Rancher's Hostage Rescue. Beth Cornelison
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to cut him off. “You can’t even say you loved her. You have to use phrases like you had feelings for her.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s a sentiment that will make a girl want to marry you. ‘I have feelings for you, Helen. Let’s spend our lives together.’”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. Even as irritation with her sarcasm scraped through him, he reminded himself he’d earned Lilly’s scorn. He flexed and balled his hands at his sides, trying to recalculate. To find the right words. He might not get another chance to set things right with Helen’s only family. Maybe earning her forgiveness shouldn’t matter to him, but...it did.
“I screwed up with her. I know. She was a great, kind, terrific person, and I blew it. Okay? I know that!” He took a cleansing breath, his stomach knotting as he added, “And I did love her. I only... It’s just hard to say the words now because she’s... It makes it harder now that she’s...”
“Dead,” Lilly said, her stare penetrating and unnerving. “My God, you can’t even say that word? Helen is dead. Say it.”
“Why?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
He swallowed hard. “She’s dead.”
Lilly’s mouth puckered a bit, and she glanced away. But not before he saw the sparkle of tears that filled her eyes.
Dave poked his fingers in his jeans pockets, shifted his weight...then shifted it back when his bad leg protested with a dull throb. “Lilly, I’m sorry.”
Her gaze darted briefly to him.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She drew a slow tremulous breath. “Thank you. And... I’m sorry...for your loss, too.”
She caught him off guard with that, and he had to work to suppress the rise of emotion in his throat. “Why, um, why are you in town?”
“I’m in Boyd Valley to close her house and put it on the market, if that’s what you mean.” She gave him a matter-of-fact look, and her tone had regained its sharp edge. “I’m at the bank to empty her safe-deposit box.” She raised both eyebrows now in a way that said, “Satisfied, Mr. Nosy?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t even known Helen had a safe-deposit box. And knowing that Lilly was preparing to sell Helen’s house, was getting rid of all the things that represented the life of the woman he’d loved, gave him a sick feeling in his gut. After a beat too long, he finally managed a flat “Oh.”
She snorted a wry laugh. “You have such a way with words.”
He gritted his back teeth, then took a moment to push aside her biting comment. Rather than answer her quip with one of his own, he said, “If you need any help with the house—”
She shook her head. “No. I can do it by myself.”
“Are you sure? ’Cause I can—”
She shot him a hard look, so he dropped the matter.
“Was that it? You just wanted to tell me you had a ring? You thought I needed to know you had feelings enough to plan a proposal that never happened?”
Okay, now her mocking was starting to tick him off. He had to take a couple breaths to swallow the snide reply that frustration, annoyance and his own grief pushed onto his tongue.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Cornering her was probably a bad idea. He should have waited, gone to Helen’s house and taken the time to think about what he wanted to say. Waving his hand in dismissal, he mumbled, “More or less.”
Lilly hiked the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and jerked a nod. “Goodbye then.” She took three stiff strides before turning back toward him. “I did find some men’s clothes at her house that I assume are yours. If you want them back, and anything else of yours you left there, you can come by later today. Anything still there on Saturday goes to charity.”
With that, she marched toward the front door of the bank...just as a man wearing a dark hoodie and wielding a gun stormed through the entrance and shouted, “Everybody on the ground! You try something heroic, you die!”
Lilly froze when she saw the gun wielded a scant few feet from her. Her brain blanked for a couple of stumbling heartbeats as she tried to process the horror. Was this really happening?
In the next second, the man in the black hoodie grabbed her arm and swung her around. He snaked his arm around her throat and held her against him as a human shield. The truth of the situation slammed into her like a fist to the gut. Bank robbery. Hostage. Gunfire?
Gunfire! Her ears rang from the loud shots the robber fired, as well as from the screams of the other women in the bank.
“I said no heroics!” the robber shouted, his arm aiming off to her right.
Fresh terror washed through her. She registered the movement of people dropping to the floor and covering their heads, as though watching through water. Someone to her left sobbed.
The robber pushed her forward, and she stumbled, her feet as heavy as concrete blocks.
“You, behind the counter,” he shouted, waving the gun toward the tellers. “Let me see your hands! No alarms or I shoot you. Got it?”
The two tellers gaped at him, their hands shaking as they lifted them over their heads.
“Got it?” he asked again in a roar.
Their heads bobbed, and the younger teller whimpered, “Please, don’t shoot. I have babies at home. They need me.”
The gunman swung his weapon toward the young mother behind the counter. “Do what I say, and you’ll live to see those kids again. Start filling bags from the drawers. Make it quick!” He turned slowly, dragging Lilly in a 360-degree pivot with him as he checked the room. He paused when he spotted a man on the floor with his cell phone out, pointed toward the robber. He fired his weapon two more times, shattering the phone and wounding the man’s hand. “Really, asshole? Is a video for your Twitter feed really worth dying over?”
As the robber continued turning, Lilly’s gaze darted toward where Dave had been standing. Some part of her brain knew he was her best chance of assistance. But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. Her breath sawed in panicked gulps as she scanned the lobby. She spotted him hovering over the security guard, who was lying on his side, blood staining the front of his uniform shirt. Blood. Lilly’s gut swooped.
The robber noticed Dave, too. He swung the handgun in his direction and yelled, “Hey, cowboy! I said no heroics. On the ground, hands where I can see ’em. Now!”
Dave lifted both hands, which were smeared with red. “Whoa. Easy, man. The old guy is bleeding out from where you shot him. I’m just trying to help him.” Dave put his hands back on the guard’s wound, clearly trying to staunch the bleeding. “You could say I’m helping you, too. You don’t want a dead security guard added to your rap sheet.”
The gunman glared at Dave, then whipped his attention back to the tellers. “Where’s that money? Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The older woman behind the counter shoved a stack of bills toward him along with a bank bag full of cash. The robber, obviously needing to free the arm he had around her neck, released Lilly, shoving her toward the floor. “You get down and don’t move.”
She obeyed, and when she glanced up at him, he waved his hand toward her large hobo-style purse. “Give me the bag.”
Again, fear and disbelief rendered her motionless.
“Do it!” He kicked at her and grabbed the strap of the bag, snatching it off her shoulder with