Dead by Midnight, Page 3

  She whimpered. “Stop teasing me.”

  It was torture for him, too. His cock ached to go deep, his blood humming with lust, his mind focused on one thing.

  Sophie.

  He bent over her, kissed her neck, nipped the sensitive skin of her nape. “You’re going to spend the rest of the night with me dripping out of you.”

  And he would spend the rest of the night with her scent all over him.

  Perfect.

  She whimpered in frustration, arching her lower back. “Please.”

  He entered her with a single, slow thrust that made them both moan, then held himself still inside her, giving himself time to harness his self-control. He wanted to take this slowly, wanted to make it last.

  A quick fuck didn’t have to be a fast fuck, after all.

  He willed himself to relax, then began to move, savoring the feel of her, her sweet pussy gripping him like a fist.

  Oh, God, yes.

  Now this was a party.

  * * *

  19:22

  Charles Baird, the new publisher, was every bit as self-centered and arrogant as Holly had believed he would be. He also loved to hear himself talk. She’d met so many men like him over the years.

  “Profitability is key to my—”

  “I completely agree.” Holly interrupted him, afraid she’d drift into a coma if she didn’t shut him up. “Newspapers are businesses first and foremost. The paper has to remain profitable to survive, and that means someone has to make tough decisions.”

  “I am that someone, as I’m sure you know.” He seemed gratified by her response, his gaze dropping to her breasts once again. “Take the I-Team, for example. We are now the only paper in Colorado to have a team of reporters dedicated to old-school investigative reporting. It’s expensive and inefficient—”

  “And such a smart investment on your part.” She willed herself to look deeply into his flat brown eyes. “It takes genius to see the deeper value of something.”

  Charles was not a genius, but he certainly liked to think he was.

  Before he could respond, she went on.

  “The other papers have given up investigative journalism because it’s expensive. They’ve made the short-sighted mistake of turning to wire copy, and now they all carry the same stories. They’ve sacrificed what made them a unique product to save money. It has cost them their edge and lost them readership.” She plucked an imaginary piece of lint off his lapel, smiled up at him. “People pick up your paper because they know they’ll read something they can’t find anywhere else. It must have been a hard decision, but I think you did the right thing—purely from a business perspective, of course.”

  He looked confused for a moment, then nodded, his gaze dropping to her breasts again. “You’ve got a good head for business, Ms. Andris.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Holly’s work here was done. Too easy. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to visit the powder room.”

  He smiled. “When you get back, I’ll buy you a drink, and we can talk more about my vision for the paper.”

  What a narcissist!

  She didn’t plan to spend another moment in his company, but she didn’t say this, of course. She smiled, touched a hand to his arm. “I can’t wait.”

  Relieved to be free of him, she turned and walked out of the room, hoping Kara and Reece were still at the British Consulate’s party. She decided against trying to enter through the main doors, instead taking the service hallway. She’d have a better chance of sneaking into the party through the Grand Ballroom’s back entrance.

  She passed a family restroom, heard moaning. Was someone in trouble?

  She slowed down, listened.

  The rhythmic bonk of something hitting the wall again and again. Muffled moans. And then a woman crying out.

  “Oh, God, Marc!”

  Sophie?

  There was a time and a place for sex, and it sounded to Holly like Sophie and her hunk of a husband had found both the time and the place.

  Fighting not to laugh, Holly glanced over her shoulder—and collided with a server pushing a draped cart.

  “Excuse me!” she said. “I guess I should watch where I’m going.”

  The server glared at her, his hand jerking on the drapery, but not before she saw what he was trying to hide.

  Jutting from beneath a white cloth was the wooden stock of an AK.

  Her adrenaline spiked—and then her training kicked in.

  Freaking perfect.

  She buried her shock, smiled. “I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Is this the Onyx Room?”

  She could smell his fear, knew he was hovering between the hope that she hadn’t seen and the impulse to strike out at her.

  Questions raced through her mind. Who was his intended target? What else did he have hidden on that cart? Would he open fire here and now? Was he here by himself, or had he arrived with friends?

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he answered her question. “No, the room you want is that way.”

  His accent was Spanish.

  She gave him a bright smile. “Thanks! I got all turned around.”

  She turned and walked with a slight wobble back the way she’d come, certain he was watching her. She needed to warn security, warn her friends.

  She turned toward the Onyx Room, glancing back to see whether he’d followed her. The moment she was certain she was out of sight, she ran up to the security guards that flanked the entrance to the ballroom.

  She kept her voice calm. “Get Ambassador DeLacy, Secretary Holmes, and the Lt. Governor out of here now. Clear the room. There’s a man dressed as a server with an AK. He’s in the service hallway, and the weapon is hidden on a service cart.”

  The guards looked at each other, then back at Holly.

  “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

  “We don’t have time for this!” Holly typed a group text to Sophie, Kat, and Kara.

  Get out now! Danger. There’s a man dressed as a server with an AK and—

  “What are you doing?”

  Before she could finish the message, one of the guards took her cell phone. She fought to hold onto it, just managing to hit “Send” before he tore it from her hands.

  “You won’t listen to me, but they will.” She spoke while he read what she’d typed. “I’m Holly Andris. I’m an operative with Cobra International Solutions, a private security firm. Give me back my phone.”

  The security guard handed it back, then spoke into his mic. “We’ve got a woman here who says she saw a man with an assault rifle in the service hallway. She says he was dressed as a waiter. She claims to work for a security firm called Cobra.”

  While he wasted precious minutes, Holly called 911. “There’s a man with an assault rifle outside the Grand Ballroom at the Palace Hotel.”

  “What is your name, ma’am?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t have time to chat.” She called Nick, which is what she ought to have done in the first place. He could pull strings higher up the flagpole than the 911 dispatcher and make things happen more quickly.

  He answered on the third ring. “What is it? I can’t talk right—”

  He was still angry, but that didn’t matter.

  “Call the police. Tell them to mobilize SWAT. I just ran into a man pretending to be a server who has smuggled an AK into the hotel. He had it hidden beneath a drape on a service cart.”

  “Get out. Now.”

  “The British Consulate General is hosting its annual Christmas party, and the Secretary of State is here. We need SWAT right away. I warned security, but I don’t think they believe me.”

  “Get the hell out of there now, before—”

  Holly saw him. “Oh, my God.”

  The assailant was standing not twenty feet away from her, watching her, panic on his face, an AKM with a thirty-round magazine in his hands.

  He raised the weapon.

  “Everyone get down!” The guard drew his si
dearm. “Drop your weapon!”

  The AK opened up.

  Rat-at-at-at! Rat-at-at-at! Rat-at-at-at!

  Screams. Shouts. The answering blast of the guard’s firearm.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Holly’s instinct was to hit the floor, but she couldn’t take cover, not yet, not with so many lives at stake. On a burst of adrenaline, she dashed across the hallway, her cell phone falling from her hands, bullets sending up a spray of plaster from the walls around her, people lying on the floor, terror on their faces.

  Shit!

  Heart thrumming, she reached out—and pulled the fire alarm.

  Blinding pain exploded against her skull.

  And then … nothing.

  3

  Chapter Three

  19:28

  “Holly?” Nick Andris heard the rattle of the AK, found himself on his feet, shouting into his cell phone. “Holly!”

  “What is it, man?” Javier Corbray, his boss, looked down at him from the viewscreen on the wall.

  Nick’s heart hammered, adrenaline scattering his thoughts. “There’s an active shooter at the Palace Hotel. Holly said she’d seen a man with an AK. He was pretending to be a server. Then she said, ‘Oh, my God,’ and the shooter opened fire.”

  “What the …?”

  Nick’s mind raced. Had she been shot? What had her last words meant? Had the shooter aimed his weapon at her?

  The thought sickened him. He’d almost lost her once already.

  If she’d been shot…

  No.

  He fought to control his emotions. He didn’t have time for fear. Holly—and everyone else at the hotel—needed him to take action. “She said the British Consulate General is hosting a party, and the Secretary of State is there. I’m calling police dispatch.”

  “I’ll call the White House.”

  Nick made the call, identified himself, reported what he’d been told. From the viewscreen speakers, he could hear Corbray sharing the basics with the president’s chief of staff, who would probably turn it all over to the FBI.

  “Are you at the scene?” dispatch asked.

  “No. My wife is there. She called me. I heard gunshots over the phone.” It took all his self-control not to shout.

  “We’re getting other calls coming in. I’ve taken down your information, sir, but because you’re not at the scene, I’m letting you go.”

  “Thanks.” Nick ended the call, reached for the remote, looked up at the camera. “I’m going to the Palace Hotel to get Holly.”

  “Wait, bro, you can’t just go charging in—”

  Nick ended the video conference, cutting Corbray off mid-sentence. He left the conference room and ran to his weapons locker, Holly’s last words to him echoing in his mind, panic coiling with dread and a sense of helplessness in his gut.

  He’d been short with her today, saying things he regretted, and now…

  Now he might never get the chance to apologize.

  Fuck that.

  She would be okay. She had to be okay.

  He entered the combination to his locker and jerked it open, trading his suit and tie for night BDUs, weapons, and a bag of tactical gear. He skipped the elevator and took the stairs two at a time down to the parking garage.

  He heard squealing tires and saw Derek Tower, his other boss and co-owner of Cobra, speeding toward him in one of the company’s bullet-proof SUVs. Tower drew to a stop in front of him, threw open the passenger side door. “Corbray called. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  19:28

  Pepe heard the gunfire, the screams, the wail of the fire alarm.

  !Coño!

  Not yet! It wasn’t time!

  Something had gone wrong. No one was supposed to move until 19:30. The plan was to close in on the hotel all at once from all directions, blocking the exits to make certain no one got out.

  Now, people flooded out the hotel’s front doors, men, women, and children, some screaming, some crying, their faces pinched by fear.

  “Man, someone’s firing a gun,” one of the other valets said. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

  Then security guards in black suits pushed their way through the throng, guiding the British ambassador out to the limo that pulled up to the curb.

  And like that, one of their three prime hostages was gone.

  In the distance, he heard sirens.

  Either they acted now, or this past year would be a waste, and his uncle…

  ¡Madre de Dios!

  His uncle would cut him to pieces—or worse, throw him to the snakes.

  Pepe swore, grabbed his cell phone, and typed in a text message, sent a group SMS to his men.

  Vamos a rumbear.

  Let’s party.

  * * *

  19:28

  Marc covered Sophie’s body with his own, his pants still down around his knees, his nervous system caught between sexual climax and an adrenaline rush. Gunshots pierced the unholy din of the fire alarm. There were two shooters—one with what sounded like an AK-47 and the other with some kind of high-caliber semi-auto. The second was almost certainly one of the security guards.

  Whoever had tripped the alarm deserved a medal. It would bring the fire department and ambulances to treat the wounded, and it would also bring the DPD. But what they really needed was Marc’s team. They needed SWAT.

  He thrust his hand in his pocket, drew out his cell, dialed Chief Irving. “It’s Hunter. We’ve got an active shooter at the Palace Hotel. I say again, an active shooter at the Palace Hotel. Mobilize my team.”

  “I copy Hunter. Are you armed?”

  “Yes, but I’m not in the same room as the shooter.” He filled Irving in, telling him everything he knew.

  “Stay on the line while I call dispatch.”

  “Copy that.” Marc waited.

  Irving was back in a blink. “Dispatch says they’ve already received several calls. I’ve mobilized SWAT. I’ll let the Denver office of the FBI know, too, in case we’re looking at a hostage grab. The troops are on their way.”

  Then, as abruptly as it had started, the shooting stopped.

  “It stopped.”

  “See what you can find out. And Hunter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m officially placing you on duty. You’ll be our eyes and ears.”

  “Do I get paid OT for this?”

  “Smartass.”

  “Copy that. I’ll get back to you.”

  Not certain whether the shooting was truly over, Marc got to his feet, helped Sophie to stand, then yanked up his pants and zipped his fly. “Lock the door behind me, then go into the bathroom stall, shut the door, and crouch down in the back corner. Make yourself into as small a target as possible. Don’t come out until I call for you.”

  She looked up at him through terrified blue eyes, her face pale. “Wh-what are you going to do?”

  He hated the son of a bitch who’d put fear in her heart.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on.” He slipped out of his dinner jacket and cummerbund and handed both to her. “Get in there, and stay put. Got it?”

  “Yes. But Hunt?”

  “Yeah, sprite?” He took his duty badge out of his pocket and clipped it to the waistband of his trousers.

  “Be careful.”

  He kissed her. “Always.”

  He drew his weapon and opened the door just a crack. Hotel staff and party guests lay on the ground the length of the service hallway, terrified expressions on their faces. They seemed to be uninjured. In the distance, he heard a man shouting.

  “Everyone, stay down!”

  Did the voice belong to security or the shooter?

  What he wouldn’t give to be in uniform now, not just because he’d be protected by body armor and carrying a lot more firepower, but also because he wouldn’t have to waste time proving who he was. Dressed like this, he might be anyone. If he stepped out and security mistook him for another shooter, he’d end up full of holes, and w
ouldn’t that just ruin his fancy shirt?

  “Marc!” Sophie said.

  He shut the door again. “What is it?”

  “I got a text from Holly warning us to get out. She said the shooter was dressed as a server and had an AK.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Holding fast to the SIG, he stepped out, heard the door lock behind him.

  * * *

  19:31

  Reece stayed down like the security detail had ordered, his body covering Kara’s.

  “Lt. Gov. Sheridan, we’ve secured the rear entrance, and we’re taking you and Secretary Holmes out that way.”

  Reece got to his feet, helped Kara up, her gaze meeting his, her face expressionless apart from the shock in her eyes. Over by the main doors, a member of the security team was draping table linens over the bodies of the two security guards who had stood sentry at the door. Another security guard sat back against the wall, his white shirt covered with blood.

  “What about Ambassador DeLacy?”

  “He and his team have already left the building.”

  “And everyone else here? What about the injured?” It felt strange to leave rather than staying to help.

  Then again, Reece wanted to get Kara away from this place.

  “Ambulances are en route, sir. Most of the hotel guests and staff have already evacuated the building thanks to the fire alarm, but we’re locking down the mezzanine level until we’re certain the shooter had no accomplices. We don’t want wolves escaping because they hid among the sheep.”

  “Good work.”

  Secretary Holmes met them at the back door of the ballroom, her mouth a grim line, the faint whiff of cigarette smoke following her. “Will my car be waiting? I don’t want to walk around the block in this cold with armed crazies out there.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The car should be waiting for us.”

  The three surviving and uninjured security guards closed ranks around them, guiding them out of the ballroom to a service hallway and then toward the exit.

  “A man with a gun!” someone shouted.

  Everyone gasped and whirled, the security guards pivoting with weapons raised.