Crossfire

Press Release

From: Max Zirinsky, Chief of Police, Courage Bay

To: KSEA Television Re: Hostage situation at City Hall

This morning at approximately 7:30 a.m., council aide Lorna Sinke was accosted by two armed men posing as police officers at Courage Bay City Hall. When Ms. Sinke attempted to escape, she was pursued by the two men to a second-floor conference room where an early-morning meeting was in progress. At this point, the armed men are holding Ms. Sinke, three city councilors, the district and city attorneys and a judge at gunpoint in the barricaded room.

The Courage Bay SWAT team has secured a four-block area around City Hall. It is imperative that all media representatives stay well back from this area and do not interfere with emergency services personnel.

Be aware that the situation at City Hall is extremely volatile. Reports indicate that one of the men is armed with a homemade bomb. SWAT commander Flint Mauro is well trained to handle the situation. As of today, Anna Carson, formerly a paramedic with the Courage Bay fire department, has joined the team. Carson brings her considerable experience as a SWAT-trained paramedic in Washington, D.C., to this incident.

I will attempt to keep you updated as the morning progresses. It is our goal to defuse this incident with no loss of life. Any media interference will jeopardize that objective and will not be tolerated.

B.J. DANIELS

wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½-star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and numerous nominations and awards for best book.

Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.

To contact her, write B.J. Daniels, P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, or e-mail her at [email protected]. Check out her Web page at www.bjdaniels.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Being a part of the CODE RED series was a thrill for me—and a little frightening. I’d never imagined what it would be like to be in a hostage situation with dangerous men who had nothing to lose.

Being in that room with my characters, I found myself just wanting to get them out of there—and me with them.

I am in awe of SWAT teams everywhere. I admire their commitment and their ability to keep a cool head when everyone around them is losing theirs.

It was a pleasure to be part of such an interesting series with a great bunch of writers.

B.J. Daniels

Many thanks to Twyla Geraci,

who trained to be a SWAT paramedic. Also, Sergeant Jason Becker with the local SWAT team.

This book is dedicated to you

and the other men and women who risk their lives every day to keep us safe.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

9:40 p.m. Thursday

LEE HARPER was no longer sure he could trust himself. Sometimes he would be in the living room and call to Francine to come see a show on TV. When she didn’t respond, he would go looking for her.

And only then would he remember that his wife was dead.

She’d been killed seven weeks ago at the convenience store where she worked part-time. An aftershock from the earthquake had caused the store to collapse. Help hadn’t arrived until it was too late to save her.

Knowing all of that, Lee Harper still found himself turning to speak to her and was always shocked and a little disoriented to find her gone. Not that unusual after forty-six years of marriage. No children. Francine had conceived four times, all miscarriages, all heartbreaking. They had stopped trying, stopped talking about children. It was better that way.

He’d been an English professor until last year, when he retired. He could recite complete Shakespeare plays from memory, knew hundreds of poems, and in all those years had never forgotten even one of his students’ names.

Until lately.

“It’s just grief,” friends and colleagues had said. They’d been supportive at first. But as the weeks went by, they suggested he see a doctor.

No one understood that his mind had started to go when Francine was killed.

Now sometimes he left the stove on. Sometimes he didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there. His grief felt like a tumor inside him, eating him alive, destroying a mind that had once been “sharp as a tack.”

For a while the question—when he was thinking straight—had just been what to do. How could he right the terrible wrong of Francine’s death? That question had kept him awake for days and left him feeling impotent. There was no way to fix things. No way.