скачать книгу бесплатно
Lesson learned. Stick to small jobs. Keep it simple.
Small-town banks had smaller payouts, but also a smaller risk of capture. And the number-one goal, above the take, was not to be captured. Stay out of jail and be free to do another job on another day. Wayne wasn’t sure how many days he had left, but if he didn’t get some money for all his medical bills, they were sure to end sooner rather than later.
After a last check of his supplies, his weapons, his escape plan, Wayne climbed in his old beater sedan and headed for his target.
Chapter 1 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)
Five excruciating months had passed since Helen had been murdered. Five months of grief, loneliness and, most of all, guilt. He hadn’t taken her life, but that didn’t exonerate him from his other wrongs. He’d taken her for granted, not given her what she deserved, acted the fool when he’d had a good woman who loved him.
Dave Giblan sat at Helen’s graveside, his bad leg stretched in front of him and the moisture from the latest spring rain soaking through his jeans. He made biweekly visits to her grave, often bringing flowers to brighten the still-raw earth from her burial. Flowers he should have given her more often while she was alive. Instead, he’d laughed at his boss’s advice to show Helen his feelings, his appreciation of her. Now it was too late.
Grunting as he shoved to his feet, he swiped at the damp seat of his jeans and whispered, “Bye, Helen.” Turning, he headed back to his pickup. He still had a slight limp, minor pain and stiffness following the surgery to repair his broken leg last December. The accident, a fall from a ladder, had been so random, so senseless...and just a few days before Helen was murdered. He lost both his girlfriend and his job within days of each other.
The McCalls swore that he’d have a job again when his leg was fully healed, and he could do the work of a ranch hand again. But since making that promise, they’d hired two new hands. Although he’d heard the Double M was climbing out of the financial quicksand it had been sinking in, he was skeptical they had the means to pay a third hand. Especially one who had a limp that may or may not ever go away.
He moved slowly down the grassy cemetery hill, using the cane he’d borrowed from the McCalls for use on uneven terrain. The handcrafted wooden cane with a simple scalloped design near the hand grip had belonged to the late father of the senior McCall, Michael.
Once back to his truck, he checked the list he’d left on the passenger seat. He’d been by the hardware store, taken his rent check to the post office, refilled his prescription for his anticlotting medicine and visited Helen. Only thing left on his list was a stop at the bank to cash his unemployment check.
He drove back into the business district of Boyd Valley, a small town nestled at the intersection of the Rocky Mountains and the plains of eastern Colorado. The country station on his radio played a sad song about loss and regret, and he reached over to turn it off. He didn’t need a song to tell him that story. He lived it.
Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of First Bank of Boyd Valley. The lot was largely empty. Only a couple of cars in the customer section. The convenience of online banking was rapidly shrinking the need for brick-and-mortar banks, human tellers, personal service. Just one more way the town, and the sense of community, was shrinking, dying in this age of technology.
Call him old-fashioned, but Dave preferred to do his banking in person, preferred to see the face of the teller who cashed his checks. His mother had been a teller in this very bank when he was growing up, and although she was gone now, buried in the cemetery just a few rows over from Helen, Dave felt her presence in the bank. Rose Charmand was the only teller there who still remembered working with his mother, and she always had a smile for him. Most days she’d also share a story about her memories of him as a kid, afternoons he’d spent behind the counter doing his homework, eating the lollipops that were supposed to be for the customers and waiting for his mother to drive them both home.
Today as he approached the window where Rose worked, her smile flashed brightly, as usual, before an odd shadow crossed her face. When her gaze darted toward the vault, Dave glanced in the same direction, curious what had distracted Rose. A woman with glossy gold hair and a knockout figure stood just inside the vault at the wall of safe-deposit boxes. A sense of déjà vu skittered down Dave’s spine as he watched the woman. Brow furrowed in confusion, he faced Rose.
“Morning, beautiful,” he said with a half grin for the older woman. He slid his check across the counter. “How’s life treating you?”
“As well as a woman my age can expect,” Rose quipped. “The usual? Deposit half, half in cash to you?”
He nodded, then glanced back at the golden-haired woman in the vault. “Who’s that?”
Rose glanced up briefly from counting out bills. “You don’t recognize her?”
“Her back’s to me. Maybe if I saw her face...”
The teller kept shuffling money, her eyes down, as she mumbled, “Honey, that’s Lilly Shaw.”
Even as the name registered, the woman turned. Helen’s sister.
His breath stuck in his throat. Though they didn’t resemble each other in more than hair color, the sight of her brought a flood of memories that drowned him with fresh waves of guilt and grief.
Why was she in town? Why had he picked this moment to deposit his check? He really couldn’t bear a confrontation with Helen’s last living relative. The one person who loved Helen as much as he had. Maybe more so. Lilly hadn’t taken Helen for granted. Hadn’t needed to be badgered for demonstrations of affection. Would never forget an important anniversary. Could never be accused of half-assing their relationship.
His gut rolled. The last time he’d talked to Lilly, at Helen’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration, she’d looked him straight in the eye and called him a first-class jerk. She threatened him with bodily injury if he hurt Helen, a vow he’d laughed off. He’d told Lilly she had nothing to worry about, that the complaints Helen had about him were just her sister blowing off steam. Things between him and Helen were fine.
He knew the instant Lilly spotted him. Her gaze, which had passed casually over him at first, darted back to him in surprise, her steps faltering. The very next second, the soft, feminine curves of her face hardened. Her lips pinched, and flinty disdain filled her eyes.
He’d avoided Lilly at Helen’s funeral. He’d been too swallowed up in his own shock and heartache to face Lilly’s accusations and criticism. But he deserved anything Lilly could dish out. She’d been right about his lackluster attitude toward his relationship with Helen, and now he lived every day with regrets he could never correct.
At the very least, he owed Lilly an apology. Well, he owed Helen an apology, but with Helen gone, Lilly was as close as he’d get to earning forgiveness for his blithe attitude while Helen was alive. He wiped his damp palms on the seat of his jeans and headed toward her. Her brow furrowed, and her gaze dropped briefly to his bad leg as he limped toward her. Had Helen told her about his accident, his surgery, his temporary unemployment?
Lilly’s shoulders squared as he approached. Blinking hard, as if battling back tears, she glanced toward the door and took a few quick steps in that direction.
He blocked her path, wrapping his hand around her arm when she tried to brush past him.
“Lilly, wait. Please.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Her green eyes glinted at him, and she tugged at her arm. “Let me go.”
“Give me just five minutes. Please.” He heard the rusty sound of his voice and paused to clear it. “I want to apologize.”
His request stilled her attempt to get free. She narrowed a suspicious glare on him. “An apology. For what?”
“For...lots of things. The way things went down between me and Helen.”
She scoffed. “Isn’t Helen the one who deserves that apology?” She tipped her head in mock enlightenment and added, “Oh, wait. She’s dead. It’s too late to apologize for the way you treated her.”
Guilt pooled like acid in his gut. “I know that, but—”
“But nothing, Dave!” she said, her voice rising.
The other customers in the bank glanced their way. The security guard, a retired sheriff’s deputy who’d once busted a sixteen-year-old Dave for trespassing on school grounds after hours, put his hand on his utility belt and strolled over. “Is there a problem here?”
“No, Deputy Hanover,” Dave said, flashing a tight smile. “I just need a moment’s privacy with Ms. Shaw.”
Hanover glanced to Lilly for her response. After a few seconds to consider, she frowned and gave the security officer a nod. Deputy Hanover stepped away, and Dave guided Lilly out of the main lobby toward a corner near the loan offices.
“Look...” he said and sighed. Now that he had her ear, what did he say? He hadn’t prepared anything in the last few weeks on the off chance he might run into Lilly. He’d honestly thought he’d never see her again.
“I—I had a ring. Have a ring. An engagement ring,” he began awkwardly.
Clearly his opening caught her off guard. She blinked rapidly and gave her head a small shake. “Excuse me?”
“I was going to give it to her on New Year’s Eve. I had this whole thing planned with dinner and driving out to this lookout spot and—”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked in a low growl.
“Because... I want you to know I did have feelings for Helen.” He scrubbed a hand on his face, deciding what needed to be said next.
She arched a delicate eyebrow, her expression cool. “You had feelings for her?”
“Yes! I was serious about her, not just playing at a relationship.”
“Evidence would say otherwise.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand 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!”
Chapter 2 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)
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 force. Jerking open the snap closure, he jammed handfuls of bundled bills into the purse.
Frowning, he paused in his frenzy and waved a banded stack of cash at the older teller. “Ones?” He leaned across the counter and smacked the woman’s face with the money.
The woman gasped and pressed her hand to her cheek as she staggered back from the counter. Lilly tensed, hot anger flaring in her gut.
“Do you think this is a game?” he shouted at the teller. “That I did all this for ones?” Then a movement or noise must have caught his attention, because he whirled around, swinging his weapon toward the lobby. “Stay down! Hands out where I can see ’em!”
A ripple of murmurs and gasps rose from the customers and employees hunkered on the floor. Lilly cut a glance toward Dave.
Helen’s ex had a glacial stare pinned on the robber. Although he was mostly flat on the floor, one hand was still out of sight, under the injured security guard, presumably tending to the man’s wound.
Then Dave’s gaze flicked to Lilly’s and locked. Softened with concern and questions. Her heart gave a soft bump, and an odd warmth spread inside her. Dave’s concern for her made her feel less alone, less frightened.
