The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

A doctor, Mike thought, adrenaline spiking, and wondered what had happened to the man whose white coat he’d stolen.

“He’s reaching into his back pocket, wait, I saw a flash, not sure if it’s a blade or a gun.”

The bathroom door was cracked. Nicholas looked at Mike through the small gap. She nodded. He signaled to Carrie, who rolled a bit onto her side, away from the door, making sure her red hair was showing. He looked back at Mike, saw her hands on her Glock, double grip, loose and ready.

Nicholas hoped Spenser was carrying a gun. No one liked close quarters and a knife.

“He’s twenty feet away now. Ten. Five.”

Come on, come on, come on, you bugger.

“He’s stopped. He’s turning. Oh, crap!”

Nicholas’s earpiece exploded into a cacophony of curses. He heard shoving, a thud against the wall, shouts. “What the bloody hell has happened?” he whispered into his wrist unit.

“He’s taken a nurse. He has a knife to her throat. It’s already bloody, but not from her. If you get a clear shot, take it.”

“No, we can’t shoot him. We need him alive.”

Another man’s voice in his ear: “Why don’t you come out and see what’s happening for yourself, Special Agent? I know you’re in there.”

• • •

Mike heard Spenser loud and clear, telling Nicholas to come out of the room. He’d gotten onto their comms channel. He was here, less than ten feet away, and here she was stuck in the bathroom. Unless Spenser came into the room, all she could do was wait, and be ready. She kept looking through the crack in the bathroom door into the hospital room. Nicholas motioned to her. He had a pen out and was writing on his hand. He held up his palm toward her.

I’m going out. He thinks there’s only one of us in here.

She shook her head, pointing to Carrie, to the door, then swiping her hand in front of her throat in a cutting motion.

Matthew’s voice came over the comms again. “Come out, Agent, don’t be afraid of what I’ll do. I only want to talk to her. I only want to say I’m sorry.”

Nicholas wrote Plan B on his hand.

What was Plan B?

But she knew, of course. Nicholas was going cowboy.

Spenser’s voice was soft and persuasive over the comms: “If you don’t let me come in and talk to Vanessa, I’ll cut this lady’s lovely throat.”

Mike watched, helpless, as Nicholas disappeared from view. If he survived this, she fully intended to kill him.

• • •

Nicholas took it all in in a millisecond—Cindy Carlisle was a pretty nurse with short, spiky blond hair and a wonderful smile she’d given him when they’d stepped onto the floor to set up the op. Spenser was holding her tight against him, his arm around her throat, a bloody knife against her flesh. She was the perfect shield.

Nicholas had supposed if he ever saw Spenser up close, he’d see madness in his eyes, but it wasn’t true. Hate had twisted Spenser, but it didn’t show on the outside. He was handsome, his face smooth, his eyes intelligent, clear, focused on Nicholas’s face. He looked calm, as if he were in a college seminar, not in a death dance. With the doctor’s white coat, he fit right in, except for the bloody knife at Cindy’s throat, digging in slightly, drawing a drop of blood, to show he was serious. Cindy wasn’t moving, was barely breathing.

Four agents stood around him, weapons drawn. One false twitch, and Spenser would be dead, the nurse, too. They couldn’t risk it.

Nicholas held his gun in his palm, finger off the trigger, nose pointing skyward, his other hand up, too. Open. Vulnerable.

“Drop the knife, Mr. Spenser. You can come in and talk to Vanessa, but I’m covering you every second. You try anything and I will shoot you, understand?”

“You’re Drummond. It’s nice to meet you. I’m the Bishop.”

“No, you’re Matthew Spenser. The other name, it’s nonsense and you know it.”

Matthew stared at the big man, heard the Brit accent and wondered at it. “I’m telling you the truth. I want to speak to Vanessa, tell her I’m sorry. Will she live? The hospital records said she was critical. She survived two surgeries?”