by Tarah Benner
“You want me to what?” Thompson spluttered, staring at them as though they’d just asked her to jump off the silo.
“We want you to arrest Annalisa Stein,” said Lark, glancing over at Soren as if craving reassurance that she hadn’t completely lost her mind.
“You want me to fake-arrest Annalisa Stein,” Thompson corrected. “COO of GreenSeed International. Former chairwoman of the Gorkin Group. Bestselling author of Cutthroat Women Win.”
“She wrote a book?” said Lark, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
Lark had never said much about her brief encounter with Annalisa Stein, but Soren sensed a bit of a grudge.
“This woman isn’t some middle-management drudge,” said Thompson. “She’s top brass. I’d be surprised if she doesn’t have her own private security detail.”
Lark raised her eyebrows. “Actually . . .”
“Of course she does,” said Thompson. “And you want me to walk into GreenSeed headquarters, arrest her, and . . . what?”
“We’ll take it from there,” said Lark.
“I’m gonna need more details than that.”
Lark glanced at Soren and took a deep breath. They knew this would be the hard sell.
Annalisa, like everyone involved with GreenSeed, was banking on the fact that the world would eventually recover from the famine. They didn’t want it getting out that the company had known about the life-saving ancient crops all along. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that they had let millions of people starve just so they could profit from the genetically engineered versions.
“We’re just going to tell her what we know,” said Lark in an offhand voice. “If she decides to help us, no one else has to know about GreenSeed’s dirty little secret. If she refuses, the world will find out exactly what they’ve been hiding.”
There was a long pause.
“You want me to help you blackmail her?” said Thompson.
Lark seemed to deflate a little. They’d known it would be an uphill battle getting Thompson on board with the plan, but Soren had to admit that their idea had sounded a lot better at one o’clock in the morning.
“Look,” said Soren. “No one is ever gonna find out. Annalisa’s job depends on keeping GreenSeed’s secret. If it ever got out . . .”
“You do realize that I could lose my badge for this,” said Thompson.
“What badge?” said Lark. “The Denver P.D. doesn’t exist anymore! Who are you going to get in trouble with?”
“It’s not just me you’re asking,” said Thompson quietly. “If we’re going to do this, we’re gonna need backup.”
Lark and Soren exchanged a puzzled look.
“You don’t march into corporate headquarters to arrest a top executive without a team of officers and a warrant,” said Thompson. “We’re going to need help on this.”
“Okay,” said Lark. “But who . . .”
Thompson shrugged. “I’ve still got a few connections. If we can get our hands on some police cruisers, we might be able to pull this off.”
Lark’s eyebrows shot up.
“What happened to not blackmailing the COO of GreenSeed International?” asked Soren with a grin.
“I didn’t say we shouldn’t,” said Thompson. “I just wanted to be clear on what we were doing.”
“So . . . does that mean you’ll help us?” asked Lark.
“I’ll help you,” said Thompson, cracking an evil grin. “But if we’re doing this, we’re gonna do it right.”
27
Soren
The Baileys’ house was full of nervous energy the morning they put their plan into motion. It was December twenty-second, three days before Christmas, and the house was swarming with ex-cops from Denver.
Lark, Bernie, Portia, and Axel were all on edge, as if they were waiting for one of the cops to arrest them. It had taken days to persuade Axel to agree to work with Thompson’s friends in the first place, and Soren knew that he still didn’t trust them.
Thompson was the only reason Soren felt confident that the cops were on their side. Apparently, the famine and subsequent economic collapse had caused the city’s police force to implode. All of the officers had been willing to stay in Denver and help contain the riots, but a few weeks after FEMA set up camps around the city, they’d come into work to find that they were suddenly out of a job.
Maybe it was their unceremonious dismissal from the force that made them willing to help Thompson carry out some vigilante justice, or maybe it was the fact that they had been present for the worst of the famine and witnessed the wide-scale human suffering GreenSeed had failed to prevent. Either way, they were on board to help them stage Annalisa’s arrest and make it look as realistic as possible.
None of the officers said anything to Soren about his record, and he suspected that Thompson hadn’t told them their complete backstory. Soren caught one burly male officer named Roger staring at his tattoos as he shoveled eggs onto his plate, but nobody gave any indication that they knew they were helping six escaped convicts.
Just before they were set to leave, Thompson called everyone into the kitchen to go over the plan. Lark, Bernie, and Simjay came in at once, but it took several minutes of coaxing to get Axel downstairs.
Bernie volunteered to stay behind with Portia and the babies, and Axel agreed to ride in the blacked-out sedan with Lark. Soren and Simjay would pose as officers to forcibly remove Annalisa if necessary. Soren only hoped that none of the guards recognized him as one of the escaped prisoners.
The drive to Arroyo Verde was the longest ride of Soren’s life. He was sitting in the front seat of the lead car with Thompson, who was dressed in her old police uniform. One of her friends had lent Soren one, too. It was itchy and uncomfortable and clung in all the wrong places, but even Axel had to admit that he and Simjay looked the part.
As they drove, Thompson told Soren about each of her friends who’d agreed to help: There was Jerry, the beat cop who’d taken a bullet for a fellow officer and then been laid off before the disaster; Mac, the guy who’d done everything by the book until a traumatic brain injury forced him onto disability; and Melissa and Roger, the retired couple who’d lost their pension but still showed up to do crowd control in Denver.
All of them had made enormous sacrifices on the job, and all of them seemed to have gotten screwed. It made Soren understand why they might have decided to help. They had been jerked around by the same system they’d devoted their lives to, and it was the only way they might be able to dole out some justice.
“Nearly there,” Thompson muttered after several hours, glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure the other squad cars were still behind them. “You’re sure you want to do this? Once we take her, there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure,” Soren growled. Their plan was extreme, but it was necessary. Lark would never rest until they took care of GreenSeed, and Soren wanted her to be happy.
“Just making sure you understand the risks,” said Thompson.
“I understand.”
Thompson paused for a beat. “You must love her a lot.”
“I do.”
Thompson raised her eyebrows but kept her eyes trained on the road. If she thought Soren was crazy, she didn’t say so. Maybe losing her sister had made her realize that love was the only thing that mattered, or maybe she was just chomping at the bit to get back to work.
Whatever the reason, Soren was grateful. They could never have pulled this off without her help.
Thompson flipped on the sirens, and Soren heard the cars behind them follow suit. The sirens filled the air with a deafening wail, blending together in a scream that seemed to carry them the last few miles to Arroyo Verde.
Just then, the adobe wall around San Judas came into view. It flew by in Soren’s periphery like a murky waterway, and he got a familiar shiver as he remembered the view from inside the prison: the impenetrable adobe wall, the cold metal of the electric fence, and the watchful eyes of armed guards in
the watchtowers.
Escape had seemed impossible back then, but he’d done it for Micah. His brother might have been gone, but Soren hadn’t lost his willingness to fight. That urge was still there, buried deep inside of him. And as they sped down the road that ran along the wall, Soren realized he wasn’t just doing this for Lark. He wanted to shut down San Judas for good.
His heart rate sped up as they turned down the long private road leading to the administrative campus. They blazed past the guard booth, ignoring all the check-in signs, and headed straight for the main administrative building. The tall sandstone structure was perched on a lone stamp of green grass just outside the wall, and Soren felt a spark of animosity ignite in his gut.
“It’s showtime,” said Thompson, gripping the steering wheel tighter as she pulled into the circle drive. Soren dragged in a deep breath as squad cars pulled in around them, and he pictured Annalisa watching them all from a window in the C-suite.
Thompson threw the vehicle into park, opened the car door, and swung out a leg like she was ready to kick some ass. She straightened up, and Soren noticed a new confidence about her. She stood differently, walked differently, and held her head with a degree of boldness that Soren hadn’t seen before. The uniform transformed her.
Soren clambered out of the squad car behind her, feeling itchy and awkward in his borrowed uniform. He and Simjay filed in with the other officers, trying to look as though they belonged.
He kept his head down as they shoved through the glass doors, the officers’ voices echoing off the polished concrete floor. There was no one working at the front desk, and Soren pictured a girl clacking frantically down the hallway to warn her superiors.
Just seconds after they squeezed into the lobby, they found their path blocked by two tall men in uniform. They were dressed in black pants and tan polos with the word “Security” embroidered on the sleeves. They were stupid generic security-guard outfits, but their weapons were real.
“Can we help you, officers?” asked the beefier blond one. His name tag read “D. Evans,” and his demeanor suggested that he was not feeling helpful at all.
“We have a warrant to arrest Annalisa Stein,” said Thompson, producing a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket that Soren had watched her forge that morning.
A look of confusion swept across the guard’s face, followed by hostility. He glanced at the paper in Thompson’s hand and then reached up to speak into the radio clipped on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Thompson. “Ms. Stein has been labeled a flight risk. If she has prior warning —”
“Just a sec,” said the guard, holding up a finger to shush her. “I need to run this by the main office.”
“You don’t need to run this by anyone,” said Thompson roughly. “This is the law. I have a warrant. What part of that don’t you understand?”
D. Evans ignored her and spoke into his radio. “Jameson, we’ve got a ten thirty-three. I’m gonna need you to secure —”
But he never finished his sentence. “Stand down and shut up,” Thompson boomed. “Unless you want to be charged with obstruction of justice.”
D. Evans froze, staring at Thompson as though he longed to deck her.
“I need to alert my superiors,” he said slowly, still touching his radio.
“Are you deaf?” Thompson yelled, pulling out her gun and pointing it at his head. “Get down on the ground and put your hands where I can see them.”
D. Evans stared at her for one more minute before shuffling down to his knees with a scowl. He released his radio and put his hands over his head, and Thompson brandished her gun at his sidekick.
“You too!”
The other guard did as he was told, staring contemptuously at Thompson as he lowered himself to the ground.
Just then, Soren heard a garble of static and turned to look down the hallway. A third guard had been standing just out of sight. He was talking into his radio and looking right at them.
“Mother — fucker!” yelled Thompson, turning her gun on the guard. “Get your hands up!”
But it was too late. Soren could hear commotion coming from down the hallway, and a second later, Thompson took off running.
Melissa and Jerry turned their guns on the security guards, and Soren sprinted down the hallway after her. Thompson seemed to know exactly what was happening, but the guard had been one step ahead.
As Soren passed the offices lining the stylish modern hallway, he realized that the guard had already spread the message. Employees were scrambling from one room to another, their arms overflowing with files as they rushed to shred everything.
“Freeze!” Thompson yelled, bursting into one room and pointing her gun at a terrified administrative assistant. “Drop the files! Drop ’em!”
The woman gave a whimper and dropped the files she was holding. Filing cabinets were hanging open all around her. The floor was covered with scattered papers, and an industrial-grade shredder was giving off an alarming amount of heat as it chewed through records and contracts and who knew what else.
Thompson swore and ran out of the room. Soren sprinted after her, and they tore down the hallway to find Annalisa’s office. They passed a window that had been boarded up, and Soren felt a tingle of familiarity. He had been there before.
Sure enough, the hallway dead-ended at a set of heavy double doors. Soren knew they led to an enormous computer lab, but when Thompson stepped back and flung the doors open, he was shocked to see that it was empty except for a handful of workers.
“Everyone stop what you are doing!” yelled Thompson. “Step away from your computers and put your hands where I can see them!”
Everybody froze except for one chubby bald guy in the corner. He was wearing a large pair of headphones and clicking away on his computer.
“I said stop!” yelled Thompson.
The man didn’t stop.
“He can’t hear you!” cried a woman near the back, who sounded close to tears.
But Thompson didn’t care. With an animalistic growl, she vaulted the nearest row of desks, yanked off the man’s headphones, and clobbered him in the head with the butt of her pistol.
The woman screamed. The man let out an agonized cry, and Thompson slammed him into his desk. His chin hit the keyboard with a painful-sounding clatter, and Soren knew that it was already too late.
“What are you doing?” yelled Thompson, jerking the man’s arms behind his back.
“Ahhh!” he cried, wincing in pain as Thompson cranked his shoulder into a stress position. “What’s happening? I’m just doing what I was told!”
“What — were you — told?”
“We were supposed to destroy everything! That’s what they said. Wipe our hard drives and —”
“Who told you?” Thompson yelled.
“I can’t —”
“Who?” Thompson screamed.
“It came from high up,” the man groaned. “I can’t say who — ahhhh!”
Thompson had just cranked his arm harder, and the man’s face was turning an astonishing shade of red.
“Ms. Stein!” he cried. “Annalisa Stein! She’s the one who gave the order, okay? Just please let me go!”
Thompson released the man, and Soren saw that he had tears in his eyes. Normally Soren might have felt sorry for him, but he realized in that moment that everyone working for GreenSeed knew exactly what the company was up to.
The man continued to whimper, and Thompson leaned in closer. “Where is she?” she growled, looking more terrifying than Soren had ever seen her.
“I — don’t — know,” the man sobbed. “Just please don’t shoot me. I’ve got kids.”
Thompson let out a moan of disgust and shoved the man away. Soren met her gaze, and a deep sense of dread seeped into his gut.
They were in way over their heads. Annalisa had been warned, and she had a contingency plan in place. She’d been ready to destroy all the incriminating evidence, and it might
have already been too late.
They left the terrified workers in the computer lab and continued their journey through the building. They checked door after door for Annalisa’s name, finally reaching the one labeled “A. Stein.”
A jolt of excitement shot through Soren’s veins. This was it.
“Police!” Thompson yelled, drawing her leg back and kicking down the door. It flew open and banged against the wall, and Soren was blinded by a sudden rush of light.
They were standing in a spacious office filled with sleek modern furniture and a wall of ceiling-to-floor windows. A magnificent desk stood across from the door, and an uncomfortable-looking white leather couch was situated along the closest wall.
Annalisa’s office was in complete disarray. Official-looking papers were scattered over the desk, and a still-hot coffee was steaming beside the keyboard. There was no COO in sight.
“Shit,” muttered Thompson, storming through the office in a cloud of fury. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Soren circled the desk in a frenzy, looking all around to make sure Annalisa wasn’t hiding anywhere in the office. A spreadsheet was still up on her computer screen, but a black panel resting on the desk and the exposed innards of her computer told Soren that she had taken the hard drive with her.
He yanked open her top desk drawer. Pens, paper clips, and a tube of lipstick rattled in the tray, but there was nothing that looked as though it held any evidence of GreenSeed’s wrongdoings.
Annalisa’s briefcase was missing, too, and she’d left the faintest hint of perfume in her wake. Soren shook his head, gritting his teeth in an effort to control the slow build of fury that had started in his stomach.
He couldn’t believe it. GreenSeed had been expecting something like this to happen, and they’d put a plan in place to deal with the fallout. Annalisa was gone, and she’d taken everything with her. She was no longer a pawn in their plan to ruin GreenSeed. This was her game, and they were already losing.