He came back to her, holding a black tactical vest made of Kevlar and cluttered with utility pouches. “No, honey. You are.”
She froze.
He’d filled the utility patches with something white, and her brain connected the dots.
Explosive material. He stepped toward her and placed the vest over her shoulders.
“No, what—no!” She fought him, kicking, but he pushed her down and brought the vest around her, zipping her up into it.
“No, please—I have a son. He needs me.”
“Shh. Listen. Like I told you, if you—and your boyfriend—cooperate, no one will get hurt.” He finished zipping up the vest, then reached out and pulled her up to her feet, pulling her out of the camper. “And you’re saving America, possibly the world. Don’t you want to be a patriot?”
“How—how are you a patriot by killing people?”
“Oh, honey. I’m not going to kill people. I’m just killing you.”
He said it with an easy smile.
She began to shake.
He put his hand on her cheek. “Calm down. Listen, this will be easy. Like I said, fate is on our side. I was trying to figure out how to get into Jackson’s rally, how to make her confess the truth, and now…” He smiled, leaned down, and kissed her cheek.
She recoiled, looked away.
“Wyatt will do it for me.”
“Wyatt isn’t going to do anything—”
“Really?” He stepped away from her, pulled out his cell phone, and turned it back on. “I think he is. See, if I tried to get into the rally, even if they didn’t have me on some watch list, there’s no way I could get to the mic. But your superstar boyfriend will have no problem getting the world to listen to him, will he?”
He stepped back and held up his phone. “Your job is to convince him to listen to you. Smile for the camera.”
He snapped a picture of her standing there. “Let’s get a short video, just for fun.”
“No, I won’t—”
“Nothing to say? Really? Because if this doesn’t work, then well, yes, it will end poorly. And I’ll have to start all over again, and frankly, I’m running out of time. The election is in two short months.”
A tear edged off her chin. “What—I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh, just speak from your heart. In three, two, one—” He pointed at her, and the green light on the phone lit up.
And then, oh…
This was not how it was supposed to end between them. Wyatt was supposed to come back to her. Tell her he loved her. Protect her.
They were supposed to have a happy ending.
But maybe life didn’t work that way, not for her. Maybe she’d been right all along—happily ever afters didn’t exist.
If she hadn’t lied, hadn’t run away, hadn’t let her hurt hide the truth from Wyatt…
So, she looked into the camera and said the words she should have said five years ago.
“I love you, Wyatt Marshall. I always have. And I always will. I am sorry I ran away from you. I was scared. Afraid that if I gave you my heart, you wouldn’t love me back. But…” Her tears ran hot down her cheeks. “But you do love me, and I know that, even if it was your turn to run.”
She cleared her voice and found a smile. “You’re my hero. I trust you, Wyatt. And…I don’t know what this man wants you to do, but whatever happens…thank you for coming to Russia. Thank you for our beautiful son. I know you’ll take care of him.”
Her captor lowered the phone. “Aw, that’s sweet.”
Then he shoved her back into the camper. “I hope he’s the hero you believe him to be.”
He closed the door.
“Please—don’t do this!”
The trailer jerked as he secured the back hatch.
“This isn’t the way! Listen, I’m a hacker—I can get your message out!”
The door opened and he stood in the dimness, as if considering her words.
“I could send a viral message into Twitter and get it—”
“Jackson has cronies in every part of the government. Her own rogue faction. They’d shut it down in a heartbeat. No, the only way this gets out is live.” Then he picked up the duct tape and pulled out a long swath.
“No, please—” She struggled, shaking her head until he pushed her onto the mattress, kneeled on either side of her, and pasted the tape over her mouth.
“Can’t let you get people upset.”
Then he climbed off her and closed the door.
In a few moments, they were backing out, the tires crunching over the pine needles, crushing them into submission.
Wyatt had slept like the dead, his entire body collapsing in a protective position around Mikka. It wasn’t until he felt little fingers playing with his beard that he opened his eyes.
Brown eyes looked up at him, and the kid grinned. “Dobra Ootra.”
He repeated it back.
Mikka giggled, and Wyatt tickled him even as he realized he’d fallen asleep in Mikka’s tiny hospital bed.
The morning light filtered into the room behind a pulled curtain—probably his mother’s doing. She slept in the lounger, looking a little older than he liked.
But now she was a grandma. She was allowed to look older.
He leaned up, expecting to see Coco in the other lounger, but it was empty.
For a long second, he just stared at it, frowning.
The door opened and he looked up, expecting—
No. Just Sarai, who came in wearing a pair of dress pants and an oxford shirt, a stethoscope around her neck. She gave him a smile, something forgiving in it.
Oh yeah, she’d seen his great escape.
“We could find you another lounger, Wyatt.”
“Thanks. I’m good.” He disentangled himself from the bed, his muscles screaming, and he must have made a face because Sarai came over to him.
“You okay?”
“Stiff. Hard practice yesterday.”
“So, I suppose Coco filled you in on the diagnosis?” She came over to Mikka and said something to him in Russian, tousling his hair.
“Sorta. I…so, what are we going to do?”
Sarai reached for the blood pressure cuff on the wall. “Are you willing to get tested to see if your blood is a match for a stem cell transplant?”
He had gotten up and was stretching. “Of course I am.”
She took Mikka’s blood pressure, then let the air out and reattached the cuff to the wall. “I’ll have the nurse send in the kit.”
She said something to Mikka, who nodded his head, then turned back to Wyatt. “I’ll order Mikka’s breakfast. Then as soon as Coco gets back, Dr. Lee and I’d like to meet with both of you to go over treatment.”
His mother had woken and was now untangling herself from a blanket. Sarai glanced at her. “Why don’t you two get some breakfast in the cafeteria?”
“I could use some coffee,” his mother said. She had taken her scarf from her head and now fluffed her hair with her fingers, a brown cloud around her head. She looked at Wyatt. “Where’s Coco?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she went down for coffee.”
“Oh, she does love her coffee.”
Gerri went over to stand in front of the window. The sun was sliding over the outline of Mt. Rainier to the south, the sky a mottled orange and lemon. The buildings rose, a blue silver, some of the windows glinting orange. He came to stand beside her.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. A text, from a number he didn’t recognize. He opened it.
What—? A chill flushed through him, and he must have made a sound, something like taking a punch because his mother turned to him. “What is it?”
Coco. Beat up, blood on her chin, her hair disheveled, wearing his Blue Ox jersey and…
He turned away from his mother, widening the picture, and nearly lost his breath. A vest, with what looked like explosives.
“Wyatt?”
“I…I gotta go…um…” He looked at
her, and the concern on her face stripped him. But what could he say? “I’m going to go look for Coco. Get myself a cup of coffee. What do you want?”
“Just something black, heavy on the caffeine.”
“Yeah.” He picked up his jacket, glanced at Mikka. The little boy was sitting on his bed, his knees drawn up, staring out the window. The sun had gilded his face, picking up the tiniest flecks of red in his hair, and wouldn’t you know it, in this light, with this profile, he looked just like Coco.
Strong, stubborn Coco.
He walked over and kissed the top of his son’s head. Turned back to his mom. “Hey. I’m going to call Tate and see if he can…well, he might be sending someone over here to sit with you.”
She frowned. “Wyatt—”
“I gotta go, Ma.”
Then he left, striding down the hallway, his phone to his ear.
Tate picked up on the second ring. “What?”
Wyatt hit the stairwell, started down it, working out the kinks in his bones. “Coco is in trouble. I just got a text and…”
He had to stop on the landing, brace his hand on the railing. “I think Gustov has her. I got a picture of her wearing a suicide vest.”
Silence on the other end.
“Tate!”
“What? I’m trying to process. Coco’s not at the hospital with you?”
“No—I told you.” He blew out a breath and continued down the stairs. “When I got here last night, she wasn’t here. And I assumed she was down at the internet café. And then I fell asleep—jet lag and practice—and I woke up this morning and she wasn’t here. And now, I got this text and there’s a picture. Of her. And she’s…she’s hurt and—”
He hit the door and found himself outside.
The fresh air swept into him, filled with pine and the scent of the city and even a hint of the bakery down the street. He stopped, looking around, as if he might see her. “She has a bomb vest on.”
“Send me the picture,” Tate said.
“I need you here, now!” Wyatt stalked down the sidewalk into the parking lot.
“I can’t. The senator has her rally this morning. We’re on our way to the pier right now.”
“I need you here! With Mikka!”
“Calm down, bro. Listen, I’ll send York and RJ, okay?”
York. Yeah, he could use a guy with York’s skills. “Good.”
His phone vibrated. Another text had come in. A video. “I’ll call you back.” He hung up, and his hand shook as he opened the video.
Right there in the middle of the sidewalk, his world shattered.
Coco stood in front of some trailer, crying, her voice shaking, telling him…she loved him?
I don’t know what this man wants you to do, but whatever happens…thank you for coming to Russia.
He gripped the phone with so much force it dug into the palm of his hand. “Coco!”
What man?
He looked up and no one was watching. He listened again, and a fist grabbed his throat.
With a shaking hand he forwarded both the picture and the video to Tate.
Then the third text came in.
Meet me on the hospital playground if you want her to live.
He ran.
Wyatt found a man staring at the giraffe sculptures, his back to Wyatt.
Wyatt fought the terrible urge to simply grab him, to tear him apart where he stood.
“No one has to get hurt here, Marshall,” the man said as Wyatt got closer.
Then the man turned.
He wore gauged ears, a simple black plug in each of them, his dark hair cut short, and the hint of whiskers. And, oddly, a suit coat, jeans, and a clean blue shirt.
“My name is Alan Kobie, and if you want to see your girlfriend again, you’ll do what I ask.”
Wyatt gave him a once-over. About six feet tall, the man looked fit, but Wyatt could take him apart in seconds.
Maybe Kobie figured it out because he held up his cell phone. “Don’t do anything stupid, Marshall. And here’s why.”
As Wyatt watched, the man dialed the phone.
Wyatt didn’t know what he expected, but not a connection, then a countdown timer to appear. Kobie held it up. 4:59…4:58…4:57…
“What is that?”
“The timer on the vest. Every time I call, it starts the time. When I hang up, it resets.”
He hung up.
Looked at Wyatt. Smiled.
Redialed.
The timer started over.
“What is this game?”
“Not a game. I’m saving our country from a terrorist.”
“You look like the terrorist.” He wanted to take a swipe for the phone. “Hang up.”
“No problem.” Kobie held up the phone and pressed End. “So here’s what’s going to happen, Champ. You’re going to a political rally.”
Wyatt stared at him. “What?”
“Reba Jackson. VP candidate. She’s having a rally on Piers 62 and 63 today, in about…” He checked his watch. “Forty-five minutes. And you’re going to get onstage and set the world free.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. I saw you talking to your brother Tate, who I know is working for the senator these days. I’ve been following them for weeks, waiting for this moment. And I know you went up to talk to her.”
He’d seen Wyatt yesterday in the lobby of the Fairmont?
“And I know she likes the Minnesota Blue Ox.”
Wyatt’s mouth tightened.
“I’ll bet she found out you and your team were in town for this exhibition and decided to have a little meet and greet, huh?”
The wind stirred the cedar and spruce that surrounded the hospital, lifting the collar of his jacket.
“Did she even invite you to the rally?”
Wyatt said nothing, his mouth a tight line.
“Well, no matter. You attract a crowd wherever you go. I’m sure you can get a moment onstage. And that’s all I need. A moment. For you to read this.”
He handed Wyatt an index card.
Wyatt read the first line. “I’m not going to tell the world that Senator Jackson is a terrorist!”
“Yes you are. Because she is and the world needs to hear it. But they’re not going to listen to me, are they? Never mind that I served my country. Never mind that my brother was killed trying to defend it. I’m not trying to hurt anyone. We never were. We just wanted people to pay attention. And they’ll listen to you, hotshot.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand. You just have to say yes.”
Wyatt would be the accomplice of a domestic terrorist. Not to mention, if there was a rogue faction in the government, he might be next on their hit list.
“If I do this, my career could be over.” PR suicide, really. His gaze scanned over the content of the card, reading too fast to understand it, really.
What he did understand was Coco’s words. Thank you for our beautiful son. I know you’ll take care of him.
She was saying goodbye. Because she thought he wouldn’t do it.
“It’s your choice, Marsh—”
“I’ll do it.” He looked up at him. Drew in a breath. “Of course, I’ll do it.”
“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up. You have an audience to meet.”
Wyatt’s phone buzzed in his hand. Tate was on the line.
“I have to take this—”
“Be wise,” Kobie said and held up his phone.
“What?” he said to Tate.
“Sheesh,” Tate said. “Is this for real?”
“I…maybe. I don’t know.” He was walking with Kobie back to the hospital. But there was no way he was letting the guy near his kid.
“Listen, you’re right, we need people at the hospital with Ma and Mikka. But both RJ and York have seen this guy, can identify him, so they’re coming with me. But York is sending a cop he knows—”
“No!” Oh, he didn’t mean for that
to emerge, but the last thing he wanted was RJ at the rally, more of his family around this guy.
Kobie looked at him. Wyatt schooled his voice. “Don’t bring RJ to the rally. Send her to the hospital. With Ma.”
A pause. “You okay, Wy?”
“Yeah. I’ll…I’ll meet you at the rally.”
Another pause. “Are you sure?”
He hung up. Turned to Kobie. “Listen, I don’t need to clean up. Let’s go.”
Kobie smiled. “You’re going to be perfect.”
Wyatt pulled up his Uber app and ordered a ride.
Thirty minutes later, they’d navigated through traffic and past the Pike Place garage. “Let us off here,” Wyatt said and they got out across the street, taking the under highway pass to the Elliot Bay Trail.
The pier had been sectioned off for the event, a great battleship in the background, a trailing line of flags from bow to captain’s roost, back to stern. A grand picture of Isaac White and Reba Jackson hung on the side of the battleship, the slogan For a Safe Tomorrow in white letters against a red background.
Security lined the fencing that cordoned off the entrance, police and hired security checking the bags of the long line of people filtering into the event.
Already, the place was full, giant speakers pumping out country music. Flanking a platform at the back of the pier, in front of the battleship, were two sets of bleachers filling up with spectators and beside them, closer to the stage, risers for photographers.
Signs and banners waved in the wind off the Sound, the smell of the sea rife with brine and diesel fuel.
The perfect place to meet the everyday man and woman.
Signs dotted the growing crowd—White for President. Jackson for VP. More with slogans for peace, power, and prosperity.
“People have lost their minds,” Kobie said as they approached the gate.
Wyatt went right up to one of the security guards and pulled out his wallet, flashing his identification. “My brother Tate is head of security. He said—”
He got the go-ahead.
“This is my teammate,” he said of Kobie, pretty sure the security guard could see right through him.
But they passed, and Kobie looked over at him and grinned.
He wanted to throw the guy into the Sound. But if he did, the phone would go with him, and—
“By the way, once I make the call, if it’s not manually turned off, then…” Kobie leaned over to Wyatt as they passed a group of women holding signs. “Boom.”
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