by Hinze, Vicki
“Thank you.” She blew at the steaming cup and took a sip. The warmth felt great on her throat. A little curl of pleasure unfurled in her stomach. Justin might not trust her, but he still thought well of her, thought she was making a difference, and what she was doing mattered. That, and the way he was looking at her, made her feel special.
In the past three years she’d felt many things—sad reigning overall—but she hadn’t once felt special. It felt…good.
She twisted the wedding band on her finger, doing her damnedest to remember all the reasons feeling special was a bad thing. But, boy, it was hard remembering that the goodness wouldn’t last.
“What kind of special training did you have to have for your kind of work?”
She looked at him across the table, pain shooting through the arch of her foot. Rubbing at it, she silently swore she’d put in at least twenty miles today, walking the facility. “Oh, lots and lots of different kinds.”
“Sorry.” He dropped his gaze. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Classified information isn’t a novel concept to me.”
“It’s okay.” The difference in his and Jack’s attitudes toward her was stark. She shouldn’t compare the men, or even their reactions or attitudes, but how could she not? She was human. One supposedly had loved her. The other, well, who knew if it was or ever could be love? It could be lust with a kick. But he considered her special. And both men had strayed from women to whom they were committed. Naturally, Maggie had to compare them. “No harm done.”
But it was definitely time to shift away from anything personal. She was reacting to him as a woman, and there just wasn’t a place for that pleasant distraction during this mission. “So, are you all set?”
“Yes, we are. Everything is in place, according to the plan.”
Stubble shadowed his chin and dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes. “You look so tired. You should try to get a few hours’ sleep before the mall opens.”
“I know. I look like hell, while you—” he paused and let his gaze drift over her face “—look as fresh as you did when I first saw you this morning.”
She wasn’t, but she was used to going for long stretches of time without sleep. In her training, she routinely was forced to stay sharp for a week on ten-minute power naps. “It’s the training,” she confessed.
He laced his hands atop the table, studied his knuckles. “I don’t want to sleep, Maggie.” He lifted his gaze.
It locked with hers and she saw the truth in his eyes. If this should be his last night, he didn’t want to waste it sleeping. Maggie understood completely. There’d be nothing but rest if they failed. Eternal rest. “What do you want to do?”
Slowly, he blinked, shuttering his eyes, and his expression sobered. “When we have some privacy, ask me that question again.”
Her stomach fluttered and her voice went thick. “I think I should take offense to that.”
“Fool.” That came from Darcy.
“Huge fool,” Amanda chimed in.
“Assumptive fool,” Kate said. “Make him get specific.”
Heat swam up Maggie’s neck to her face and she flushed more with each of their comments. Fortunately they remembered to listen on the general frequency but to respond on a private one. Justin couldn’t hear them. Thank heaven for that or Maggie would have been mortified—and doing bodily injury. It was bad enough that she couldn’t tell them to butt out without revealing to Justin they were there and listening.
He dragged a thumb around the rim of his cup. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Maggie, and I didn’t mean sex.”
“Oh, shoot.” Darcy sighed her disappointment.
“Damn.” Amanda sounded exasperated.
“Well, why not?” Kate complained. “He’s not blind. We’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s definitely attracted, so what’s up? Why not sex? Ask him, Maggie. I mean it. Ask him, or I will.”
Leave it to Kate. The woman lived to push Maggie’s buttons. She wanted to spit nails. Or laugh. If she’d been on the team and this was happening to anyone else, Maggie would be in stitches. Instead she was just shy of outraged. “Then what did you mean?”
He reached across the table and cupped her face in his hand. “Later,” he said, standing and grabbing his coffee. “We’ll revisit the subject when the entire S.A.S.S. team isn’t listening in.”
“Oh, my God. You heard them?” Maggie wanted to die. To slide through the floor and just die.
Kate howled.
Amanda and Darcy laughed so hard Maggie swore they were going to be too hoarse to talk.
Maggie could have shot the whole damn bunch of them with a clean conscience. “Go ahead. Have a great time, guys. But remember, I’m armed, I’m tense, and I know where you all live.”
“No, Maggie.” Justin clasped her hand. “I didn’t hear anything. I just can’t imagine them not listening.”
Relief washed through her. “Well, you’re right. They’re listening, sticking in their noses, and making smart-ass comments.”
“In my favor, I hope.”
Maggie wiggled her brows at him, but didn’t answer.
Chapter 7
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Maggie agreed with Amanda’s opinion. The winter wonderland, complete with snow-draped trees and bushes and five-foot statues of fur-wrapped reindeer and a sleigh, set a magical scene that older shoppers could dream by and younger ones could create lifelong memories. Huge banners had been hung high around the perimeter of the pit that read Happy Holidays, North Pole, Frosty’s Playground and Winter Wonderland. The snow crew had gone, except for the co-owners, Harry and Phil Jensen, who would be in the mall through closing at 9:00 p.m., monitoring the scene and eliminating any minor challenges that happened to come up. At closing, the crew would return to break down the scene and return the pit to its normal condition.
Maggie double-checked her watch. “Heads up, people. In exactly four minutes, the kids will be pouring in.”
Then, the real danger began.
Amanda stood at Maggie’s side, her arms folded over her chest. “He’s going to do it, Maggie.” She didn’t look at Maggie, and her voice stayed soft, but that only exaggerated the forceful impact of her message.
Thomas Kunz would do it. He’d kill thousands and maim thousands more, all for the sake of his black market sales and his damn capabilities demonstration.
“I know.”
And she prayed she’d be smart enough to stop him.
She’d spent the past few hours running a personal check on the A-stores and then the B-stores with Will Stanton. All employees were in yellow. All aerosol cans were absent from the shelves, including from DMV Drugs, though due to medical necessity, they remained under the pharmacist’s control rather than sealed and stored like the others.
Maggie had done everything she’d known to do to prepare. She’d issued and seen her every order carried out, solicited advice from Justin—and been slightly dazed by his acumen and insights—and Will and the other S.A.S.S. operatives, and followed their recommendations. Now, D-day had arrived, and in less than a minute the mall would officially open for Christmas Eve traffic.
“Hey, Maggie. Do you have a minute?” Justin’s asked.
He sounded calm, but his stomach had to be as knotted up as hers.
There were no typical premission shenanigans to counter high stress levels, and she wished for just one but didn’t dare to indulge. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook off thinking about stress. It just added more. “What’s up?”
“I want to show you something up on Level Two.”
No teasing in his tone, and his words sounded clipped; the calm was forced. “Priority code?” She had designated codes on a scale of one to five. One was imminent danger. Five was an FYI footnote.
“Code Two, Maggie.”
A chill raced up her backbone. “I’m on my way.”
“Southeast end,” he said. “Directly above Wee Beaux.”
That store
overlooked Center Court and was open up through Level Two. “Thirty seconds out,” she added, giving him her estimated time of arrival.
She took the stairs two at a time. Just as she hit the Level Two landing, the bell rang, signaling the official opening of the shopping mall for business.
Maggie walked from the stair landing over a span of bridge to the thoroughfare that circled the Center Court opening below. A glass-wall banister rimmed the perimeter. In the center opening, about four feet above the Level Two floor, a dome ceiling had been installed that was viewable from below.
The upper side of the dome also created a “short-stack” level: a squat floor between Levels Two and Three. The short-stack had a dual purpose. It provided a wall-to-wall floor for Level Three and a storage facility for the stores inside the short-stack, which was closed to the public.
During the night, Justin told her that he had squatted and ducked his way through every inch of the short-stack, looking for bio-hazards as well as helping to install additional surveillance equipment that gave Darcy a bird’s-eye view of Center Court and access into the administration wing downstairs.
Daniel Barone would have strenuously objected, of course, since monitoring the entrance to his offices was involved. Linda Diel was proving valuable, but Maggie was definitely uneasy about Barone. She didn’t ask or inform him about the installation specifics. The choice had been a simple one. She either told him, protecting his sensibilities and forfeiting her gains on observing Center Court, or not. She’d chosen not.
Justin met Maggie just off the bridge. “You okay? You look harried.”
“Belly knots,” she admitted far too easily, and pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Ah,” he said. “Kate called it premission jitters.”
“She’s tougher.”
“I don’t know about that.” He led Maggie to the glass-wall banister. “Look up. Tell me what you see.”
She cranked back her neck and checked out the inside of the dome. “Light fixtures, sprinkler heads, beams, decorative trim….”
“Look right there.”
She followed his fingertip to three beams left of center. “It looks like a little window.” The glass appeared tinted to match the wall surrounding it. She tracked the small window’s opening, imagining a trajectory beam down to the floor. It hit dead center in the pit.
The butterflies in her stomach turned to fire-breathing, acid-pumping dragons. “What in hell is that?” She spared Justin a glance. “There are no windows in the short-stack, Justin.”
“I thought I might have missed one,” he said. “But I went back and double-checked.”
“And?” Maggie looked from the window to him.
“You’re right. There are no windows in the short-stack.”
Maggie unclipped her walkie-talkie, her blood thrumming, her pulse thumping in her temples. “Will, I need you on Level Two.”
“Give me five, Maggie,” he radioed back. “I’m down on One, pulling a spot check on the auto center.”
“Now, Will.” She was reluctant to attach a priority code to this without knowing what she was looking at, but she needed the window identified now and the mystery settled.
“On my way.”
“Darcy?” Maggie stepped back from the banister, rubbed at a tight muscle at the base of her neck.
“Yeah, Maggie?”
“From the plans, what am I seeing here?” The number of shoppers coming to Level Two wasn’t quickly multiplying. Maggie was glad about that. A family of four walked past. They were all wearing reindeer antler headbands.
“I’ve triple-checked the plans, Maggie, and there’s not a damn thing reflected on them. I have no idea.”
Staring up at the little window, Justin frowned. “If it’s not on the plans, then it had to be added after the facility was built. The question is when.”
“Yeah.” Maggie looked over, her worry evident in her expression and her voice. “When? Why? And most importantly, by whom?”
“No. It’s new.”
Will Stanton looked down from the domed ceiling at Maggie. “Definitely new.”
“How new?” she asked. “Do you have any way to date it?”
“What I know and what I can prove are two different things.” He thought a second. “We had a display of quilts from around the world here a month ago,” he finally said, pulling his walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “Linda, do you read me?”
A short pause and then Barone’s assistant, Linda Diel responded. “I sure do, Will. What can I do for you?”
“Will you pull the photos on the quilt displays from the tour? Marty, you pick them up from Linda and bring them up to me.”
“Two minutes,” Linda said. “Q.T.?”
Keep it quiet. Obviously, quiet from Barone. Maggie didn’t look over or comment, but eagerly awaited his response. Will wasn’t one to talk bad about anyone but he had good instincts, and Maggie was curious to see if his instincts, too, had been alerted on Barone.
“Q.T.”
A little thread of vindication wound through Maggie. Will, too, had doubts about Barone that extended beyond his being a micromanager trying to cover his ass at the expense of exposing anyone else’s. Had something specific triggered doubts in Will? Or had he just suddenly realized that several little, inconsequential things had accumulated and combined into general doubts that were just there?
Minutes later Marty came up the stairs and handed the photos to Will, then rushed back down to finish a spot check he’d been doing at Krane’s department store.
Will shuffled through the pictures until he came to one of special interest to him. “Here we go. See?” He passed the photo to Maggie. “No window.”
“Okay, so you can prove it wasn’t there a month ago. When do you think it was installed?”
The look in his eyes turned sober. “Within the last forty-eight hours.”
Surprise rippled over the radio.
“I find that difficult to believe,” Kate said. “Hell, we’ve been all over this place. We would have noticed someone installing a freaking window.”
“We haven’t been on-site for forty-eight hours,” Justin countered.
True, but the tight timing bothered Maggie, too. “Why forty-eight hours, Will?”
“I pulled a facility check and documented my findings,” he said. “I didn’t find a window there, then.”
“Did you submit that report to anyone?”
“No, I held it,” he said. “Normally, I’d submit it by e-mail to Mr. Barone or give Linda a hard copy, but this time, I didn’t.”
His tone warned Maggie he didn’t want to openly state why. She gave him that one, though it created a challenge for her. “So we can’t prove the report was done when you say it was done.”
“The computer records when I created the report, but that’s it.” Will gave her a little shrug. “I do a lot of those type reports to back up my memory. I can’t very well vouch for what I did or didn’t know without a record. But I usually only forward the reports to Mr. Barone or Linda if something odd that they need to know turns up during the inspection.”
“That’s conclusive enough for me,” Maggie said. “Forty-eight hours.” She mentally measured the distance from the banister to the window, then headed up to Level Three to reexamine the short-stack.
Justin followed her.
Maggie stopped at the door, leading into the short-stack. A keypad lock secured it. “Darcy, I need the code.”
She relayed it. “Two, three, one, seven, nine, eight.”
Maggie keyed in the series of numbers. A faint tone beeped, signaling the acceptance of each number—until the last one.
“The final eight didn’t hold, Darcy.” Maggie’s nerves stretched taut. “No beep.”
“Are you sure you got it right—231798?”
“That was it, yes.”
“Try it again.”
Maggie did. It still didn’t go through. “Hung up again on the final eight.”
“
Darcy can’t be wrong, Maggie.” Justin stepped to Maggie’s side. “She has perfect recall.”
Maggie glared over at him, irritated and more than a little worried. “Yes, I know.”
“So what happened? Did you push the wrong number?”
“No, Justin,” Maggie said slowly. “It means someone’s changed the code.” She held up a fingertip, warning him to back off. “Darcy, run the sequence to verify—”
“I’m on it,” she said before Maggie could finish issuing the order. “Computer program says it’s accurate and it is the same numerical sequence that successfully opened the short-stack for you, Justin and Will Stanton.”
“Any odds that Will changed it?” Justin asked.
“No,” Maggie said. “He doesn’t have the authority.”
“Who does?” Justin asked, sounding as if he feared he already knew.
Maggie frowned and confirmed it. “Barone. Which means he’s got some explaining to do.” She reached for her walkie-talkie clip.
“Maggie, wait,” Darcy said. “Give me just a second to double-check something.”
Maggie waited, her nerves raw and sizzling, her stomach curling over on itself. This window/code change wasn’t just a wrinkle in their defense. It was a freaking groove.
“Barone hasn’t been up there.”
Justin muttered something under his breath that Maggie didn’t catch. “Can he change the sequencing by re mote?” Maggie asked Darcy.
“No, he can’t. The system isn’t configured to allow him remote access.”
“Who has been up here with access to the code and the ability to reprogram?”
“No one.”
Justin and Maggie’s gazes locked and her stomach sank.
“That’s not possible, Darcy.”
“Maybe not, but it’s fact. Colonel Drake has been re viewing the tapes and verified. No one has been up there since Dr. Crowe was there and ran his double-check, Maggie. Not a soul has entered the short-stack since then.”
Maggie spun through a series of possibilities that could have happened, only none of them proved any more probable than a remote shift of the code sequence. Out of ideas, she put the question to the group. “Any ideas, guys? What else could have happened?”