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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 façade, 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?