LITMIR.BIZ

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it could be in this way.

      For a moment he managed to keep his peace. But, damn her, she just had to react. Schultz cradled her face and she stepped back and pushed his hand away.

      “Hey, hey, hey, little girl. You don’t want to get hurt, do you? Be nice.”

      Nick stepped up, swinging Schultz around.

      “Leave her alone, dammit. We’re here for a reason.”

      “What? Are you sweet on her yourself?” Schultz asked him, his tone edgy. “You think this is merchandise you keep all for yourself?”

      “I’m not merchandise!” Kody snapped.

      “I want her to find what Dillinger wants, and I want to get the hell out of here!” Nick said. He was as tall as Schultz; he had a lot more muscle and he was well trained. In a fair fight, Schultz wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

      There were no fair fights here, he reminded himself. He had to keep an even keel.

      “Leave her alone and let her get back to work,” he said. “Get your mind on the job to be done here.”

      “Shouldn’t you be up in one of the front towers?” Capone asked Schultz. “Isn’t that your job in all this?”

      Schultz gave them all a sweeping and withering glare. Then he turned and left.

      Capone was staring at Nick. “Maybe you should get your mind on the job, too, Barrow,” he suggested.

      “And you,” Nick added softly.

      Capone continued to stare at him.

      It went no further as Dillinger came striding into the room. He ignored Capone and Nick and walked straight to the desk and Kody.

      “How long?” he asked her.

      “How long? You’re asking me to do something no one has managed in decades,” Kody said.

      “You’re got two hours,” Dillinger said. “Two hours. They’re bringing in a hostage negotiator. Don’t make me prove that I will kill.”

      “I’m doing my best,” Kody said.

      “Where’s the phone in this room?” Dillinger asked.

      “On the table by the door, next to the Tiffany lamp,” Kody said.

      “What the hell is a Tiffany lamp?” Dillinger demanded, leaning in on Kody.

      “There. Right there, boss,” Nick said, pointing out the elegant little side table with the lamp and the white trim-line phone. He walked over to it and saw that the volume was off.

      “Ready for calls,” he told Dillinger.

      “Good. We’ll manage it from here. Capone, get on down and help Nelson with the hostages. Schultz is in the eagle’s seat in the right tower. Floyd’s in the left. And we’ve got our good old boy, our very own private Machine Gun Kelly, in the back. Don’t trust those hostages, though. I’m thinking if we have to get rid of a few, we’ll be in better shape.”

      “No, we won’t be,” Nick said flatly. “You hurt a hostage, it tells the cops that they’re not doing any good with negotiation. We have to keep them believing they’re getting everyone back okay. That’s the reason they’ll hold off. If they think we’re just going to kill people, they’ll storm us, figuring to kill us before we kill the hostages. That’s the logic they teach, trust me,” Nick told Dillinger.

      Dillinger shrugged, looking at the phone. “Well, we’ll give them a little time, if nothing else. So, Miss Cameron, just how are you doing?”

      Dakota Cameron looked up and stared at Dillinger, then cocked her head at an angle. “Looking for a needle in a haystack?” she asked. “I’m moving some hay out of the way, but there’s still a great deal to go. You do realize—”

      “Yes, yes,” Dillinger said impatiently. “Yes, everyone has looked for years. But not because their lives were at stake. You’re holding so many precious souls in your hands, Miss Cameron. I’m just so sure that will help you follow every tiny lead to just where the treasure can be found.”

      “Well, I’ll try to keep a clear head here,” she said. “At the moment, my mind is not hampered with grief over losing anyone, and you really should keep it that way. I mean, if you want me to find out anything for you.”

      Nick wished he could have shut her up somehow; he couldn’t believe she was taunting a man who was half-crazy and holding the lives of so many people in his hands.

      He had to admire her bravado—even as he wished she didn’t have it.

      But Dillinger laughed softly beneath his mask.

      “My dear Miss Cameron, you do have more balls than half the men I find myself working with!” Dillinger told her. “Excellent—if you have results. If you don’t, well, it will just make it all the easier to shut you up!”

      She wasn’t even looking at Dillinger anymore. She’d turned her attention back to the journal spread open before her.

      “Let me work,” she said softly.

      Dillinger grunted. He took a seat in one of the chairs by the wall of the library, near the phone.

      Nick walked to the windows, looking out at the gardens in the front of the house, the driveway and—at a distance—the wall and the great iron gates that led up to the house.

      More and more cars were beginning to arrive—marked police cars, unmarked cars belonging to the FBI and other law-enforcement agencies.

      He wondered how Dillinger could believe he might get out of this alive.

      And then he wondered just how the hell any of them were going to get out alive.

      The phone began to ring. Dakota Cameron jumped in her chair, nearly leaping from it.

      Nick nearly jumped himself.

      Dillinger rose and picked up the phone. “Hello? Dillinger here. How can I help you? Other than keeping the hostages alive... Let’s see, how can you help me? Well, I’ll begin to explain. Right now, everyone in the house is breathing. We have some employees, we have some guests... What we want is more time, really good speed boats—cigarettes or Donzis will do. Now, of course, we need a couple because a few of these good people will be going with us for just a bit when we leave. We’ll see to it that you get them all back alive and well as long as we get what we want.”

      Nick wished he was on an extension. He wanted to hear what was being said.

      He saw Dillinger nod. “How bright of you to ask so quickly! Yes, there is a missing child, too, isn’t there? An important little boy—son of a mayor! Ah, well, all children are important, aren’t they...? Mr. Frasier? Ah! Sorry, Special Agent Frasier. FBI. They’ve brought in the big guns. Let’s go with this—right now, I want time. You give me some time and you arrange for those boats. To be honest, I’m working on a way to give you back that kid I scooped up. Not a bad kid, in the least. I liked him. I’d hate for him to die of neglect, caged and chained and forgotten. So, you work on those boats.”

      Nick saw Dakota Cameron frown as she’d heard the name Frasier. Not that Frasier was a rare name, but Kody was good friends with Kevin Finnegan and therefore friends with his sister Kieran—and so she knew Craig. She had to be puzzled, wondering first if he was indeed the same man a friend was dating and, if so, what he was doing in South Florida.

      She looked up from her ledger. She was staring at Dillinger hard, brows knit in a frown.

      A moment later Dillinger set the receiver back in the cradle. He seemed to be pleased with himself.

      “You kidnapped a child?” she asked.

      “I like to have a backup plan,” Dillinger said.

      “You have all of us.”

      “Yes.

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