answered quickly. “He’s male, he’s urban, he has below average intelligence. These are people who turn to violence as an answer. It’s not the boss at the steel plant, it’s not the manager at the oil company. It’s the worker, Jennifer. The poor slob at the bottom who has no control over his life.” He paused. “He has nothing to lose. He thinks it’s hopeless anyway.”
“I understand how you could read it that way, but you don’t know him the way I do—”
“And you don’t know everything I know.” He bit off the words, as if he’d said more than he’d planned. “Just help me out, okay? Are the kids still at the back of the room?”
“Yes.”
“It’s imperative you keep them back there. I’ll bring the truck down the street as soon as I see Howard at the window. You just get him over there.”
“Okay.”
She started to hang up, but before she could put the receiver down, she heard his voice say her name. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Yes?”
Static rippled over the line, faint and barely discernable. The noise made her wonder if they were being recorded. “Be careful, Jennifer. Just…be careful.”
She started to answer, then realized he was gone. Hanging up the phone, she looked over at Howard and said a silent prayer.
BECK WIPED HIS FACE and looked over at Lena. “Is the truck here yet?”
“There’s a traffic tie-up on Highway 98. One Q-Tip rammed another. Surprise, surprise. The road’s blocked in both directions, but Dispatch said they’d have it moving in just a few minutes. It should get here anytime.”
Beck shook his head. Everyone on the force called the older local residents “Q-Tips” because they all had white hair and wore tennis shoes to match. Florida had its share of elderly drivers, but Beck wasn’t sure they were any worse than the tourists who drank too much then got on the road. At least the older people drove slowly.
Lena ducked her head toward the building. “How are they doing? The teacher holding up?”
“She’s the only reason there hasn’t been gunfire yet. She’s keeping French appeased and the kids quiet.”
He stared out the window of the motor home into the dusk. They’d cut the electricity to the school and the building had fallen into darkness as soon as the summer sun had dipped behind them, rimming the school in gold. Occasionally he saw the beam of a flashlight near the rear of the room. Beck wasn’t surprised to see the teacher was prepared. Classrooms were supposed to have emergency supplies in case of hurricanes, but people forgot, and batteries went bad. Not in Miss Barclay’s class, though. He’d bet money she had the correct number of bandages and aspirin as well.
Lena sank into a chair by his side, her fingers going to the shuffle of papers beside the phone. She picked out Jennifer’s photo, studying it intently. Without looking at him, she spoke. “She’s pretty.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Lena’s head came up. “Right.”
He flicked his eyes toward the picture, but immediately returned his gaze to the school. He didn’t need the fuzzy image anymore—Jennifer’s face was planted firmly in his brain. Too firmly, in fact. It’d be a while before he was able to get those brown eyes out of his mind, no matter how this all ended. They sat without talking for a few minutes, then Lena spoke once more. “Did you tell her to get him to the window?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d she say?”
He turned and looked at her. “I didn’t explain why—”
“Of course not.”
He turned back. “She’ll do it.”
Lena leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Beck, listen. I know you don’t agree, but we can’t let this go on forever—”
Lena had taken off her headset and had been using a radio. It came to life with garbled speech. She pushed the button on the side and barked, “What is it?”
“The truck’s here.” Lincoln Hood, one of the entry men, spoke, the noise of the crowd behind him filtering into the radio’s microphone along with his voice. “I’m switching places with the driver right now, then I’ll bring it down the street when you’re ready.”
“Go slow, Linc,” Tamirisa said immediately. “Less than five miles an hour, okay?”
“No problem.”
Beck resisted looking at Lena. She stood and paced the tiny aisle. “Listen, Randy—French is going to be facing the window, looking down the street. Are you sure it’s going to be a cold shot? If it isn’t, I don’t want you taking it. Not with those kids in there.”
When he’d been younger and gung ho, the euphemisms had meant something to Beck. They’d made him feel as if he were part of a secret club that ordinary cops didn’t belong to; now the words made him feel tired and old. Why didn’t she just say what she meant?
Can you kill the guy with one shot?
“It’ll be so cold, you’ll freeze.” Randy’s cocky answer spilled into the room with arrogance. “Hear that, Officer Winters?”
“That’s enough. I’m not giving you the green light yet,” she snapped. “The man’s promised Beck he’ll talk so let’s see how it goes down first.” She turned and motioned for Beck to pick up the phone. “Beck’s calling now to get him in place. On my word, Linc, you go. If necessary, if necessary, I’ll give you the code, Randy, otherwise, standard ops are in effect. Heads up, everyone. This is it.”
JENNIFER JUMPED when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
“Everyone okay?”
“We’re fine.”
“Then it’s time. We’ve got the truck and we’re bringing it down the street. You need to get Howard to the window.”
Although it was just as calm and reassuring as always, his voice sounded different. The tension was getting to him, too, Jennifer thought. How could he do this day after day? What kind of man would want this crazy life?
“All right,” she said. “We’re going right now—”
“Not you!” Beck’s voice went up, then he spoke again, in a more reasonable tone. “That’s not necessary. Use this time to calm the children. Go back to where they are and wait there.”
The suggestion seemed perfectly reasonable.
“Okay,” she answered.
“Let me talk to him first.”
Holding the receiver at her side, she turned to Howard. He was standing right beside her, the rifle cradled in his arms, crossed before his chest. “They want you at the window, Howard. Your truck is here. But Officer Winters needs to talk to you first.”
“No.”
