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Joe’s skills rested with people. He had a charming way with others. He knew it. Everybody knew it. Joe excelled at talking to people, listening to them, making them feel comfortable. He was likable, a cool kid. The type of person people wanted to be around.
It wasn’t an act. Joe honestly cared about people, even the hostage-takers he was sent to talk to. So he tried his damnedest to connect with the people in these situations, to listen to them and see what he could do so everyone could leave the situation alive. If Joe did his job right, nobody had to get hurt.
If he didn’t do his job right, the Dereks and Lillians with the guns came in with a different solution.
Most of the time Joe successfully completed his mission and nobody was harmed. Sometimes there was no other way and the bad guys got wounded or worse. Joe was trained—and wasn’t hesitant—to make the hard call when he knew he wasn’t going to be able to neutralize the situation and SWAT needed to step in and take the tangos out. That situation wasn’t Joe’s preference, but he didn’t lose sleep when it happened.
Every once in a while something went terribly wrong and innocent people got hurt. Joe touched a burn scar at the base of his neck, one that continued over his shoulder and partway down his back. Innocent people had been hurt that day a year ago. Innocent people had died.
Joe planned to use his skills today to make sure another situation like that didn’t happen again.
Derek and Jon began arguing over the name of the woman the press had spotted Joe with a few days before Natasha during an Omega case in Austin, Texas.
“Her name was Kerri. I’m telling you.” Jon’s voice came crisply through the headphones. “Kerri with an i. I remember it clear as day.”
“No,” Derek said. “That was the one before. Austin was Kelli. But also with an i.”
Joe wondered what Derek’s brilliant wife, Molly, the crime lab director at Omega, and Jon’s fiancée, Sherry Mitchell, a hugely talented forensic artist, would have to say about their men’s topic of conversation.
No doubt they would find it as ridiculous as Joe did.
Joe remembered both Kerri and Kelli. He’d had dinner with one, a drink at a bar with the other. Nothing more. Just like the night at the hotel with Natasha when Joe had walked her, admittedly arm in arm, to her room. And left her there.
Because, hell, nobody could be as much of a Casanova as the press wanted to label him. God knew he wasn’t a monk, but sometimes the women he was with were just pleasant company—clothes on—and nothing more.
But Joe hated to deny his colleagues their fun.
“Would you like me to settle this, boys?” he asked, sighing.
“For the love of all that is holy, please yes, Matarazzo, settle this.” Lillian’s higher voice cut through the baritone of the three men.
“You’re both wrong. It was Kerri and Kelli. Both of them in Austin. Together.” Joe smiled as he told the lie.
If they wanted Casanova he would give it to them. He knew he probably shouldn’t since it reinforced what his colleagues already thought to be the truth about him: that he was less part of the Omega team and more like a novelty. But Joe was great at figuring out what people needed and becoming that, at least for a little while. A distraction en route to a troublesome situation? No problem.
Hatton and Derek both groaned, neither knowing whether to believe him.
“I’m going to check some of the gossip sites when I get back to HQ,” Hatton threatened.
“You do that,” Joe responded. “Because you know everything they publish can be taken as gospel.”
Silence fell as they flew the last few miles and Lillian landed the helicopter on the roof helipad of a building that had been cleared two blocks from First National Bank of South Denver. Temporary home of two bad guys and a dozen or so hostages.
Lillian landed and switched off the rotors. “Time to go to work, boys.”
Joe slid the door open and he and Derek both ducked their heads and briskly made their way down the stairs, out of the building and over to the bank. Jon quickly joined them as they found the officer in charge. Lillian would be there after she took care of the helicopter. Jokes and talk about Joe’s exploits ceased. Omega now had a job to do.
The older man shook everyone’s hand. “I’m Sheriff Richardson. We appreciate you coming out so quickly.”
“We need the most up-to-date intel you have,” Derek told the sheriff. Joe was glad the locals had called Omega and egos hadn’t come into play. Situations like this tended to be delicate enough without law enforcement working against each other.
Richardson nodded. “We have two men in their midtwenties holding, as best as we can tell, sixteen people hostage inside the bank. Two of those hostages are children. They’ve been inside for two hours and we haven’t been able to speak with them, despite trying multiple times.”
Richardson turned from Derek to Joe. “You’re the negotiator, right? The city has a good one of our own, but she had a baby a couple of days ago. She was still going to come in but I put a stop to that immediately.”
Joe nodded. “That was the right decision. I won’t let you down, Sheriff. I’ll do my very best to get everyone out safely.”
“Do you have building plans for the bank, Sheriff?” Derek asked.
“Yes.” He gestured over to a younger man who brought them over. Lillian joined them, and she, Derek and Hatton were soon poring over the plans.
Joe took a deep breath, looking out at the small bank. He couldn’t see anything happening inside. The Denver County police didn’t have a sizable SWAT team, but it did appear like they had a couple of marksmen. He knew Derek and Lillian were both expert sharpshooters also.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Why were the hostage-takers here at this particular bank? Had they tried to rob it then got stuck so took hostages? Robbing a bank wasn’t a very smart move and didn’t have a high success rate, but people did desperate things sometimes.
There were kids inside. That upped the ante a lot. Joe’s natural inclination was to march up to the door right now, even without backup. But he knew to set wheels in motion before Derek and the team were ready could spell disaster for everyone.
“Derek, there are kids, man,” Joe said softly. He knew he didn’t have to remind his friend of that—with his pregnant wife, it would be in the forefront of Derek’s mind, too—but couldn’t help himself. “They’ve already been in there a long time. Let me know which direction you’ll be coming from if it goes south and I’ll get started. At least get the kids out.”
“There’s not a lot of good options with a bank this old that was built in the fifties,” Derek muttered, studying the plans more intently. “It looks like the roof will be our best bet. Probably a ventilation shaft. We might have to send Lillian through alone if it’s too small.”
Lillian alone would be plenty enough to put down two tangos. Joe nodded at her; she winked at him. Despite her beauty, he had never tried to make a move on her. He knew better than to hit on a woman who made a living shooting people.
“Okay,” Joe said. “What’s today’s go-signal?”
The team always had a phrase and action, both meant only to be used as a last resort, that Joe could use to signal SWAT that the situation inside was out of hand and they needed to use deadly force.
“Word is sunglasses.” Derek glanced up from the plans. “Action is putting your sunglasses on your head.”
Joe’s shades were in the pocket of his shirt. Unlike the other Omega members, all wearing full combat gear and bulletproof vests, Joe was wearing a black T-shirt, jeans and casual brown boots. It was important that he seem