High Noon

barely gotten here when I pulled you in. I didn’t want to throw too many people at him.”
    “All right. My ETA’s five minutes.” She glanced at the driver, got a nod of affirmation. “Keep him alive for me.”
     
    Inside Joe Ryder’s fourth-floor apartment, sweat rolled down Duncan Swift’s back. A guy he knew, a guy he’d had beers with, joked with, had pissed with, for God’s sake, in adjoining urinals, was sitting on the ledge of the roof overhead with a gun in his hand.
    Because I fired him, Duncan thought. Because I gave him thirty days to get out of the apartment. Because I didn’t pay attention.
    Now, it was a very strong possibility that Joe was going to put a bullet in his own ear or take a header off the roof. Maybe both.
    Not exactly the kind of entertainment the crowds expected on St. Patrick’s Day. Not that it was keeping them away. The cops had barricaded the block, but from the window Duncan could see people pressed against the barriers, faces turned up.
    He wondered if Joe was wearing green.
    “Come on, Joe, we’ll work it out.” How many times, Duncan asked himself, would he have to repeat that same phrase the cop kept circling in his notebook. “Just put the gun down and come inside.”
    “You fucking fired me!”
    “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Joe, I was pissed off.” You stole from me, you stupid dick, Duncan thought. You screwed up, stole from me. You took a damn swing at me. “I didn’t realize how upset you were, or what was going on. You come inside and we’ll work it out.”
    “You know Lori left me.”
    “I…” No, not I, Duncan remembered. His head was pulsing with the mother of all headaches, but he struggled to remember the instructions Captain Mc Vee had given him. “You must’ve been feeling upset.”
    Joe’s answer was to start sobbing again.
    “Just keep him talking,” Dave murmured.
    Duncan listened to Joe’s sobbing complaints, tried to repeat key phrases as he’d been directed.
    The redhead shot into the room like a sleek bullet. She shrugged out of a light jacket while she talked to the captain, then shrugged into a bulletproof vest. All her movements lightning quick.
    Duncan couldn’t hear what they were saying. And he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
    Purpose was the first term that came to his mind. Then energy. Then sexy, though the third was mixed into the first two in equal portions. She shook her head, looked toward Duncan—long, cool stare with cat-green eyes.
    “It’s got to be face-to-face, Captain. You knew that when you pulled me in.”
    “You can try to bring him in via the phone first.”
    “Been tried.” She studied the man currently making soothing noises over the subject’s weeping. Former employer and landlord, she deduced.
    Young for it, she mused. Very cute guy who looked as if he was trying hard not to panic.
    “He needs a face. He needs personal contact. Is that the employer?”
    “Duncan Swift, owns the bar street level of the building. He called the nine-one-one after the subject contacted him and said he was going off the roof. He’s—Swift’s—been on scene since.”
    “All right. You’re the commander on this one, but I’m the negotiator. I need to go up. Let’s see how the subject feels about that.”
    She walked over to Duncan, gestured for him to pass her the phone. “Joe? This is Phoebe. I’m with the police department. How you doing out there, Joe?”
    “Why?”
    “I want to make sure you’re okay. You hot out there, Joe? Sun’s pretty strong today. I’m going to ask Duncan to get us a couple bottles of cold water. I’d like to bring them up, talk to you up there.”
    “I’ve got a gun!”
    “I hear that. If I come up with a cold drink for you, are you going to shoot me, Joe?”
    “No,” he said after a long moment. “No, shit. Why would I do that? I don’t even know you.”
    “I’ll bring you out a bottle of water. Just me, Joe. I want you to promise you won’t jump or fire that gun now. Will you promise to let me come on out, bring you a bottle of water?”
    “Rather have a beer.”
    The wistful tone in his voice gave her a little edge. “What kind of beer would you like?”
    “Got Harp in the bottle in the fridge.”
    “One cold beer coming up.” She walked to the refrigerator, found there was little else but beer. Even as she took one out, Duncan moved beside her to open it. She nodded, pulled out the single Coke, popped the top. “I’m coming on up with the