Exit Strategy. Jen J. Danna

handed Garcia a mic’d headset, waiting until he had it in place; then he dialed the call into the mayor’s office.

      The phone rang twice before it was picked up. “Are you sending him in?”

      Garcia held up a hand as Rowland opened his mouth to respond. “I have the mayor here with me. He has agreed to talk to you.”

      “Then send him in and we’ll talk.”

      Garcia’s gaze flicked up to meet Gemma’s.

      Here we go.

      “I have him here on the phone and he’s ready to talk to you.”

      “That’s not what we agreed on.” The man’s words held a combination of fury and suspicion.

      “Sure it is.” Garcia tapped an index finger beside a line in his notes. “I have it right here. You said, ‘I want the mayor.’ I found him and have him here for you.”

      “I meant in person. You fucking knew that.”

      His control is slipping.

      But Garcia’s mild tone never wavered. “You never said you wanted to see him in person. And you know I can’t do that. The brass would never allow it. Getting him on the phone is a compromise.”

      “I’ll give you a compromise.”

      In the background came the sound of a scuffle, followed by the cry of a woman. “No! Don’t! I’ll do whatever you want.”

      The bottom dropped out of Gemma’s stomach and she leaned down to hurriedly scratch out a note and then shoved it toward Garcia: Not Willan. Picked someone disposable. Careful.

      Garcia nodded. “I need you to stand down.” His words were calm and measured, only his clenched fist betraying his tension at the chaos they heard.

      Another terrified cry made Gemma scan her notes. Only three women: Clara, Janina, and Elizabeth. Who did he have? Her voice sounded young, but without more details about the hostages, it could be any of the three.

      “Why would I do that?” It was a snarl. “I gave you what you wanted and you fucked me over.”

      Garcia pinned Rowland with a sharp look and pointed first at him and then at the phone.

      “No, he didn’t.” Rowland’s voice came out with a slight tremor. “He didn’t.” This time, his words were steadier. “I’m right here.”

      “Mayor Rowland?”

      “Yes, you asked to speak to me, and I’m here. You have my undivided attention, Mr. . . .”

      Another cry, followed by a thump, and the sound of harsh, broken breathing came through the line, followed by a low murmur of voices.

      Gemma pictured male hands pushing away a woman’s slender form, and her gasp of pain and fear as she overbalanced to tumble to the floor.

      “That’s not important. I need to talk to you. You need to understand.”

      “Help me understand. Then we can talk about releasing your hostages.”

      “Come in here.”

      “I can’t—”

      “If you want to save lives, you will.” The hard edge was back in his words.

      “I’m happy to talk to you like this. Tell me about what has you—”

      “No! Garcia, you had a chance, now you’re done.”

      A scream of terror stabbed across the line, making Gemma wince in pain.

      Then silence as he cut the connection.

      CHAPTER 8

      “Get him back!” Garcia ordered.

      McFarland was already dialing. But the phone simply rang and rang. Voice mail. Again. Voice mail.

      After the third attempt, McFarland looked up. “He’s not picking up. On purpose. He knows it’s us.”

      “Of course, he does.” Garcia pressed his balled fists to his temples. “Goddamn it, we need eyes in there. He could be killing them all and we’d have no idea.”

      “That won’t happen unless Sanders and his team go in,” Taylor said, his voice calm.

      “Given how the last five minutes have gone down, you know he’s going to push hard for that.” McFarland punched redial again and they all listened to the ringing again and again.

      “We’re going to need proof of life again.” Garcia’s tone was sour.

      “But not from you,” Gemma said. “Sir, let me talk to him.”

      Garcia’s head snapped up. “You?”

      “Yes. Your relationship with him is over. As far as he’s concerned, he fulfilled his end of the deal and you hung him out to dry.” She held out a hand to forestall his protest. “You know you did what you had to do, and so do I. But he’s not going to see it that way. We need to start over with him. Sometimes it’s the second negotiator who makes a better connection.”

      “I agree with you, Capello.” Taylor sat forward in his chair, intensity radiating from him. “We need a fresh voice. But it should be me. I have more experience and a stronger voice of authority.”

      “But that’s just it,” she argued. “He’s having a problem with authority. You need me because I’m a woman.”

      Garcia started to say something, then caught himself, and considered her thoughtfully while the phone rang futilely in the background of their headsets. “You think he’ll see you as weak? A pushover?”

      She nodded. “He’s older, and I get a vibe from him that says he’s old school. Old Testament even, given the ‘on the side of the angels’ reference. He strikes me as an ‘eye for an eye’ type of guy. I bet he’s also the type whose wife stayed home and raised the kiddies while he brought home the bacon. The type of man who thinks today’s women are rising above their own station. Which we all know is BS”—she gave Taylor a side-eyed glance—“but I think that’s his take on it. And he’ll lump me into that category.”

      “He’s wrong.”

      “Thank you, sir. But he won’t know that until it’s too late.”

      “We’ll use his own prejudice against him. I like it. Taylor, we’re going to hold you in reserve for now, but if this backfires on us, I want you ready to step in.”

      With a curt nod, Taylor sat back in his chair, the expression on his face clearly stating he wasn’t pleased, but he acquiesced to the decision structure.

      Garcia swung around to McFarland. “We need to get through to him.”

      “Trying, sir,” McFarland grated between gritted teeth.

      Garcia cleared the chair for Gemma and they switched headsets and places. “Now, if we could only—” Garcia cut off abruptly at the click on the other end of the line.

      “I’ll talk to you when I’m good and ready, Garcia, and not a second be—”

      “I’m not Garcia.” Gemma purposely kept her voice quiet and nonconfrontational as she pulled her legal pad and pen toward her. Kept her tone light, feminine.

      “Who’s this?”

      “NYPD Detective Gemma Capello.”

      There were several seconds of silence, broken only by a low background keening; then he said, “Capello.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Gemma imagined the conference room. She saw shelves lined with books and legal decisions surrounding a long conference table. A faceless man stood at the head of the table, his back to the open door. Hostages huddled at the