Love Is Always Write Volume 4

building.
    "Team B, around the back. Severs and Kite, cover the windows. Team A, with me." Stacy's voice muffled through the thin metal walls.
    Jonathan wanted to sob in relief, but even as hope flooded him, he cringed internally. Jesus Christ, Stacy was going to kill him, absolutely kill him, for getting involved in this. Jonathan had promised, promised , when he'd approached Stacy all those months ago for a second chance that he was done with the life of intrigue and excitement. Yet here he was, not even a full year into their marriage, and he managed to get himself involved yet again. If Stacy didn't kill him, Jonathan would be lucky to get out of the hospital without a divorce.
    "Ready the teargas," Jonathan heard Stacy order.
    No longer caring if anyone heard, Jonathan tucked his head down, hands over his face, as he yelled to the girl, "Bury your face in the jacket!"
    Glass shattered above, breaking whatever part of the window was still intact and raining down glittering slivers, some tangling in Jonathan's hair, others sliding down the back of his shirt.
    Acrid smoke poured out of the metal canisters. It stung Jonathan's eyes despite his efforts. Jesus, didn't they know there was a little girl in here? But even as he thought it, Jonathan knew it was a calculated sacrifice. Teargas didn't cause permanent damage after all, and it would confuse the kidnappers enough that if they still had control of their hostage, there would be little they could do about it. Still, it was an awful risk to take, and Jonathan wondered what had progressed outside that they didn't even seem to try negotiating.
    Coughing, trying to clear his throat and lungs from the chemicals burning them, Jonathan pressed his head close to the desk behind him. "Are you ok? Did you cover your face?" He called.
    "Yeah." The response was so soft Jonathan was surprised he was still able to hear it.
    Any moment the SWAT team would swarm through whatever entry points they had determined. Likely there was going to be a lot more shouting, possibly more gunfire, and plenty of big, angry men. The girl was safest where she was, but the commotion would do nothing for her, no doubt already traumatized, nerves. Making a quick decision, Jonathan slid from his protective hole next to the wall and circled to the other side of the desk. The filing cabinet was rooted to the ground with rust and sheer weight. But the desk slid, quarter inch by quarter inch, until Jonathan could sidle his body into the gap. The numb pain in his hip flared to a brutal burning temperature when it brushed the side of the filing cabinet as he passed. The pain sent white streaks across his vision even as he twisted to sit. The space was even smaller than he imagined, and his shoulders brushed the top of the desk, his head hanging forward.
    Little arms wrapped around his waist as something small and wriggly edged to get closer to him.
    Jonathan slid down, biting his lip against the pain, until he was lying flat with his knees up. The girl curled against him, and Jonathan made sure to press his palms over her ears. "It's going to get very loud in a moment, love. But don't worry; you'll get to see your parents again soon."
    The girl may have replied to that, but Jonathan hadn't even finished talking before the banging of a sheet metal door being rammed in obscured his words.
    Stacy's voice rose above the din of boots and men, shoving aside the clutter in their way. "Team A, sweep around the side. Keep an eye on your blind spots; there's too many fucking places to hide here. The Kovacs are probably still inside. Don't get shot. Team B, with me."
    Jonathan tried to focus on what was happening outside the dark space where he and the girl existed, but he was suddenly so very tired. If he had any energy left, he would use it to roll over and expunge his stomach of anything it might contain that was currently rolling and putting pressure up against the back of his head.
    There may have been more shots and yelling, officers plowing their way through the mess of the storehouse, calling out, but Jonathan kept his hands over the girl's ears as long as he could. Her little arms clung around his waist in turn, and Jonathan selfishly took whatever comfort he could from the feel of that tiny vice-like grip.
    Eventually, the world grew brighter, and someone tried to pull the girl away. Jonathan clung to her tighter by instinct alone, but Stacy's voice floated to him through Jonathan's haze of consciousness,