The deputy hurries to comply, returning with a bulletproof vest. I shrug off my jacket and strap it on, knowing it won’t stop everything but grateful for the protection nonetheless.
“Plan?” Taylor asks, all business now.
“I go in alone,” I tell him. “Noah wants me? He gets me. But just me. My brothers stay out here. Less chance of someone getting trigger-happy that way.”
“And once you’re in?”
“I talk him down if I can. If not…” I let the implication hang. “Priority is getting Atlee and Carson out safely.”
Taylor nods grimly. “We’ll have snipers in position, but with the way that building is laid out, they don’t have a clear shot inside the pharmacy area.”
“I’ll handle it,” I assure him. “Just keep my brothers from charging in after me, no matter what they hear.”
“Will do.” He hands me a small earpiece. “Take this. It lets us communicate if needed.”
I fit the device into my ear, testing it with a quick, “Check.”
“We hear you,” comes the reply from one of the deputies monitoring the comm system.
Jesse and Truett arrive as I’m doing a final check of my equipment. Their faces are masks of barely contained rage when they see me suited up.
“No,” Jesse says immediately, reading my intention. “We go in together.”
“Not this time,” I counter, my tone leaving no room for argument. “He wants all of us in there to maximize his chances. I’m not giving him what he wants.”
“Devlin—”
“He has Atlee,” I cut him off, my voice dropping low. “I’m not risking her life by sending in a cavalry. This is how it has to be.”
Something in my face must convince him, because he backs down, though reluctantly. “What’s your play?”
“Get in, get them out,” I say simply. “Noah’s not thinking clearly. I can use that.”
“And if he shoots you on sight?” Truett challenges.
“He won’t,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “He wants to gloat first. Wants me to know he won.”
The sheriff approaches again, his radio crackling. “We’ve got a visual on Sanchez and the hostages. They’re near the front window. Sanchez is agitated and keeps checking his watch.”
“Time to move,” I say, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension. “Keep the perimeter secure, and no matter what happens in there, don’t let anyone else in until I give the all clear. Understood?”
Taylor nods, then offers his hand. “Good luck, Nelson.”
I shake it briefly, then turn to Jesse and Truett. “If this goes south, take care of Atlee for me.”
Before they can respond, I’m moving toward the store entrance, hands raised to show I’m not holding a weapon, though I’ve got a Glock tucked in the back of my jeans, hidden beneath my shirt. Some habits die hard.
“I’m going in,” I say into the earpiece. “Maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary.”
“Copy that,” comes the terse reply.
The store is eerily quiet as I push through the front doors, the usual background music silenced. A few customers are huddled behind shelves, too frightened to make a run for the exit. I signal them to stay down, moving carefully toward the pharmacy section at the back.
Then I see them. Atlee and Carson are standing near the pharmacy window, Noah behind them with his service weapon drawn. His uniform is disheveled, eyes wild with a mixture of rage and something like fear or mania—the desperation of a man who’s lost everything and has nothing left to lose.
But all I really see is Atlee. Her eyes find mine immediately, a complex mixture of relief and terror in her gaze. She looks unharmed, though her posture is rigid with tension.
“Devlin,” Noah calls out, his voice echoing unnaturally loud in the silent store. “Finally decided to show up. Where are your brothers?”
