Guns 'N' Tulips by Kristine Cayne Page B

Owen’s knack for always knowing the best spots to
hit were the only reasons either of them had survived adolescence.
Connor almost felt bad for using his friend to infiltrate the
Bandits. But Owen had made his choices. They both had.
    Connor shook his head at Rourke’s ignorance.
The man was an expert strategist, but he had no appreciation for a
cracksman’s skills. “A bank vault isn’t like your woman's legs; it
won't open with just a kiss and a poke. It requires some teasing,
some stroking, the right tools, and a man who knows what to do with
them.”
    “You’d better have the skills to back up that
mouth, Conman. Prove you’re not just a can-opener.” Rourke waited
for Connor to nod before continuing. “You and Owen take the lead.
Get the people on the ground. Frank and me, we’ll follow. Neil,
watch our backs. Shoot anyone who looks like trouble. Terrence,
bring the car to the employees’ side door and wait for us there.”
His eyes lasered on each of them. “No fuck-ups. Let’s go!”
    They pulled the stockings over their heads
and picked up their weapons. Connor slipped the backpack containing
his tools on his shoulders, and when the van door slid open, he and
Owen jumped out. A brisk March wind tugged at Connor’s trench coat,
threatening to yank it open and reveal the MP5 he held hidden
inside. The day’s cloudy gray skies reflected his mood as they sped
across the oddly empty sidewalk.
    In the distance, he heard the cheering of a
crowd. Brows furrowed, he pushed open the entrance door to the bank
and came face to face with a cardboard leprechaun. St. Patrick’s
Day. The bank was only a few blocks from the parade route where all
the Irish and Irish wannabes in the city of Chicago were lining
along Columbus Drive, shivering in the cold lake air and drinking
gallons of beer and whiskey. Last year, Lily had insisted on
attending both the river-dying ceremony and the parade, and he’d
had a blast snuggling with her under a Bears blanket to keep her
warm.
    But that was a lifetime ago. Lily hated him
now, maybe for good.
    Pushing down the emotions clogging his
throat, he nodded to Owen, raised his gun and charged inside.
“Everyone, listen up! Get face down on the ground with your hands
above your heads. Now!”
    A security guard and the bank patrons, three
women and two men, stared back at him. One of the women, a lady in
her sixties, screamed. Another rushed forward, white-faced and
tight-lipped, and helped the older woman get on the floor. Connor
felt two inches tall as he continued to point the MP5 at them while
shouting instructions.
    Owen rushed over to the tellers. “Move it!”
he bellowed, gesturing with his weapon for them to join the others
in the lobby.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spotted
a teller reaching below the counter as she turned to exit the
restricted area. Good woman. At least the cops would be alerted.
Whether Captain Morris would be able to get here in time was
another question. If he recalled correctly, their original target
was smack-dab in the middle of the parade action. He should have
paid more attention, should have investigated the location, and put
two and two together. If he died in this bank, bleeding out on the
mud-streaked tile, he’d deserve it. But he wouldn’t fold without
giving it his best shot.
    When Rourke’s informant called, Neil was
going down.
    Rourke and Frank added their voices to the
chaos while Neil guarded the door. Like a bull on steroids, Frank
charged through the lobby to help Owen herd the staff from behind
the counter. But Rourke split off and weaved his way to the back
offices, no doubt looking for the loan manager. Ever since his
mortgage refinancing had been turned down and he’d lost his home
and business, Rourke had a hard-on for loan managers. In the last
six months, every bank the Bandits had hit, the loan manager had
eaten a bullet.
    That more than anything is what had convinced
Connor to accept this undercover assignment.