Covered in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

  Ty’s phone rang. “What’s up, Jude?” He turned to me. “No, we haven’t heard from Sam.” He lifted his brows in question, and I shook my head in answer. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably kept working late last night and slept in. We’ll go by her house on our way back to Frankfort.”

  He hung up. “Jude’s worried. He spoke with Sam after she got home last night and—”

  “Wait. She went back to her own house? I thought she was going to stay with her parents or with a friend.”

  “She told Jude she could take care of herself and that she needed some things from her house. If she saw any sign of trouble, she promised she would leave and stay with friends.”

  “And?”

  “Her neighborhood was quiet and all was good inside her house, so she was going to bed and said she’d see him first thing this morning. She planned to meet him at the fusion center by nine. But he’s gotten no word from her yet, and she’s not answering her phone.”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s nearly ten thirty.” I was immediately concerned, but I tried to think of a non-sinister reason for her failure to appear this morning. “Maybe she had an errand to run. Or family to check in on. Remember, she and her family and friends were without electricity until late yesterday.”

  Ty raised an eyebrow. “You don’t really think she would run off to check on family without calling Jude to reschedule—or without answering her phone?”

  No. I didn’t.

  “Sam is the one who hacked into Louisville Power’s computer and found the malware, correct?” Declan asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘hacked,’ seeing as she’s technically still employed by LP, but yes.”

  The server returned and set a glass in front of me. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

  “We’ll have coffee for now, please,” Declan said.

  “Very well, sir. I’ll leave the menus in case you decide to order.” The server departed.

  “What I mean is,” Declan continued, “Sam was the one who discovered the signature embedded in the malware, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Ty said.

  “Wait.” I touched Declan’s forearm. “Dimitri said that the Spider Lightning people would know it if we discovered the coding. Do you think they’d go after Sam?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” He placed a hand over mine. His tone was not convincing.

  And I certainly was not sure. “Ty, call Jude back. Tell him to go to Sam’s house and to call the police, and then us, if anything looks out of place.”

  “Mr. O’Roark.” William was back. He didn’t even look my way. “Mr. Saltzman said to give you his apologies, but that he was called away on an emergency.”

  Declan reached into his pocket, pulled out a large bill, and handed it discreetly to William.

  William took the bill and stuffed it in his pocket. He leaned in close to Declan. “Mr. Saltzman hasn’t left the building yet. He is finishing up breakfast on the sixth floor. Private dining room C.”

  “Thank you, William.” Declan looked to Ty and me. “I just bought you some time.”

  As Ty and I stood, I spotted Blake Saltzman walking quickly down the hall past the entrance to the dining room. “Blake Saltzman’s here. She just sped down the hallway. Toward the elevator, maybe?”

  Ty and Declan both turned, but she was already gone.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” I said. “Sixth floor, you said?” When Declan nodded, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll be right back.” I lifted my head, urging Ty to come with me.

  I hurried from the dining room to the elevator. Ty was several steps behind me. The elevator doors were closing, with Blake inside. “Hold the elevator!” I called.

  Not really thinking, I darted inside instead of stopping the doors. Ty cursed as the doors closed behind me.

  “Hi, Blake,” I said with a smile. “Told you I would see you this morning.”

  Blake’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears, her face was spotty, and sweat beaded along her forehead.

  “Blake? What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer, but she started shaking.

  She wore a short skirt and jacket and looked like she might have come from church. Her jacket was buttoned and seemed too tight—like she was hiding something bulky underneath it. “What’s under your jacket, Blake?”

  Her voice was a whisper. “A bomb.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I studied her frightened eyes again. “Who did this to you?” I tried to keep my voice calm and even. “What are your instructions?” I pulled out my phone and began texting Ty.

  Bomb strapped to Blake. Clear building. Call LMPD bomb squad.

  “They dropped me off outside. Told me I had to go to the sixth floor, dining room C. I’m supposed to hand someone this.” She lifted her hand to reveal a cell phone.

  “Who? Your father?”

  Her eyes widened further. “What? My dad is upstairs?”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “I knew he was meeting people, but not where. They told me I would know who to give the phone to when it was time.”

  The elevator dinged.

  “I can’t go out there,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to kill those people.”

  The elevator doors slid open on the sixth floor. An older couple started to get on, then the old man stared at us for a second. “Can we help you young ladies?”

  The fire alarm sounded. The couple stiffened. Worried expressions slid across their faces.

  The phone in Blake’s hand rang, and she held it out from her body. “What do I do?”

  The phone rang a second time. I decided I didn’t have a choice. I grabbed the phone, pushed the green button, and held it to my ear, but said nothing.

  “Blake?” a male voice said. I couldn’t decipher his accent with just one word.

  “Yes,” I said in a low, shaky voice.

  “Who is this?” the caller demanded. This time I heard a distinct Russian accent.

  The muscles in my back and neck tensed as I thought about that. Were the Russians behind this attack?

  My own phone buzzed in my back pocket. I reached for it, activated Declan’s call, and stuck it in the front pocket of my blouse.

  “Tell me who this is, or the bomb blows,” the Russian said.

  “I’m with Blake. We’re on the sixth floor. Who do I hand the phone to?”

  “If you were in the dining room, I’d be able to see you.”

  “We’re on our way to dining room C.” I grabbed Blake’s hand and pulled her past the older couple, who clearly couldn’t decide whether to help us or run. “Get out of the building as fast as you can,” I said to them.

  Blake whimpered as I pulled her along, following the signs to dining room C.

  “Tell me who this is,” the man demanded. “Are you unlucky, or do you like to play hero?”

  “Am I unlucky, or do I like to play hero?” I repeated back to the man. “Both, I suppose,” I said evenly, regaining my strength.

  I pushed open the double doors to dining room C.

  It was a small, private room, with large windows on one side. Eight men, including Ryan Saltzman, were seated at the room’s only table.

  “What is this?” one of the men exclaimed.

  “Blake!” Ryan Saltzman rose and rushed to his daughter’s side. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, there you are,” the Russian said in my ear. “And who might you be, pretty lady?”

  “We’re here. Tell me what you want.”

  “Hand the phone to Ryan Saltzman.”

  As I turned to Blake’s father, I kept the phone at my side and surreptitiously hit the mute button. I spoke quickly, barely moving my lips. “There is a bomb strapped to your daughter. No one move from the table.”

  I unmuted the phone and held it out to Ryan. He looked down at it, then up at me, before he grabbed it and put it to his ear.

  I backed away from Ryan and spoke s
oftly, hoping Declan could still hear me through my own phone, which remained in my breast pocket. “There are eight men up here, including Ryan Saltzman. And now Blake and me. Clear the building. I don’t know what kind of bomb is on Blake, but the person directing her actions is Russian. I think he’s watching through the window from across the street.”

  “Miss Fairfax,” Ryan said, and I cringed. “He wishes to speak with you.”

  I took the phone. “Yes?”

  “Now I know who you are. This is such a coincidence.”

  I closed my eyes. I hated coincidences. “Why?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure who would care more about the little surprise I have: the executives of Louisville Power, or Homeland Security.”

  “Care about what surprise?” I snapped.

  “We have Samantha Clay with us. She’s been quite uncooperative so far, but that’s about to change when she watches what I do to Blake Saltzman.”

  “You hurt Blake, and you’ll never get what you want. But if you show good faith and don’t harm anyone, you still might get what you’re after.”

  “You think so? I don’t. If I did, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

  I walked to the windows. “Where are you, asshole?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, look,” he said. “The bomb squad has arrived.”

  I looked down six floors to the street below, where police were starting to arrive, including a truck that most likely carried the bomb robot and the bomb squad.

  “I should be on my way,” the Russian said.

  “Wait! I don’t even know what you want.”

  A series of beeps sounded behind me. They were getting louder and closer together.

  “Saltzman knows. He’s always known.” The phone clicked, and the Russian was gone.

  Blake screamed, and I spun around to see her sprinting through the dining room doors.

  But it was too late.

  The bomb exploded.

  Chapter 17

  Declan

  Less than a minute after Ty and Brooke left the dining room to catch up with Ryan Saltzman, Ty came running back in, breathless. “Blake Saltzman has a bomb strapped to her. I asked William to begin evacuating the building.” He was dialing on his phone as he spoke.

  I bolted upright and knocked my chair backwards. “Where’s Brooke?”

  The fire alarm sounded even as I spoke. The servers began gently herding diners toward the exits, but the guests looked reluctant to get up. “Is there really a fire?” one asked.

  Ty had his phone to his ear, but he spoke to me over the noise. “She’s in the elevator with Blake.” He slammed a hand through his hair. “God, I knew something was wrong.” He jerked his head and focused on the phone call. “Yes, hello. I’m at Thompson’s, downtown Louisville. We have a bomb situation.” As he began rattling off a few details, I struggled to keep my composure.

  I pulled out my own phone and dialed Brooke. The call connected, but I couldn’t hear anything at first. Then I heard her voice. She was talking to someone else.

  “Brooke? Can you hear me?”

  “Bomb squad is on the way,” Ty said.

  “Give me your phone.” I thrust mine at him. “I’m connected to Brooke on my phone, but she’s talking to someone else. I can hear her voice.”

  On Ty’s phone, I called Dimitri. “Where are you?”

  “I’m right across the street. Why am I hearing sirens? And lots of them?”

  Ty waved a hand. “She’s saying a Russian man is directing Blake’s actions, presumably by phone. That maybe he’s across the street from dining room C.”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Dimitri. “Blake Saltzman has a bomb strapped to her, Brooke is with her on the sixth floor, and someone’s in a building across from here, communicating with them and watching them through the window.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Dimitri hung up, and I handed the phone back to Ty just as he placed mine on speaker.

  He mouthed the words: These guys are Russian?

  I didn’t have time to explain, because Brooke began speaking again.

  “Am I unlucky, or do I like to play hero?” Brooke said. “Both, I suppose.”

  Lines formed between Ty’s brows, and I wanted to hit something.

  “The stairs,” Ty said.

  We ran from the main dining room. Down the hall toward the main entrance, a swarm of Louisville Metro police officers were entering.

  “This way,” I said.

  I led Ty to the back stairs. More than a dozen guests of Thompson’s were going the other way—men, women, and children, all dressed in their Sunday best. We pushed past them.

  Police appeared ahead of us, having apparently entered through the back of the building. When Ty and I tried to dart inside the stairwell, they shouted for us to stop. “Gentlemen! We need you to clear the building.”

  “Sir,” Ty said. “I’m Tyler Jamison with Kentucky Homeland Security. My partner is up there.”

  “And we’re going to get her out safely, but we need you to step aside while we do our jobs.”

  Armed police or no, I was intent on climbing the stairs to Brooke. But before I could move, the building shook.

  And my heart stopped when I realized that the bomb had blown.

  Chapter 18

  The blast concussion threw me against the plate glass windows. The glass cracked, spidering in multiple directions, but didn’t break. I fell to the floor, landing hard on my left shoulder. Debris crumbled all around me, and a second later the window shattered, covering me with shards.

  My ears were ringing, but I heard men moaning nearby and muffled yelling coming from down the hall. I pushed myself to my hands and knees; glass cut through the skin on my palms.

  “Blake!” Ryan yelled. Ryan had dropped down beside what was left of his daughter. The other men were huddled on the floor, coughing through the smoke and dust, cowering in fear. They were clearly shaken, but all appeared unharmed.

  Police officers and members of the bomb squad appeared in the hallway. One of them put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Sir. Let us take care of her, sir.”

  I knew what he was really trying to say was, Sir, you’re contaminating the evidence.

  I turned away and squeezed my eyes closed. A tear slid down my face. I hadn’t known Blake Saltzman well, but she did not deserve to die like this. No one deserved to die like this.

  I reopened my eyes. Through the haze of smoke and dust, a member of the bomb squad approached me. He was dressed in a navy blue uniform, with body armor covering vital areas. A sidearm was secured at his thigh, and he carried a semi-automatic rifle at his waist. A protective mask covered his face. “Miss Fairfax, come with me, please.” He put a hand on my elbow.

  I followed the police officer out of the room. The men who had met Ryan for breakfast were now getting checked out by other officers. Ryan remained on his knees in a pool of his daughter’s blood, sobbing uncontrollably, as an officer tried to pull him away.

  I found myself amazed at how little damage there actually was to the building, however. The doors to the dining room were blown to bits, some of the ceiling had crumbled, and of course the window had been shattered, but other than Blake Saltzman, no one was hurt.

  I knew that was intentional. If the Russian had wanted to kill all these men, he could have. If he’d wanted to bring the entire building down, he could have.

  No, he was making a statement—and this statement was directed at Ryan Saltzman. And perhaps at the other men in the room.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked the officer. The haze in my mind was lifting.

  He removed his mask. “We need to ask you some questions.”

  He took me downstairs to the lobby, through a swarm of police officers. A man and a woman in dark suits—federal agents, by the looks of them—were in one corner speaking with William. A couple of EMTs were pushing a gurney in through the front door. On top of it was a body bag.

  We co
ntinued outside. Police cars, a couple of ambulances, and several fire trucks lit up the street. I looked around for Declan or Ty, but saw neither. Remembering that I had put my phone in my breast pocket, I reached for it, but it was gone.

  The officer urged me to follow. “This way, Miss Fairfax. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Can I borrow your phone?” I asked him. “I seem to have lost mine.”

  “I’ll get you one.”

  He led me to a squad car on the other side of the road, positioned in the front of a long line of squad cars. The street had been blocked off on both ends.

  He opened the back door. “You’ll be cooler inside the car. My boss would like to get your account of what happened up there.”

  Warning bells started going off inside my head.

  “Officer, I’m sure it would be much more comfortable in the car, but I prefer to stand outside.”

  It was too late. He pulled me forward and positioned me between him and the vehicle. He was significantly bigger than me, and when he jabbed his nine-millimeter pistol into my rib cage, I knew I was in trouble.

  He reached under my shirt and disarmed me. He then patted me down, discovering the second weapon at my ankle.

  When he stood again, I looked up at his mask. “Who are you?”

  He thrust the gun into my gut. “Get in.”

  I followed his order. When he had slammed the door closed, I tried the handle, but as I’d suspected, like any police cruiser it was locked to keep arrested individuals from escaping. My heart rate picked up, and I felt like the car was closing in on me.

  The officer, or whoever he was—he clearly had nothing to do with the Louisville Metro bomb squad—slid behind the wheel and took off his mask.

  The passenger door opened, and another man climbed in. He didn’t turn to look at me. “Go. Now.” I immediately recognized the voice: it was the Russian I had spoken with on the phone.

  As the driver pulled away, movement in my peripheral caught my eye. Dimitri was coming out of the building across the street from Thompson’s. He saw me in the back of the cruiser and immediately sprinted hard toward me, but the cruiser was already speeding off. I looked out the back window as Dimitri admitted defeat.