Once I was behind everyone, I crouched low and slowly unzipped my jacket. Being a SEAL, stealth had become a habit, and I carried a suppressor with my subsonic 9mm. I withdrew both and screwed the silencer on.
A few of the hostages were gazing at me with worried expressions, and a nervous few looked as though they might cause a ruckus, drawing the robbers back into the room. I met their gazes with a look of authority and warning. Then I locked eyes with a few who looked like they could help keep them calm and lifted my chin. I received nods in return so I focused on the robber once more.
I held my weapon under my jacket, watching and waiting for the right opportunity. When the silence was broken by the sound of police sirens, the robber skipped his scan of us and walked over to the window to peek through the slatted shades.
Removing my pistol, I aimed and waited until the very last second, allowing the sirens to become louder and hopefully muffle the sound of my gunshot. Silencers only suppressed the noise so much, and I didn’t want the crew in the back to realize I’d taken out their man.
Thankfully, the criminal telegraphed his movements, and police cars had reached the building by the time he made a move to turn around. I slowly straightened and took aim. Before he noticed me, I had a clear shot and put a bullet in his temple. He dropped to the ground, and I shot another warning glance at a woman who tried to scream. Thankfully, someone pressed their hand over her mouth before she made a sound.
I made my way to the fallen robber, checking to make sure he was dead, even though I had no doubt. Then I removed both of his guns, unloaded them, and set them on a desk. When the phone rang, I thanked my lucky stars that I was standing right in front of it. I grabbed it up before the first ring was done.
The woman on the other side of the line introduced herself and asked who she was speaking with.
“Lieutenant Huntley Reed,” I replied in a low tone. “I’m with the other hostages in the front lobby. Currently unguarded because I took one of their men out.”
Before she could ask any more questions, which would only try my patience since I was used to efficiency, I gave her the rundown of everything I knew. The only time I nearly lost my cool was when I told her they’d taken “one of the tellers” to the back with the manager.
“I’ll unlock the front so you can begin helping the hostages, but your men better be fucking silent because if they alert one of the other robbers and that teller is killed, I’ll have their careers and their heads.”
She started to say something else, her tone indignant, and I growled, “You can send your best man to go with me, but I will go after those hostages.” I hung up while she sputtered, then crept over to the front door and quietly flipped the lock. Two men in bulletproof vests and police uniforms came in and went right to the group of scared patrons. A third walked in and nodded to me, his vest indicating he was FBI. From the way he carried himself, his haircut, and the belt perfectly straight with the gig line, this guy was active or former military.
I cocked my head toward the back, and he nodded, drawing his weapon. He silently followed me as I headed for the door to the teller area. There was a small bank of televisions, and I glanced over them all until I spotted the three men at the vault. One was holding the manager, and the other had an arm wrapped around my girl.
That motherfucker wouldn’t be carrying that limb around for long.
We crept down the hallway, listening carefully. When we were around the corner from the vault, someone spoke. “We don't need two.”
“Better leverage,” another grunted.
“Maybe,” the first guy muttered. “As long as I get to be in charge of this tasty piece of ass, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
The agent with me must have seen the rage and murderous intention on my face because he grabbed my arm in an iron grip and shook his head. I took two long, deep breaths and mentally shouted at myself to remember my training. I’d never allowed myself to be distracted during a mission, but apparently, when it involved Cora, all of my skills went out the fucking window.
“We’re about done,” a third voice—I was pretty sure it was the brick house—grunted. “Larry, lock the hostages in the break room and head back here.”
Silence…
“Larry?”
Silence…
“Want me to check on him?”
“No, we need to get the fuck out of here before the police storm the building. Something has happened to him, or he’s not paying attention. Either way, I’m leaving.”