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Not today, though. I was too anxious to stay a minute longer in that office. Me, a forty-one-year-old man, was having trouble sitting still like a kindergartner. To dispel this nervous energy, I consider taking Piper fishing. She loves it and generally catches more fish than I do. More importantly, it would take me in the opposite direction my thoughts are headed. I should do it. Should.
What I end up doing is changing into work clothes and driving to the duplex. I tell myself it’s because I have the spare time and a ton of work to do. I refuse to admit that seeing Marisol is an added bonus—a hefty dose of self-inflicted torture.
Marisol’s Lexus isn’t in the drive when I get there, and the letdown is pretty severe. What did you expect? The lady probably has a job, a life that doesn’t involve waiting around here for your ass. “Dude, you’re pathetic,” I say, shaking my head. “But since you’re here, you may as well get to work.”
I let Piper into the backyard and strap on my tool belt. The finish on the new shelving and storage units looks great. I’m proud of how they came out. I spend the next two hours installing drawer slides and door hinges. Once all the drawers and door panels are in place, I install the hardware.
I no longer feel like shit when I step back and view the overall finished project. The custom cabinetry looks damned good.
Next up is to remove the living room carpeting. I cut the worn, stained flooring into manageable strips, roll them up, and haul them to my work truck. I repeat the process for the carpet padding. The last is to pry up the tack strips around the perimeter.
After a quick break, I measure the room for new flooring and the kitchen window for replacement blinds. I’ll order both tomorrow. Once that’s done, I remove the linoleum from the kitchen, adding the square footage of that room to the living room calculations.
It’s nearly seven when I finish, and Marisol still hasn’t returned home. While carrying out one roll of old flooring, I notice a red Mercedes parked with the engine running in her driveway. When I come back out later, I walk to the mailbox to get a better look, but the heavily tinted windows hide whoever is inside. By the next trip out, the car is gone.
The visitor, I decide, is none of my business. My grumbling stomach agrees, complaining that I’m only stalling until Marisol comes home. “Shit.”
Once again, I drop my tool belt to the floor. As much as I want to see if Marisol’s car is outside, I exit through the back door and call Piper.
I somehow avoid looking toward Marisol’s driveway when I turn left out of mine. My first stop is the property manager’s office to empty the waste flooring into their dumpster. My next and final one is to pick up dinner on the way home.
The peaceful darkness of my home doesn’t settle me like it usually does. The place seems empty and cold when it never has before, like it’s missing something it has never had. Sensing a restless evening, I shower and hit the bed early to avoid facing off with all the what-if questions.
Training the following day is back to normal, which I’m sure the contractors appreciate. I don’t know if an entire night’s sleep or sheer determination is what kept my head on track all morning. Either way, I’m thankful.
I plan to cut out early and return to the duplex today, but my plans change when I get a call from Chesapeake PD on my way to pick up my work truck. A convicted kidnapper escaped his police transport and has taken a hostage. Reports are that the man bolted to a nearby construction site and hid inside the unfinished building.
The structure is little more than a skeleton, concrete floors, columns, and partially constructed walls. Oh, and shit tons of material stacked all over the place. If that weren’t bad enough, the sheriff told me the suspect managed to strip one of the court bailiffs of his gun and has threatened to kill the hostage if he sees a cop.
So far, the bastard hasn’t made any demands, which doesn’t bode well for the hostage. I assume his only objective is not returning to prison. That means if he doesn’t get to walk away, the woman will likely not live to see morning. That’s why Piper is being called in.
This bastard won’t see or hear her coming, and his gun hand will be a bloody stump on the floor before he realizes what’s happened.
I change out of my track pants and t-shirt into a Knot uniform and clip on Piper’s working harness. She understands what this means, and like a light switch, she shifts into work mode.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re staged at the perimeter set by the sheriff of Chesapeake. “You made good time, Madden,” he says with a handshake.
“It sounded like I needed to.”
Sheriff Henry nods, and his look says I haven’t heard the worst of it. “The hostage is nine months pregnant. Paramedics are on their way. They tell me the stress could put the woman into labor.”
My vision tunnels at his words, and I’m back in that delivery room again, holding my wife’s hand through every contraction. I couldn’t wait to meet my son… somebody else’s son.
Piper nudges my thigh with her snout, pulling me back to the present. “Where are they?” I ask the lawman.
“Northeast side, second floor. The suspect is backed up to a stack of metal studs, maybe thirty feet from the stairway. We’ve got spotters on top of the courthouse, but they don’t have a clear shot. Even if they did, no one wants to risk a sniper taking a shot unless the mother begins laboring.”
So, we’ll have no backup then. “What’s the condition of the southwest side?”
A man with a rounded belly jogs up to the group, and the sheriff introduces him as the contractor. I repeat my question, and he answers, “The curtain wall is only partially finished on that side. The stairs run up the middle adjacent to the elevator shaft. The metal studs are up on that level, but the sheetrock isn’t in on that side. There’s no cover you could use to sneak up on him from the middle.”
I toss a glance at the building, quickly scanning its immediate surroundings. “Can I get in behind him on that floor?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how. Floor to floor, we’re looking at twelve feet of height off the finished grade. We have a scissor lift, but we’d have to roll it in place. It’s not quiet.”
The setup is not ideal, but Piper has dealt with higher jumps. Without explanation, I turn to the sheriff. “Keep your men back and hand me a radio. I won’t turn it on until I’m ready for you.”
The handheld goes into my pocket, and I start toward the building with Piper at my side. We keep close to the unfinished structure so the bastard inside has no line of sight to us. Nearby street noise helps to cover our already silent approach. When we close the last thirty feet to the north end of the building, I hear the familiar groaning of a woman having contractions. Dammit. I don’t risk turning on the radio to inform the sheriff. He’s already got a bus on the way, and the spotters have likely already relayed the woman’s condition.
