What, if anything, do you know about the hostages?"
She gave him the breakdown by gender. "One's been identified by Sheriff Montez as a local rancher. The cashier is a fixture at the convenience store. Everybody in Rojo Flats knows her. And that Ms. McCoy who talked to Sheriff Montez?"
"What about her?"
"She's a reporter for a TV station in Dallas."
"Tiel McCoy?"
"So you know her?"
He knew her and mentally formed an image: slender, short blond hair, light eyes. Blue, possibly green. She was on TV nearly every night. Galloway had also seen her outside the studio among reporters at the scenes of crimes he'd investigated. She was aggressive, but objective. Her reports were never unfairly inflammatory or exploitative.
She was a looker and utterly feminine, but her delivery merited credibility.
He wasn't thrilled to hear that a broadcast journalist of her caliber was at the epicenter of this crisis. It was a compounding factor he could easily have done without.
"Great. A reporter is already on the scene." He ran his hand around the back of his neck, where tension had begun to gather. It was going to be a long night. He predicted the previously unheard-of Rojo Flats would soon be swarmed by media, contributing to the mayhem.
The other agent asked, "Gut instinct, Galloway. Did that boy kidnap the Dendy girl?"
Beneath his breath, Galloway muttered, "I only wonder why it took her so long to run away."
CHAPTER 5
While they waited for the promised doctor to arrive, Doc gleaned a pair of scissors and a pair of shoelaces from the store's stock. He placed them to boil in a carafe usually used for water with which to mix instant hot drinks.
He also took from the shelves sanitary napkins, adhesive tape, and a box of plastic trash bags.
He asked Donna if they stocked aspirators. When she stared at him blankly, he explained. "A rubber bulb syringe.
To suck the mucus from the baby's nose and throat."
She scratched her scaly elbow. "Don't have much call for those."
Ronnie was nervous when Doc picked up the carafe of boiling water. He ordered him to let Gladys pour out the water, which the elderly lady was all too happy to do.
Following that activity, the wait grew to be interminable.
Everyone inside the store was aware of the increasing number of arriving vehicles. The distance between the gasoline pumps and the store's entrance was like a DMZ; it was kept clear. But the area between the pumps and the highway became congested with official and emergency vehicles. When that space was filled, they began parking on the shoulder of the highway, lining both sides of the state road. They hadn't arrived running hot, but the absence of flashing lights and sirens made their presence even more ominous.
Tiel wondered if the back of the building was seeing as much activity as the front. Obviously that possibility occurred to Ronnie, too, because he asked Donna about a rear door.
She said, "In the hall going to the bathrooms? See that door? Through that is the stockroom. Also the freezer where those crazy kids locked me in."
"I asked about the back door."
"It's steel and bolted from the inside. It has a bar across it, and the hinges are on the inside, too. It's so heavy I can barely open it for deliveries."
If Donna were telling the truth, no one would be coming through the rear door silently. Ronnie would be signaled of an attempt well ahead of time.
"What about the rest rooms?" he wanted to know. "Any windows in them?"
She shook her head no.
"It's true," Gladys chirped. "I was in the ladies'. If you ask me, better ventilation wouldn't hurt."
Those worries laid to rest, Ronnie divided his attention among Sabra, his hostages, and the increasing movement outside, which was more than enough to keep him occupied.
Tiel excused herself from Sabra's side and asked Ronnie if she could get into her satchel. "My contacts are dry. I need my wetting solution."
He glanced quickly toward the bag where it sat on top of the counter. She'd left it there after retrieving the hand wash for Doc. He seemed to be debating the advisability of granting her permission when she said, "It won't take a sec. I can't be away from Sabra long. She likes having another woman nearby."
"Okay. But I'm watching you. Don't think I'm not."
The young man's bravado was affected. He was scared and frazzled, but he still had his finger on the trigger of the pistol. Tiel didn't want to be the one responsible for sending him over the edge.
She moved to the counter where Ronnie could see her digging into her satchel in search of the small vial of solution.
She uncapped it and tilted her head back to apply the drops. "Damn," she cursed softly, holding a finger over her eye. She then removed her contact lens, dug around in the bag for another bottle of solution and proceeded to clean the lens in a small pool of solution in her palm.
Without turning to look at Gladys and Vern, she spoke to them in a whisper. "Does your camera have a tape in it?"
Vern-bless him-was inspecting a loose cuticle on his left hand and looking about as conspiratorial as an altar boy. "Yes, ma'am."
"Fresh batteries too," Gladys added as she folded her crew sock down to form a cuff around her ankle. She inspected it, then, deciding she liked it better the other way, rolled it back up. "It's all set to go. Get ready. We've got a distraction planned."
"Wait-"
Before Tiel could finish, Vern went into a fit of coughing.
Gladys leaped up, tossed their tote bag onto the counter within Tiel's reach, then started whacking her husband hard between his shoulder blades. "Oh, Lord,
Vern, not one of your strangling spells. Of all times to get choked on your own spit. For mercy's sake!"
Tiel popped in her contact and blinked it into place.
Then, as everyone including Ronnie was watching the old man gasp and gurgle in an effort to regain his breath while Gladys smacked away as though beating a rug, she reached into the tote bag for the camera.
She was familiar enough with home recorders to know where the power switch was located. She flipped it on and punched the Record button. She then set it on a shelf, wedging it between cartons of cigarettes and praying it wouldn't be noticed. She didn't have high hopes for the quality of the picture, but amateur videos had proved invaluable in the past, including the Zapruder film of JFK's assassination and the disturbing video of the Rodney King beating in Los Angeles.
Vern's coughs subsided. Gladys asked Ronnie's permission to get a bottle of water for him.
Tiel replaced the contact-lens cleaner and wetting solution in her bag and was about to withdraw her hand when she spotted her audiocassette recorder. She sometimes used the minuscule recorder during interviews as a supplement to the video recording. Later, when writing her script, she didn't have to sit in an editing booth and watch the video in order to hear the interview. She could replay it on the tiny recorder.
She hadn't intentionally brought it along. It was a tool of her trade, not a vacation item. But there it was, buried in the bottom of her bag, looking to her like a broadcast news icon waiting to be excavated. She imagined it radiating a shimmering, golden aura.
She palmed the recording device and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks just as Sabra gave a sharp cry. Franti cally, Ronnie looked around for Tiel. "I'm coming," she told him.
Giving the elderly thespians a thumbs-up as she stepped around them, she rushed back to Sabra's side.
Doc looked worried. "Her pains have slowed down somewhat, but when she has one it's acute. Where the hell is that doctor? What's taking so long?"
Tiel blotted Sabra's sweating forehead with a pad of gauze she had moistened with cool drinking water. "When he-or she-does get here, how effective can he be? What will he be able to do under these circumstances?"