Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

To say that Hilly was annoyed was an understatement. The nurse she'd hired, Debbie Gorner, had made excuses again, this time by text, saying that something else had come up and she wouldn't be at the camp until Sunday evening. That was two days later than their agreement specified, which made steam come out of Hilly's ears.

If Monday wasn't the first day of camp, she would have told the woman to stuff it, and found someone else. But there was no time. Hilly would, however, put out feelers within the community to see if anyone knew of an available, certified RN, just in case the woman further disappointed her after her tardy arrival.

Luckily, an old friend, Buffy Minton, would be rolling in on Sunday morning. Buffy was Hilly's roommate from college. She'd graduated with her degree in psychotherapy, and thought it would be an awesome opportunity to hang out at a camp all summer and see to the mental needs of Hilly's kids.

Not only was it a score to get the woman who lived in Boston, between jobs, but Hilly was really looking forward to spending time with one of her dearest friends.

But now…paperwork.

The bane of Hilly's existence.

She'd always been an action kind of person, her degree and employment—in the off season since inheriting the camp—being in event planning for a huge law firm. Of course, she'd routinely had to suss out specific needs for certain clients, which required a lot of writing, but after the initial bits of sit-down-planning, Hilly was all about hands-on. She never slowed down after that. Her real rush for the job came from running around putting things together, orchestrating the perfect affair.

Now, she was faced with a slogging task she'd been putting off; that of making sure every camper's parent or guardian had properly filled in and signed all the requisite forms. If they hadn't, she'd have to make sure she waylaid them amidst the chaos of drop-off to remedy any oversights.

The only good thing about her pen-pushing task today was that the hour of paperwork coincided with the time of day she always watched the local weather. Hilly never depended solely on her phone or computer app for accuracy with atmospheric conditions. She was in charge of the well-being of one hundred campers, and she needed to be sure if and when bad weather was about to move in.

Thunderstorms predicted? No water or outside play. A degree-day over ninety? No long hikes until the heat-wave was broken.

She'd learned during her first year on the job, that multiple sources were needed to glean Mother Nature's true intentions.

Sitting at her desk, she eyeballed the pile in front of her and sighed.

Ignoring it for a few more seconds, she picked up her remote and switched on her small TV—the only cable-connected device at camp. The single other screen on premise was in the dining hall, but could only be used for preapproved movies checked out from the camp's extensive DVD library.

Since it was a few minutes before weather-time, she'd mute the sound until she saw the radar blips come up.

She'd picked up the first camper application, when…

Breaking news flashed across the WABI crawl.

That was odd. Not much of note ever happened between here and Bangor. Maybe it was a pile-up on I-95? She unmuted her TV to listen.

"…just tuning in, we have a hostage situation here at the Bangor Five. SWAT is on site, as well as several local police and fire departments. All we've been told so far is that a man inside has taken several hostages, and negotiations with authorities are ongoing."

A live stream of the outside of the bank showed up on screen in the distance, behind the reporter. The camera then panned around to reveal more law enforcement than Hilly had ever seen in one place. There were officers dressed in SWAT gear, and others in local uniforms from surrounding towns, all wearing vests and shielded helmets. There was a large, armored vehicle next to a bus, both with the lettering Downeast SWAT on the side, and her eyes widened. That was Cisco's team.

With paperwork momentarily forgotten, Hilly turned up the volume on her TV and watched, rapt.

"We have movement at the command bus," the reporter stated. "The door is opening. It looks like…" She put a finger to her ear, her eyes narrowing before she nodded. "I'm, uh, being told we have a reporter going in to do an exclusive interview with the hostage taker."

Why did that sound like an untruth? Hilly hadn't missed the momentary confusion on the reporter's face.

"Yes," the woman-on-the-street confirmed more definitively as Hilly pondered. "We see that our own…Peter Parkour is on scene."

Yup. The lady had stumbled over the name. And…Peter Parkour? Seriously? Hilly let out a snicker. It sounded like someone had been pranked by his coworkers.

In the next minute, Hilly went from chuckling, to sucking in a breath.

No way ! She leaned forward to get a better look. That couldn't be…

Hell, yes it was. That was Cisco, not in his turn-out gear, but dressed in a white shirt and khaki's, hefting a large, professional looking camera on his shoulder. What the hell was he doing?

"I've just been informed that the hostage-taker in the bank has requested to do an exclusive interview with WABI, which will take place shortly. In the meantime, we'll keep you updated with a live feed from our remote camera."

The camera she mentioned immediately zoomed in on Cisco as he walked past a line of police and behind the erected barriers, to stand just across the street from the bank, where he waited. He looked calm, as if he did this sort of thing every day.

Hilly, on the other hand, couldn't stop her heart from beating overtime in her chest. What the hell was he doing, and why did it seem like he was going in alone?

"We have movement just inside the bank," the reporter stated, bringing Hilly back to the action. The camera swung from Cisco to zoom in on the glass door as it opened outward. The bank manager was pushed through, a gun to his head as a man stood directly behind him, keeping their bodies close.

The robber, or whatever he was, had a firm grip on his hostage as he inched his back along the glass fa?ade, until he and the manager stopped, five feet from the door. He then beckoned to Cisco with his head, clearly giving him the okay to walk forward.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Hilly almost couldn't breathe.

Cisco nodded, then slowly crossed the street. While he traversed the short expanse, he hoisted the camera higher on his shoulder, placing one eye on the viewfinder.

Hilly didn't know what to expect as she studied the screen in front of her, but when no alternate camera box popped up on her TV—as would normally happen when two or more cameras were engaged—Hilly realized that not only had they sent in Cisco as a fake reporter, the offer of an interview was also a sham.

Cisco was obviously going to make some kind of move; a momentous and dangerous action that had nothing to do with filming.

Hilly thought she might be sick. Her fingers clutched the edge of her desk as she fought back nausea, but nothing could get her to move her gaze away. She felt like—as long as she watched—she could somehow keep Cisco safe. A stupid thought, but that didn't matter. She didn't dare take her eyes away from him.

It soon became apparent from the one camera that was filming, that words were being exchanged between the criminal and Cisco.

The real reporter spoke again, momentarily breaking Hilly's concentration as she'd been squinting and attempting to read lips.

"I apologize to our viewers," the woman said. "I've been told the audio and visual from our second camera will be on a slight delay due to the delicate nature of the material which is being discussed. We hope to bring you that recorded feed as soon as its content has been cleared for public consumption by the people monitoring the situation."

Right. The people monitoring. That had to be Cisco's team.

But why weren't they close enough to help him if shit went sideways? Hilly silently railed. What were they thinking?

She could see more discussion between Cisco and the unidentified man taking place before, with a nod of agreement from the miscreant, Cisco moved slowly nearer, stopping within four feet of the man, where he leaned in to get a close-up.

The operating camera feed to which the audience was privy took it all in. Hilly noted that the bank manager looked terrified, and the man behind him, pissed. But Cisco? He remained focused and calm.

Not so, Hilly. What did he think he was going to?—?

Before she could finish the thought, Cisco sprang into action; launched himself, camera and all, toward the gunman. He knocked the man's weapon high and askew before sending the camera flying, then pushed the bank manager to the ground. With his hands now free and the hostage out of the way, Cisco scrambled for the weapon that was now being lowered toward him.

"No, no, no!" Hilly wailed at the TV. "Somebody help him."

As if her words held weight, the area was suddenly swarmed by SWAT, several of whom dragged the manager swiftly away from danger while the others came to Cisco's side where he was now struggling to disarm the aggressor.

The gun waved wildly, being held by both men, but Cisco managed to hook the criminal behind his ankle and tumble him to the pavement, swiftly following him down and gaining a position on top of him. He sent the fist that wasn't grappling with the firearm into the man's face, repeatedly, until?—

The gun discharged.

Hilly leapt to her feet and brought her hand to her mouth.

Was he…? Had he…?

The breath whooshed out of Hilly as Cisco got up and stumbled back a few steps.

The man lay still on the pavement, and several officers swooped in to secure him with zip-ties.

But Cisco…

Hilly cried out as blood began soaking his white shirt.

He'd been hit.

But how badly?

Ten minutes later, Hilly wanted to tear her hair out. The reporting, which up until the perpetrator had been hauled away screaming obscenities at a bloody Cisco, had continued being highly informative of everything going on. Except regarding Officer Andera.

She'd watched him being loaded onto a stretcher, then…crickets.

The station had gone on to describe how, during the initial encounter between the undercover SWAT member—who they didn't name—and the robber, the team had broken in the back door of the bank and helped all the remaining hostages to safety.

They'd updated on the condition of the bank manager who was shaken but uninjured.

They'd even enlightened the audience as to how SWAT had used a member of their own team as a fake reporter, gaining not only the culprit's trust, but a proximity close enough where the highly trained officer was then able to diffuse the situation.

Diffuse the situation ?

Hilly screamed at the TV. Cisco had been fucking shot. Why weren't they reporting on that?

When it looked like no information on his state of well-being would be forthcoming, Hilly took matters into her own hands. She'd probably regret it, but she just had to know if Cisco was okay.

She stood, too agitated to remain seated, and picked up her phone with shaking hands to call Ellen Sothard.

"Ellen?"

"Hilly. Hi." Ellen's calm greeting did little to soothe Hilly. "Don't tell me. You want to discuss more menu changes," she chuckled.

Not even close.

Hilly might have made a few revisions to the original offerings Ellen had drawn up. Okay. A lot of revisions. But final food orders had been made days ago and the upcoming week's meals were now set in stone.

"No, Ellen. I need…" How could Hilly put this so she didn't sound like a meddling lunatic? "I've been watching TV, and…"

"Oh! Right. I saw it all, too. Didn't SWAT do a stellar job?" she queried proudly. Of course she'd be pleased. Her son, Mason, was the team's chief, and he wasn't the one who'd been taken away, bloody.

"Right. They did," Hilly agreed. "But I'm…concerned about the officer who was shot. It was Cisco Andera, correct?"

She didn't wait for confirmation. "I'm trying to find out the state of his health because…he's the one who's going to be teaching our self defense courses. If he's been badly injured, I need to know so I can find someone to replace him," she ended, lamely.

Her reasoning sounded thin, even to her own ears.

"Hold on," Ellen's motherly voice came back, and luckily, even as astute as she was, the woman didn't push Hilly for the real reason behind her concern. "I'll give Mason a call and find out for you."

The next two minutes felt like the longest of Hilly's life until Ellen eventually reconnected.

"Cisco's going to be fine," she began.

Hilly felt her knees give out, and her ass hit the chair.

Ellen continued. "Apparently it was just a graze to his chest from the discharged bullet. It looked worse on TV than it actually was since it bled a lot and Cisco was wearing a white shirt."

"Uh, thanks, Ellen," Hilly managed. "That makes me feel better. I, um, met with Cisco this morning, and was just…worried for him."

"Uh, huh." Now Ellen's voice took on a different cadence. "He's kind of cute, isn't he?" she prodded.

Hilly knew better than to bullshit the woman. After all, she was the mother of eight boys, and would see right through any baloney Hilly handed her.

"Yeah. He is," she allowed. Should she…?

Hilly went for it.

"I knew him in middle school, you know."

"Ah. Before you went away to boarding school?" Ellen asked. She knew all about Hilly's past, having been long-time friends with Hilly's mother.

"Yeah. Before that. During my chunky, awkward years."

"Don't tell me. You had a crush on him." Even though one couldn't see a smile over the phone, Hilly knew the woman was beaming.

She really should have been embarrassed, but Ellen had always been a good friend, so…

"I did. And of course he never noticed me."

"Oh, honey. That was a long time ago, and both of you were totally different people. Did he recognize you today when you met?"

"Nope. And…I'd kind of like to keep it that way. With my name having changed, there's really no need for him to find out who I was. Who I am."

Ellen's voice turned hard. "Tell me. Was he one of the people who bullied you?"

"No." Hilly quickly set her straight. "He wasn't. As a matter of fact…"

She could remember it like it was yesterday.

"…he stood up for me a few times. One instance in particular…" She'd been surrounded by a group of boys and girls chanting horrid things at her on the playground, and he'd come over to see what the excitement was all about. Once he figured out what was happening, he—being a revered jock and the reigning soccer champ at school—had simply told everyone to lay off.

It had been that easy, and Hilly, with stars in her eyes, had crushed hard on him for the rest of the year until she'd left that unhealthy school environment for one where she felt safe, even without Cisco's protection.

Now, however, here he was.

And here she was, fascinated by him all over again.