“I can’t face her if I’ve failed.” Jacob’s voice cracked.
“You haven’t failed her.” Cassie held his gaze. “Loving someone enough to risk everything for them—that’s never failure.”
His arm trembled, the gun wavering slightly.
“Emily needs her big brother,” she continued. “Not a memory, not a story about what happened to him. She needs you there, beside her, holding her hand. Every step of the way.”
The shrill, jarring ring of a telephone cut through the tension. It was the landline on the bank officer’s desk. It rang once. Twice. From outside, a new sound boomed through the thick glass of the bank doors. “Jacob Henderson, this is Sheriff Brody. Pick up the phone. Let’s talk about this.”
Jacob flinched, his head snapping toward the sound, his wild eyes darting between the door and the ringing phone. The gun wavered. This was the moment. He was losing control, caught between the external threat of the police and the internal storm of his own desperation.
“Jacob, look at me.” Cassidy’s voice cut through his panic, pulling his focus back to her. “The sheriff is a good man. He just wants to talk.” She took a single, slow step forward, making herself the sole focus. A tactical move. “You should answer it.”
“They’ll arrest me,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“Yes.” She nodded. If she understood one thing about negotiating, it was that she could not lie to him. Could not risk losing his trust. “They will. But what happens after that… we can work on that. Together. I promised I would help you, and I will. My husband,” the word felt solid, real on her tongue, “is a Sergeant First Class in the United States Army. He’ll help. His family will help. They know lawyers. Good lawyers.” Oh, how she hoped she wasn’t lying. “And if you let me have that gun, he’ll make sure when the police come inside, they won’t hurt you. It’s the only way, Jacob. One step at a time.”
She saw the flicker of comprehension, the dawning realization of the forces arrayed against him.
“You have to put the gun down. Now.” She took a chance and extended her arm, palm open and up.
Nothing. At least he wasn’t pulling the trigger.
“Jacob. It’s the only way to help Emily. Do this for Emily.”
It was his sister’s name that did it. A ragged sob tore from his throat. Something in his face crumpled. The gun lowered, inch by inch. “I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled.
“Give me the gun,” she repeated. “And we’ll tell the police it’s over.”
For one breathless moment, the world balanced on a knife’s edge. Then, with a broken sob, Jacob placed the weapon in her outstretched palm. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
Relief flooded through her. Extending her arm, she glanced at Kade. No words were needed. As Jacob fell into her arms sobbing, no longer an angry threat but a broken child, Kade took the gun, engaged the safety, set it on a desk far from people, and opened the doors to the street.
“It will be okay,” she murmured to the still sobbing teen.
Quickly, the sheriff and his officers came to her side, each one assessing the situation. “Anyone wounded?”
“No,” Cassie answered. “No, we’re all fine.”
Glancing around, the sheriff seemed confused. It took a moment for him to realize that the sobbing teen wasn’t a scared victim but the perpetrator of today’s hostage crisis. “Come with me, son.”
Jacob lifted his head from Cassie’s shoulder. Tired, questioning eyes met hers.
“Go on. It will be all right. You’ll see.”
Hands cuffed behind him, an officer escorted Jacob to a squad car while the EMTs tended to a profusely sweating investment banker. And Kade appeared at her side, his arms wrapping around her, his face buried in her hair. She clung to him, the scent of him—coffee, soap, and something uniquely Kade—filling her senses. They stood like that for a long, silent moment.
When he finally pulled back, his hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs gently brushing at her cheek. His eyes, a raw storm of emotion—relief, fear, and something so powerful it stole the breath from her lungs. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.” She actually chuckled.
Shaking his head, the slightest of smiles touched his lips. “What am I going to do with you?” He leaned his forehead against hers, his own breath shaky. “All I could think, over and over on a never-ending loop, was what would I do without you.”
The confession, torn from him in the raw aftermath of terror, was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For caring.”
