by C. J. Lyons
Some would find that a useful talent in a significant other. The thought raced through her mind, accompanied by a wave of hysteria. Damn drugs still clouding things exactly when she needed to make herself clear.
“I don’t want to be that person anymore. Because of you. I’m trying not to be that person anymore.” She spread her arms wide. Leaving herself open, vulnerable. “Because of you.”
His silence filled the car louder than any words could.
“Thank you,” he finally said, surprising her. But also making her wince at the ice in his voice. Distant ice, from another galaxy, beyond the visible stars. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. City lights came into view as they crested a hill and reached route 22. They didn’t have long, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the chance to see him again, to tell him what was really in her heart—but no, after what he’d been through, what he’d seen, this had to be about him, not her.
She could handle it, she always had.
“You should take some time. I know a guy, Nick Callahan. He’s real good to talk to about stuff like this. You can tell him anything.”
“How? Without getting you arrested or in worse trouble than you already are?”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Seriously. You need to take care of yourself. And then,” she hauled in her breath, tamping down her hopes and fears, “then, if you want, we can talk. Maybe even try again.”
She spotted the turn for the mall. “Just drop me off—” Then she saw the spotlights arcing over the parking lot and the neon letters announcing the March Madness special event.
“Turn. Turn here.” She reached to yank the wheel, but he was already obeying her. “I’m an idiot. This is it. This is Gibson’s target. Drop me off. I need to find a phone, call Jenna and Andre. I need to find Gibson. I need to stop—” She clamped her palm over her mouth, looked at Micah in dismay.
“Your father,” he finished for her as he steered the Ford into a parking spot. “We need to stop him and Gibson and those bombs.”
As much as Morgan despised his choice of pronouns, there was no time to argue.
Chapter 23
THE MALL WAS a nightmare of chaos. Sound reverberated from the concrete, glass, and steel across two levels of shopping, echoing through the atrium that connected the upper floor with the lower one. When Morgan and Micah rushed inside, she felt physically repulsed by the crowd pulsating with its jungle beat, a wave of nausea overcoming her for a moment.
Large screen TVs were everywhere, showing commercials now, but as soon as the Pitt game began, they would switch over to live coverage. That way, shoppers could watch as they browsed, ate, and bought, bought, bought.
It was a family affair with free child care in the play area, a basketball court had been set up on the level below the food court with boys lined up to play winners, green screen backdrops with custom computerized settings for the family portrait sittings, and festive pop-up kiosks selling everything from personalized toys to a booth where parents could record bedtime stories.
Micah was her anchor, guiding her through the swarm to the mall directory.
“The security office.” He pointed to a square on the map. Security was on the lower level, tucked into the area behind the stairs leading up to the food court. “They’ll know what to do.”
She didn’t share his faith in mall cops. “Go,” she told him, leaning against the column that held the map as if she might be sick.
She tried to tell herself she was only acting, although the bright lights and noise kept messing with her balance, making her nauseated. But it wasn’t any physical symptoms that kept her from joining Micah. This pain went much, much deeper. “I’ll catch up.” He turned to leave but she called him back. “Micah.”
“What?” And for a moment he was that boy she’d first met—the one who seemed to know her heart without knowing her at all, the one she’d dared trust with her truth. The boy she’d met before she’d ruined everything.
“You should stay there with them. Security. You know what Gibson looks like. Scan all the cameras. Wait for the cops.”
He frowned. “You’re coming, right?”
“I’ll be right behind you.” She pressed one arm against her belly. “Hurry.”
He waited a beat, searching her face, then nodded and left. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, blocking out the noise and people, and took a breath. He’d be safe, locked away in the security office. Last place Clint would go. First place the cops would.
She opened her eyes, focused, ready. What was Clint’s game? Why was he here when he should be miles away, cementing his escape?
Because he was here, she knew it. She wasn’t sure how she knew—maybe the creeping that crawled below her skin, maybe a subliminal scent only a fellow predator could detect—but Clint was here.
What did he want? She scanned the directory, looking for likely targets. No. What did he need? That answer was easy. There were only two things Clint needed to help him reclaim his life: Morgan and money.
Which meant he was going to use Gibson’s bombs and the crowd as a diversion. The mall had several branches of banks, but they would all be closed for the day. The electronics store? No, not much cash there, they’d mainly deal in credit cards. Ahh…there. Two jewelry stores, one up here on the main level, one on the opposite end of the mall on the lower level. One of the stores had to be his target—but which one?
<><><>
IT WAS AMAZING to see how quickly the first responders cleared out from the high school to head downtown and aid in the efforts at the Pitt game. Jenna watched their flashing lights fade from sight in her rearview mirror as she and Andre drove toward the Radcliffe house to update their client.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Andre said. “Part of you wants to be with them, right in the thick of things.”
“Yeah. Until I remember just how awful it can be. A crowd that size, no reliable intel, they have no idea where to send people to keep them safe or even if just the act of evacuating them will set the bombs off.”
“They’re trained for this. They’ll make it work.” Spoken with the certainty of a Marine.
“How much does Diane Radcliffe know about what we’ve found out about Gibson’s activities?” Last thing she needed was a hysterical mother on her hands.
“Know? I’ve given her the facts. Understand and accept? Not a whole lot. Even when I showed her the evidence that he’d helped Caine’s escape, she wrote it off as a school project or script for a video game he was trying to create.”
“Denial. Always the first defense.”
“She’s pretty fragile. Not sure she has any other defenses left to her. Or any support. She begged me not to say anything to her husband.”
“She knows that’s impossible, right?” Jenna sighed. It was going to be a long night. She glanced in the rearview once again, wishing she had gone with Oshiro, Liz, and the others. “Still no word from Morgan?”
“Can’t get through to her. Or Micah.”
Strange. Morgan would ignore a call from Jenna but never from Andre. Her phone rang. Local area code but unfamiliar number. “Maybe that’s her.” She answered it via the car’s speaker.
“Is this Jenna Galloway?” It was a man’s voice.
Andre leaned forward. “Micah? Is that you?”
“Mr. Stone? Yes, I was with Morgan, and—” Micah’s voice dropped and there was a pause as if he was moving. “So much has happened, I can’t even tell you everything, not over the phone, but could you come? The security guards won’t listen to me, and we need your help. There’s a kid with bombs—”
“Gibson Radcliffe?” Jenna asked.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Where are you? Put Morgan on.”
“We’re at the mall. I can’t put Morgan on.”
“Why not, Micah? What happened?” Andre asked.
The kid sounded shaken to his core—and that said a lot, given how calm and
level-headed he’d been when he’d first met Jenna after Morgan had literally pulled him and others out of a burning building.
“I—she—she killed a man. It was self-defense,” he added in a rush. “But—”
“No. I get it.” Andre glanced at Jenna, but all she could give him was a resigned shrug. “Tell us everything.”
Jenna let Andre do the talking as she sped up, weaving through traffic until she reached the turnoff for the mall.
“Hang on, Micah. We’ll be there in two minutes.”
Chapter 24
ONCE THEY GOT to the mall, Gibson made the rounds, checking his explosive charges while Clint maneuvered into position to grab the diamonds.
Paul waited outside in the getaway car. Poor slob had no idea he was sitting on a bomb that would pretty much incinerate any chance of identifying him—especially since Clint had paid someone to switch their medical records in the prison’s computer system. By the time the cops figured out it wasn’t Clint’s body, Gibson and Clint would be picking up chicks on some island paradise with no extradition treaty.
Gibson had cased their target and knew exactly when the jewelry store’s vault would be open, how many guards inside and outside the store, and which display cases had the real stones and not cheap fakes. He’d even taken the time to map out the mall’s fire suppression controls, clocked the response time of the guards, and had learned the code to gain entry to the security office that controlled the sprinkler system, fire alarm, and electronic locks on the mall’s doors.
Clint was going to be so proud of him by the time tonight was over—he’d forget all about Morgan, leave her behind without wasting a thought. Because Gibson wasn’t just giving Clint a diversion, he was creating a spectacle.
Clint’s plan was simple, so simple that Gibson couldn’t resist improving on it. While the cops were chasing the false bomb scare downtown, the real bombs were here at the mall. All Clint had asked for was some smoke bombs and a few firecrackers to draw out the security guards and create enough of a panic that he could grab the diamonds.
Paul had hogged all their premium ingredients to make the bombs his brother had delivered to the Pitt game—said even if they weren’t going to be detonated, they had to be real enough to keep the cops tied up. But Gibson had still been able to improvise three pipe bombs that would do the job nicely.
Clint wanted smoke and noise, he was going to get it, along with screams and blood and terror-fueled panic that would cloak their escape. He’d see for himself that Gibson was a far greater and more dangerous predator than pretty little Morgan ever was or could be.
Gibson was on the lower level in the center of the atrium, watching the pretty families getting their pretty pictures taken in front of a fake green screen. Only thing missing was his family. Damn. He’d really wanted them here for the main event. Oh, to see the look on his stepdad’s face when he realized it was Gibson with all the power…
The large screens flicked away from the mall commercials and switched to a countdown to the start of the game. A countdown Gibson and Clint were using to coordinate the start of their own game.
Most of the men in the place stopped to stare at the nearest screen while the women consulted their promo flyers for the special sales for each period and discount codes triggered by Pitt’s score at specific times.
Too bad none of them were going to be around to take advantage of any of the March Madness, Gibson thought with a smile, his finger on his phone, ready to detonate the first wave. Ten, nine, eight…
<><><>
MORGAN PUSHED THROUGH the crowds of shoppers who stood between her and the jewelry store. As she moved, she ran through scenarios in her head. Clint wouldn’t plant bombs in the store—it would risk scattering the jewels or burying them under rubble, not to mention the danger to himself if Gibson miscalculated the strength of the charge or placed it in the wrong area.
So, no bomb in the store. Which meant she’d have to leave Gibson and finding the charges in Micah’s hands. Focus on Clint. How to rob a jewelry store during the chaos of a bombing?
The store would go into lockdown. There’d be guards inside along with any customers caught in the store. But the store would also have its own rear exit—no way did they bring shipments of precious gems through the mall. Which meant Clint had to be inside the store when the bomb went off. All she had to do was either be there with him or stop him before he could get inside.
She quickened her pace, keeping to the railing overlooking the atrium. Fewer people there, away from the storefronts, and it positioned her with a better sight line. She scanned the area between her and the jewelry store on the other side of the food court. No sign of Clint, but she couldn’t see inside the store itself. Was she too late?
The large screen TVs over the atrium beside her switched from a commercial to a neon-bright animated countdown. The game was about to start.
Morgan entered the food court, now had a direct line of sight into the jewelry store. No Clint. But a man was approaching from the stairs leading up from the atrium. His face was turned away from her, he was average height, average weight, and the way he moved…Clint, it had to be.
No way could she reach him in time. She raised her pistol. “Clint!”
All eyes turned to her as she marched toward the man. Several people in the food court yelled, mostly women calling their children to them, backing away from the crazy girl with the gun and the bloodstained coat. In her periphery, she spotted a few men actually step toward her, ready to play hero, but they quickly thought the better of it—smart men.
“Everyone, get out. Now.” She fired her gun into the roof to make her point. They scattered toward the mall exit behind her.
Clint paused, only long enough to twist a glance in her direction. Then he shifted his gaze to the atrium with its countdown clock. He turned and sprinted toward the store.
No luck. Morgan’s gunshot and the crowd’s shouts had alerted the store’s guards. Two now stood inside the entrance, the door sliding shut, locking Clint out.
He whirled. Before she could reach him, he vanished back down the staircase to the lower level.
Morgan took a step, following, when the countdown hit one and the world shattered around her in a blaze of flame, smoke, and screams.
<><><>
JENNA AND ANDRE rushed into the mall through the lower level entrance.
“Micah said he was in the security office,” Andre said, scanning the mall directory.
“You go meet him, I’ll keep an eye out for Gibson,” she told him. “If you spot anything on the cameras, you can direct me there.” She tapped her earbud.
“Got it.” He headed toward the office beneath the steps leading up to the main level.
She searched the crowd, most of them mesmerized by the computerized countdown on the screens above them. How the hell were they going to find one kid in this madhouse?
A shot sounded from the upper level. She looked up—amazed that so many of the people around her didn’t. Did they think it was a sound effect?—and spotted Morgan heading past the food court, aiming a weapon at someone out of sight.
“Andre,” she said into her microphone. “Upper level. Morgan’s found someone.”
“I’m on it.”
Before she could answer, she noticed a bright silver fire extinguisher sitting at the base of a pop-up kiosk selling organic soy candles. Kind of made sense, except...none of the candles were actually lit. She ran to the kiosk where the vendor was talking with a single customer. “Is that your fire extinguisher?”
He frowned at her interruption, but the urgency in her tone caught his attention. “No. It was here when I opened. Figured it was some kind of safety rule.”
“Get out. Now.” They hesitated. “Federal agent,” she lied. “Evacuate the area. Now!” The customer fled, and the salesman grabbed his cash box and followed.
Jenna scanned the area, looking for the closest fire alarm. There, on the wall near the AED station. She raced for
it, had just pulled it, when a blast sent her reeling off her feet, her ears filling with pressure, muffling the sound, but there was no mistaking the flames shooting out in all directions from where the candle kiosk had stood moments before.
Footsteps and shrieks thundered through the floor—she shook her head; how had she gotten to the floor?—people ran past, clutching bags and children and phones.
Another explosion shook the building, this one farther down at the other end of the mall—or maybe it was the ringing in her ears making it sound that way. Jenna scrambled to her feet, fell again as someone shoved past her, then finally an anonymous Good Samaritan helped her back up. She lost him in the crowd as she blinked to clear her vision and tried to find Andre. He’d been on the stairs to the upper level, but she couldn’t see him through the throng of people.
“Andre!” she shouted. Then she realized she’d lost her earpiece. No way could anyone hear her over the stampede. She pushed her way toward the stairs. Smoke billowed from both ends of the mall.
A groaning noise, louder than the alarms, screams, and ringing in her ears came from above her. She glanced back just as one of the large screen monitors broke free of its cable and fell, landing in the middle of what had been, a minute ago, the children’s play area.
The crowd moved fast, quickly emptying, except for the wounded and those tending to them. She’d almost made it to the center of the atrium when she spotted a man moving slowly, turning in a circle, observing the chaos, a ghastly smile playing across his face.
Gibson Radcliffe.
Chapter 25
THE RAILING OVERLOOKING the atrium kept Morgan on her feet as the two blasts shook the building. The lights flickered but then steadied, alarms blared, and one of the large monitors crashed to the ground below.
She ignored it all as she continued across the now-empty food court toward the last place she’d seen Clint at the top of the steps. Her head throbbed, and her balance and hearing weren’t cooperating with each other, but she wasn’t about to let him get away. Not this time.