Page 2 of Holiday Hostage

“Yeah, well, we’re not stupid. We planned it based on best response times and are sticking to it.” The second man’s voice fades a little as he joins his partner in the vault.

“It’s almost over, princess.” The gunman cocks his head to one side, his eyes narrowing as he looms over me. “We’re not going to hurt you. Shit. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” Except I am.

I’m practically sobbing. With a sniffle, I rub my cheek against my shoulder to wipe away some of my tears. It stems the tide for a second, but a fresh wave flows over my bottom lashes and soaks my cheeks.

I have no idea what it is about this guy and his glacier-blue eyes—he’s a damned bank robber, for crying out loud—but with one look from him, everything comes pouring out. He gets the condensed version of my literal sob story. The guy’s on a time limit after all.

From Grammy’s death to meeting with her lawyer about her will and inheriting the bakery with absolutely no clue how to bake to meeting with the accountant and inheriting all the debt that came with it to my last-ditch effort to save my grandmother’s legacy.

“Which brings us to how I ended up in the stupid bank in the first place to get a loan. Mr. Jenkins broke the bad news the bank was turning me down right before you came in to rob it. Merry Christmas to me, right? At least someone is walking out of here today with the money they came in for.” My shoulders quake with another sob.

Mr. Jenkins rolls his eyes in their sockets even though looking up at me from his prone position on the floor is hard. Despite his wide, bulging eyes and left cheek squished against the marble floor tile, the what-in-the-hell-is-the-matter-with-you look on his face is pretty clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meeting Mr. Jenkins’s gaze of shock with one of my own.What the hell is the matter with me?“Apparently I’m an oversharer when being held at gunpoint.”

“Technically, I’d have to be aiming the gun at you for it to be at gunpoint,” the bank robber muttered with an amused tone in his voice.

He bends down and brushes the back of his hand across my cheek, wiping my tears. When I flinch under his touch, his hand slides along my jaw, fingertips slipping into my hair. He tightens his grip and tips my head up, forcing me to look him in the eyes.Those penetrating blue eyes.“I told you, princess, no one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

Sirens wail in the distance and force his attention away from me.

“Shit. Sounds like the Harmony Police Department has their shit together today after all. Wrap it up, boys.”

The sirens grow louder, and from what I can tell, there are more of them. More than our small town can afford on its shrinking tax revenue and budget cuts. Someone must have triggered a silent alarm system.

“Somebody set off the alarm,” the blue-eyed bank robber calls out to his partners, coming to the same conclusion as me about the police’s quick arrival. “My money’s on the dream-crushing stiff suit over here.”

Mr. Jenkins whimpers when a steel-toed boot nudges his ribs.

“The cops aren’t going to let us just walk out of here,” the last man out of the vault says as he crosses the lobby and drops a black backpack beside two identical packs.

“Of course they are.” A different crew member turns toward us and nods at the blue-eyed gunman. “Given the right incentive, they’ll do whatever the hell we say. Grab a partner. It’s couples only on the dance floor.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? We’re not taking hostages,” the third gunman barks out, arguing with his partner.

“I didn’t survive that fucking desert just to get shot up and bleed out in a bank in some bullshit backwater town.” The robber slings the strap of what looks like one of those assault rifles that have been all over the news across his shoulder, securing the gun at his back, and pulls a handgun from a holster strapped to his thigh.

He cocks the weapon and orders one of the bank tellers, Lynne or Lindsey or some L name like that, over to his side. She's crying, shaking her head, but follows orders because the one thing I assume everyone in this bank—myself included—has in common with the gunman is that we don’t want to die today.

“Let’s go, princess.” Blue eyes flicks his left wrist, his fingers still gripped around the gun in his hand, and motions toward the door. “Looks like you and I are dance partners.”

I pause a beat, waiting for Mr. Jenkins to object or offer himself up as a hostage instead of me in some chivalrous act like in the movies. Not because he’s a swoon-worthy leading man that, according to some Hollywood blockbuster script, I’ll have a happily ever after with, but just because it seems like the right thing to do.

Of course, if things happened simply because they were the right thing to do, I would have been approved for the stupid loan.

“Really?” I ask, glaring at Mr. Jenkins as I push myself to my feet. I mean, he could have at least pretended to object to my being taken hostage. “I think it’s time I find a new bank. I’ll be closing my accounts. If I make it out of this alive, that is.”

The gunman shakes his head and laughs. His eyes crinkle at the corners, evidence of a smile hidden beneath his mask. I’m glad one of us finds this situation amusing. Me? I’m scared out of my damn mind, but I can’t help feeling the tiniest bit of satisfaction for having been the one to make Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous smile.

He wastes no time swatting the butterflies fluttering inside my stomach when he snakes his muscular arm around my waist. He jerks my body flush against his and presses his gun to my head.

CHAPTER 2

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in my ear. The warmth of his breath rolls over what little skin is exposed around the scarf wrapped around my neck. “I’m a man of my word, and I keep my promises. The safety’s on.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure your friends feel the same way.”

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