* * *
ALLIE CREPT OUT of Max Jr.’s nursery, rubbing the aching muscles in her neck and rolling her head from side to side. She’d stayed home from the mall today as promised, but had gotten very little work accomplished. Instead, she’d carried, rocked and bounced her toddler for nearly two hours while he fought his fatigue and struggled with incoming teeth.
Now that it was finally quiet, she could only hope he would rest and she could focus.
She pressed her hands against the small of her back as she headed to the kitchen, stretching the bunched muscles along her spine.
She flipped on the television, then filled a glass with water and took a seat on the couch to unwind. A news bulletin swept across the screen before her first sip, and she felt her already tense muscles go into lockdown. “Please don’t be another bomb,” she said, pumping the volume a little higher with her remote. “Do not let Max be in danger.”
A familiar reporter appeared on-screen, an expression of undeniable concern on her face. “The apartment building at Hayes and Vine has been completely evacuated by an FBI group known as the Tactical Crime Division, or TCD.”
Allie’s heart rate spiked. She climbed off the couch and ghosted to the television, leaving her water on the coffee table behind her.
“Even family pets have been removed from this south-side tenement, while a team of explosives experts search for Grand Rapids’ third bomb.”
Allie shook her head at the images before her, willing them not to be true. Crowds lined the streets outside an old yellow-brick building in a neighborhood she recognized near downtown. The door to the building gaped open.
“Sources say the FBI’s TCD mobilized yesterday, deployed from the Traverse City headquarters, to investigate the two fatal bombings in Grand Rapids earlier this week. Less than twenty-four hours later, they’ve identified this man, Fritz O’Lear, as their prime suspect. O’Lear is believed to have had a personal connection to at least one fatally injured victim in each bombing, and records show him as a resident of the building being searched right now.”
Allie’s gaze fixed on the worried faces of Max’s colleagues, and her heart nearly seized. Max’s team was unflappable. If they were worried, she was terrified.
Allie jerked the cell phone from her back pocket and dialed her parents’ number while she searched for her coat, purse and keys. “Mom?” she asked, the moment the call connected.
“I see it, baby,” her mom said. “Your dad and I were just watching while we made lunch.”
“I have to go,” Allie said, a lump rising in her throat. “I need to be there. He’s in there.”
A soft knock sounded on her front door, and Allie raced to pull it open.
Her mom smiled, phone in one hand, emotion in her pale blue eyes. “Go. I’ll stay with Max Jr. Your dad will bring lunch to me when it’s ready.”
Allie threw her arms around her mother, jammed her feet into boots, then made a run for her car, threading her arms into her coat sleeves as she hurried out.
Snow fell at an alarming rate as she barreled along city streets, racing toward the area where the news team had broadcasted. The roads were clear of ice and snow, but traffic was thick so close to lunchtime.
Allie worked to swallow and clear her head, but her heart ached with the idea she could be too late. She could lose Max, really lose him. And it hit her, for the first time, that she hadn’t truly accepted their divorce as the end. She’d hoped that one day he’d get his head on straight and come back to her. His job was important, but so was she, so was their son, and though Max didn’t seem to believe it, so was he. He could save the world and still have a family; he wasn’t some tragic superhero out of a comic book.
Allie took every shortcut she could think of, scanning the radio for coverage of the situation. Instead of new information, she only received the same update on repeat. The FBI had named a bombing suspect, and they were sweeping a building right now.
Her stomach rolled as haunting images from the news returned to her. The concern on the reporter’s brow. The fear in Max’s teammates’ eyes.
“I can’t lose him,” she muttered, taking another quick turn into an alleyway and darting down the pitted, unmaintained street.
When she reached the wooden barricades and shivering crowds, she parked along the curb and began to jog. “Axel!” She waved an arm overhead and yelled for her old friend as she drew near. “Axel!”
He turned, scanning the area until their eyes met. Then he began to move in her direction.
He swept the crime-scene tape high, waving off the approaching officer as Allie ducked beneath.
“Is he okay?” she asked. “What’s happening?”
Axel set his hand against her back and ushered her into the little circle of TCD members at the end of the building’s walkway.
The women pulled her into a series of hugs. The comfort and ease with which they accepted her back into the fold stung her eyes and nose, and threatened to tip her over the emotional edge. She’d worried they might hate her for leaving Max, but that didn’t seem to be true.
“He’s doing okay,” Carly assured her, keeping Allie against her side with one arm. “If anything had gone wrong, he would’ve contacted us.”
Allie nodded. “Okay.” She stared at the building, hoping Carly’s words were true and willing her ex-husband to appear.
Axel shifted, turning back to the building. Selena and Aria stood with him, each statue-still. Their jaws were tight. Their backs rigid.
Allie pulled back from Carly, intuition lighting. “There’s more,” she accused. “There’s something else. What don’t I know?”
Carly didn’t answer.
The others glanced her way, then went back to staring.
“Tell me,” Allie demanded. “Please!” She covered her mouth, instantly horrified by the outburst.
Carly rubbed her palm up and down Allie’s sleeve before stepping away to face her. “We think the bomber might’ve planned to detonate the device when his superintendent returned from lunch. At noon.”
“Noon?” Allie raised her watch, then said a desperate prayer. It was already ten minutes till.
* * *
THE OFFICE SPACE was small and cramped. Max left the door open as he stepped inside. A battered metal desk stood on his immediate left, a rug in the center, and two plastic chairs with metal legs pressed against the opposite wall. Tall beige filing cabinets formed a row between an interior door to Teske’s apartment and piles of ancient dust-covered boxes. An evacuation map of the building hung above the cabinets, mostly blocked by a massive pair of faux ferns in cracked plastic pots. A century’s worth of cigarette smoke had permeated everything. The air, the walls, the rugs.
Max examined the space, imagining O’Lear coming in to deliver the rent early this morning. He extended the retractable arm on his small tactical mirror and positioned it beneath the desk. No bomb. He opened the file cabinet drawers one by one. Then checked the desk drawers, as well.
He turned in a small circle, searching, thinking. Evaluating each object.
He had eight minutes to find and disarm a bomb or die.
Instinct pulled him to the stacks of ancient boxes. The thick layer of dust on one had been disturbed, as if the box on top of it had been moved.
Max unstacked the pile quickly, removing each lid as he went, then peeking inside for good measure. When he reached the box he’d been aiming for, his gut clenched in warning.
He lifted the cardboard top gently and froze at the sight of a pressure cooker.
The cheap digital watch attached to the lid had less than four minutes before it reached zero. When that happened, Max knew, the Tannerite, undoubtedly packed into the pot, along with every manner of metal projectile, would ignite.
The airtight container would stop the blast for a fraction of a second, creating unfathomabl
e pressure, before exploding and blowing away everything in its path. The resulting fireball would be twenty feet across, blasting thousands of nuts and bolts, nails and BBs, along with bits of the destroyed pot, through the air, like shrapnel. Through everything in sight. And for more than a hundred yards. The red-hot, impossibly sharp bits would move at up to two thousand feet per second, faster than the speed of sound, and anyone in their range would be injured before they even heard the explosion. The shock wave would be felt up to a quarter mile away.
Footfalls on the stairs echoed through the otherwise silent building, and Max backed up until he could be seen through the door. He held one hand out before him like a crossing guard stopping traffic. The pair of local bomb-squad men froze. “I found it,” Max said. “There’s less than three minutes on the timer.” He steeled himself, then forced every bit of authority he could muster into his words. “Go. I’ve got this.” And if he didn’t, there was no reason to lose three lives instead of one.
They hesitated, looking from the door, to one another, then back to Max.
“That’s an order!” he shouted, imitating the drill sergeant he’d loathed as a new soldier, then admired as a seasoned veteran. “Now!”
The men shuffled quickly away.
Max turned back to the bomb, now at under two minutes, said a silent prayer and went to work.
The watch needed to come off first. He couldn’t allow the alarm to activate while still attached to the cooker. Or the Tannerite. He stripped off the bulky safety gloves, his trained and nimble fingers suddenly shaking and unsure. With only one minute and four seconds left on the clock, he gripped the watch with sweat-slicked hands, counted mentally to three, then pulled. The watch separated cleanly from the pot, instantly stopping the timer.
* * *
ALLIE WRUNG HER frozen hands and paced. It was nearly noon, and every second felt like an eternity to her panicked, aching heart. The apartment building could go up in smoke at any minute, taking Max’s life with it, and she didn’t think she could live through that.
She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth to stave off the nausea, and batted away tears. She had to pull herself together. No matter what happened today or any day, Max Jr. needed her, and she needed to get tough for him.
A man in a dark suit broke away from the group of uniformed officers and headed for Axel.
Allie stopped pacing to watch.
The man’s grim expression sent a bead of sweat over her brow despite the ferocious cold. “Special Agent Morrow.” He handed Axel his phone. “I think you should see this.”
Axel accepted the device, looked it over and paled.
“What is that?” Allie asked, unable to hold her tongue. “What’s going on?” Her every instinct said whatever was happening had to do with Max, and it wasn’t good.
Axel returned the man’s phone, then shot Allie a remorseful look.
She could see the message in his eyes, practically hear the words running through his mind, but he was too polite to say them aloud. The specifics of the operation were classified, and she was an outsider. Never a member of the TCD, and no longer Max’s wife.
The truth hit like a punch to her heart.
“Look!” Carly raised a pointed finger to the building as a figure appeared in the doorway.
Allie jumped forward, then slowed as two men in protective gear rushed down the walkway toward the sidewalk. Neither man was Max.
Tears blurred her vision and spilled across her cheeks. “Where is he?” she cried. “Where!”
Carly grabbed Allie’s waist and held her tight as the men arrived.
“He found the bomb,” the first man reported, struggling to remove his helmet and gloves. “There was less than three minutes. He sent us out.”
Allie checked her watch, fear ratcheting in her heart.
It was noon.
“Stand back,” a uniformed officer hollered through a bullhorn. “Move back now.”
People scattered, rushing away from the yellow tape.
Axel cursed and moved forward.
Carly caught him by his arm.
Allie wanted to scream. She wanted to collapse. Why wasn’t Max coming out? Why wasn’t anyone going after him? What was happening?
“There he is!” Carly called. “Max!”
Allie’s gaze snapped up, seeking the building and finding Max.
He strode confidently forward, the EOD helmet tucked securely under one arm, his gaze locked on hers.
She pushed her way through the group in a burst of joy, relief and awe.
He dropped his helmet and opened his arms as she launched herself at him.
Allie collided with his chest, nearly leaping into his arms, and he responded by holding her close.
He pressed his lips against her head and whispered, “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
She fought tears as the team filed in around them, along with at least a dozen local officials she’d never seen before and would never recognize in the future. All that mattered in that moment was that Max was all right, and they still had time to figure things out.
He held on to her as he debriefed the group on what had happened inside the building. Then she watched as Axel offered Max his cell phone.
“Local PD received this text message about four minutes ago,” Axel explained.
Max accepted the device, and they looked at the screen together.
Three down, one to go. You won’t be so lucky next time.
Kaboom.
* * *
“WHAT?” ALLIE LOOKED from Max to Axel, then back. “What does it mean?”
Max tightened his arm around her, pressing his fingers against her waist. “It means he isn’t finished.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Adrenaline coursed through Max’s veins and lightened his head as he passed the cell phone back to Axel. Coming down from a moment like he’d just experienced inside always left him feeling slightly disoriented. He pulled Allie close once more, immeasurably thankful for her unexpected presence.
She fell easily against him, fear, relief and something deeper pooling in her eyes. She pressed her cheek to his chest, and his breaths began to settle. His heart rate started to slow. Small as she was, and fragile as she felt in his arms, Allie had always been his anchor. And the intense emotional connection flowing between them now was a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
He spoke briefly with the bomb-squad captain, relaying the pressure cooker’s location and pertinent details. The local team would take over from here, documenting the scene and arranging for removal and disassembly of the device. A bomb often told its maker’s secrets, and Max could only hope that this one would give a hint to O’Lear’s location, as well.
Max’s teammates retreated, gathering near their SUVs while Max briefed the fire marshal and other officials with his findings and assessment. When he finished, his team gave him the space to say goodbye to Allie. He wanted to linger but had to hurry. He needed to get back to work before O’Lear retaliated. Max had ruined the bomber’s planned attack, essentially stealing O’Lear’s thunder, possibly humiliating him and making him feel exactly the same way he had when he concocted the deadly plan in the first place.
“I should go,” Allie said, accurately interpreting the moment and stepping slowly away. She’d never been to a scene like this with Max before, and while her surprise presence had been momentarily comforting, he realized with a slap that it was time she got as far away from him as possible.
“Okay. Be safe,” he said, glancing toward his team. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Right,” she said, sounding suddenly unsure. “Of course.” She took a fumbling step back, hurt gathering in her eyes. “Maybe call if you won’t be able to make it for dinner?”
“Of course.” He nodded, scanning the crowd for signs of O’Lear and hoping that if the b
omber stumbled on-site at this moment, he wouldn’t understand how much Allie meant to him.
He hurried to his team with long, hungry strides, refusing to let himself look back.
Aria cringed as he approached. Selena shook her head. Axel’s attention was somewhere else completely, his gaze trailing something in the distance. Max knew without asking that Axel was watching Allie. He’d keep tabs on her as long as possible, stepping in for Max when he couldn’t keep her safe.
When Max turned to check his assumption, there was only a heavy crowd and line of reporters.
Allie was already gone.
The realization that his connection to her had suddenly become her biggest danger was enough to buckle his knees. How could he protect her if he couldn’t get near her? And how could he make her understand his behavior today was meant to keep her safe when she’d surely see the exchange as a repeat of so many others during their married life? Of him dismissing her because work called. He could send a quick text, but what would he say? Would she see it as an excuse?
“Max?” Axel asked, prompting a response to a question Max hadn’t heard.
“Yeah.” Max forced himself back to the crisis at hand. “Let me pack up this suit, and I’ll be ready to go.”
He sloughed off his cumbersome EOD suit and freed the cell phone from his pocket to send Allie a text.
Sorry I had to run. I will be there tonight. Nothing can keep me away.
But he would be staying at the hotel moving forward. Allie’s safety, and the safety of Max Jr., was top priority in Max’s world. Everything else could get in line.
* * *
CARLY’S HEART WENT out to Allie as she watched her hurry away, then to Max as he rubbed the back of his neck, visibly struggling to get his head in the game. Carly understood the confliction. She’d been the agent taking lead on a case at Christmas, and she’d fallen in love in the process. Those two worlds, love and job, should never collide because it was terrifying. She’d worried for Noah as the case grew trickier, afraid something awful could happen to him because of his involvement and proximity to her. Now the tides had turned, and Noah was the one constantly worried about her every time she was called out on a case. Relationships were tricky for everyone, but for a TCD agent in love with a civilian, relationships were downright complicated.
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