flash of the two of them standing at the edge of Sammy’s grave. Such a small hole for an equally tiny casket. Jolie had been standing beside him, but they hadn’t been touching. It had been as if each of them had a force field surrounding them, keeping everyone else at a distance. Family. Friends. Each other. It had been all he could do to cope with the pain gnawing a hole through his chest without howling his rage, his desolation to the world. He’d sleepwalked through the entire process. Planning the service. The funeral. Greeting the mourners. Responding to the flowers and donations that had been sent. It hadn’t been until a week afterward that the numbness had worn off, leaving only the bone-crushing grief behind.

      He hadn’t reached for Jolie then either.

      “Okay, I’m going out on a limb here.” Jolie interrupted his thoughts. “But his mention of the snipers got me thinking. We know he did his homework on the potential police response. But even given his suspicion that snipers are waiting, he walks freely across the open lobby to answer the phone each time. Yeah, he’s using the child for protection. But he’s still exposing himself to a body-mass shot that could be a back-up target as long as his head is unexposed.”

      The same thing had occurred to Dace during the last conversation. “He’s wearing Kevlar. Or hell, maybe he’s even got himself a Tac-Vest. Feels confident. Sure, it leaves his legs exposed, but the worst that could happen is getting his knee blown away. Even then, there’s plenty of time to kill the boy.”

      He looked at Johnson. “The security video…what was the suspected gunman wearing?”

      “Jeans, sneakers, long baggy UCLA sweatshirt and a matching cap pulled down low,” came the response. “Wearing a backpack. Must have had the gun concealed inside it.”

      “Smart prick,” Lewis muttered. “Went in prepared. What’s everyone’s take? Are we wearing him down at all?”

      The team members were silent for a moment. “He’s tiring,” Jolie said finally. “And the exchange is an important concession.”

      “He’s playing ball,” Dace agreed. “But I’m not ready to claim we’re anywhere near breaking him down yet.”

      Dr. Ryder agreed. “He still feels in control. The decision to release the hostages was his, made on his terms. I don’t think he’s an imminent threat. But he does still believe he’s walking out of there with the cash.”

      Lewis nodded. “I’ll let command center know about the hostage release.” He slipped out of the back door of the vehicle.

      Herb Johnson had his head down, listening to a voice on his mike. “He’s disappeared down the hallway again,” he reported.

      “There’s only the vice-president’s office and the vault down that way,” Sharper interjected. “Our guess about keeping the hostages in the vault must be right.”

      Johnson bent his head, listening to his earpiece intently. “He’s marching a man toward the door. Has the kid draped over his shoulders still. The boy is crying.”

      Dace shot a glance at Jolie, but she wasn’t looking at him. Studying her profile, however, he could see that the muscles in her jaw were tight. The involvement of the boy was hard on her. Odd how he could read her emotions better now than he’d been able to eighteen months earlier. She’d shut down then. They both had. And when he’d lashed out at her for her seeming lack of feeling, he’d been lashing out as much at himself. At fate. At a cruel God that had snatched away his greatest joy.

      Just the memory of the accusation he’d leveled sent a burn of shame through him. Unable to reach her emotionally, he’d reacted with anger. Anger was about the only feeling that hadn’t hurt back then.

      But it had hurt her. Them. Because a few short weeks after Sammy’s funeral, she’d left. And then there’d been no reaching her at all.

      “The first hostage is out,” Johnson reported. He listened a few more seconds before continuing, “It’s a man. Naked. And inside the HT’s allowing one man and one woman to use the restrooms while he watches. He doesn’t leave himself exposed.”

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