by Cindi Myers
Luke swore and pounded his fist against the table. “How could we be so stupid?” he said. “That’s Danny. It has to be.”
“Come on.” Gus pointed to the screen. “This guy is older and fatter. And the security chief here swore it was the regular janitor.”
Travis and Blessing joined them in front of the monitor. “What’s going on?” Blessing asked.
“I’ve found Danny.” Luke indicated the figure on screen. “He’s wearing those baggy coveralls and he’s walking stooped to make us think he’s old, and he’s keeping his head ducked so we can’t get a good look at him. But it has to be him, and I’ll bet he’s got Morgan in that cart. Why else would he go into the elevator? There aren’t any trash cans there.”
“Maybe he was taking the trash up to a Dumpster,” Gus said.
“Run the video forward,” Luke ordered.
They watched and, after ten minutes, the elevator doors opened and the janitor emerged, pushing the trash cart. Keeping his head down, he crossed to the closet. He came out seconds later and stuck the out-of-service sign on the elevator door, then shuffled away.
“Mark the time, then give me the camera on the elevator up top, in the plaza,” Luke said.
Gus scrolled through files on the computer until he came to the right one. “Here we go. Nine thirty-eight,” he said.
The three of them leaned close to study the image on the screen. For five minutes they watched as little on the screen changed.
“He never took the elevator up,” Travis said, breaking the silence.
“No. He left Morgan in there, I’m sure of it,” Luke said. The image of her, trapped in that elevator all these hours, made his chest constrict. Only years of training prevented him from rushing to pull her out right away.
“Later today, probably not long after the first racers arrive, he’ll send the elevator up top and detonate the bomb,” Travis said.
“Except we’re blocking cell phone signals, so he won’t be able to detonate,” Gus said.
“We have to get Morgan out of there before then,” Luke said.
“We can’t take a chance he’s got the elevator wired to blow if someone tampers with it,” Blessing said.
“Can’t we get some explosives guys down there to figure that out?” Luke asked.
“Maybe.” Blessing looked grim. “And then we miss our best chance to get this guy—and maybe to get all the people who are helping him, too.”
Luke stared at him. “So what are you saying? We wait for her to die?”
“We let him make the first move and send the elevator up,” Blessing said. “He chose that elevator on purpose—not just because it’s close to the action, but because it’s glass. It’s like Mr. Westfield said—he wants people to see what he’s doing. A pretty woman with a bomb wired to her is the kind of image they’ll reprint in every paper in the country and show on every television station. He’ll make sure everyone has enough time to get a good look. That’s when we make our move.”
“I don’t like it, letting him call the shots,” Luke said.
“Maybe we can find a way to throw off his timing,” Travis said.
“How do we do that?” Blessing asked.
Luke looked to Travis, then Gus. Like him, they appeared to be fresh out of ideas.
“He thinks the racers will start to arrive about two forty-five,” Scott said. “It’s what I told him, and what the papers say, too. He’ll want to wait until everyone is busy celebrating the victory before he brings up the elevator.”
Blessing nodded. “Go on. How do we use that to our advantage?”
Scott licked his lips, and shifted from foot to foot. “We could come in earlier, before the real competitors arrive,” he said. “Maybe one forty-five. Make him think the race is ending sooner. Throw off his timing. I could pose as a racer. Dress me up like the leader, with the yellow jersey. Put some agents on bikes as racers and we can get right up to the elevator, before the real winners come along. When he raises the elevator, the agents can move in.”
Blessing was shaking his head before Scott finished speaking. “We can’t involve a civilian,” he said.
Scott met the commander’s fierce gaze, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “You’re the civilians to the racing world,” he said. “I was one of them. I know the route, I know how to ride and I know how to make the victory look real.”
“Danny knows you,” Luke said. “Won’t he spot the trick?”
“Most people aren’t like you,” Scott said. “They don’t really remember people they don’t know well. And he knows Scott the crazy dishwasher. He doesn’t know me as a racer. He won’t expect it. Besides, he’s not a fan, even though he pretended to be. He doesn’t care about the athletes. To him they’re just a bunch of skinny guys in spandex, helmets and goggles. If we come in before he’s expecting us, we’ll force him to send the elevator up early. Agents will be right there to get in.”
Blessing rubbed his chin, then nodded. “All right. We’ll go with your plan. We don’t have time to execute anything better. I assume you’ll need bicycles and uniforms?”
“I’ve got a friend here in town with a bike shop,” Scott said. “He’ll help us out. And the UCI can supply official gear.”
“What about the real racers?” Travis asked.
“We’ll set up a checkpoint a couple of miles away to hold them off until we’ve cleared the area. Gus, you take care of that,” Blessing said. He turned to Travis. “Get with the Denver Police. Tell them we’ll need a SWAT team to come in on light rail. We’ll position the cars on the tracks nearest the plaza and they can deploy from there when we give the signal. Luke, you go with Mr. Westfield to make the arrangements for the equipment he needs.”
“What about Morgan?” Scott asked.
“She’ll have to wait a little longer, but we’ll get her out of there as soon as it’s safe to do so,” Blessing said.
Chapter Seventeen
Morgan didn’t know when her fear gave way to numbing calm. At some point in those hours of darkness inside the elevator she’d sunk into a kind of stupor. Maybe she was in shock, or simply exhausted and dehydrated. Her thoughts drifted to scenes of her life with her parents and Scott, then settled on replaying the time she’d spent with Luke. He was looking for her now. She was as sure of that as she was certain of her own name. The knowledge gave her strength. As impossible as her situation seemed, she wasn’t going to give up hope. Danny thought he held all the cards, but she had Luke and his team fighting for her. She had to keep fighting, too. Right up until the very end.
She knew when morning came because of the increased sounds of activity overhead. She imagined the crowds gathering, the news trucks staging. Where was Danny? Was he watching it all from one of the expensive hotel rooms overlooking the plaza? Was he listening to race coverage and preparing to make his move?
More time passed and then, without warning, the elevator lurched and began to rise. Heart pounding, she looked up as the car emerged into the plaza. The sunlight blinded her, so that she had to view the scene through eyes closed to slits. She had an impression of crowds of people, of movement and bright colors.
As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she could make out a group of riders beside the podium. One of them looked so much like Scott she knew she must be hallucinating. He wore the yellow jersey of a winner and looked so fit and confident, just as he used to.
A booming voice on a loudspeaker, audible even through the thick glass, ordered people to move away. A woman screamed, and, desperate to be free, Morgan strained against the handcuffs that bound her to the railing.
Then the elevator doors slid open and she stared across the now-vacant plaza. A row of helmeted men with heavy shields stood facing her, a hundred yards or more away. Then a single figure stepped out in front of them.
Luke, dressed in black, with a helmet and tactical vest, started walking toward her. As he drew closer, he lifted the visor on his helmet and his eyes locked to hers. The pain of the previous hours receded in the warmth of his gaze. Despite the bonds that still held her, she felt strong and safe again.
“Stop! Don’t go any closer!”
The voice, loud and echoing against the stone and glass of the surrounding buildings, froze Luke in midstride. Morgan turned her head toward the sound as Danny stepped out from behind a concrete barricade, a scoped rifle braced against his shoulder. “One shot and I’ll detonate that bomb,” he said, continuing to move closer. “Even if you shoot me, you won’t kill me before I’ve destroyed you and everyone around you.”
Luke faced Danny, arms held out at his sides. “Is your life really worth this?” he shouted.
“It is to make people see that these dopers and frauds are a big part of what’s wrong with our world today.” He gestured toward the empty podium and grandstand. “People celebrate their lies and ignore the real wrongs.”
“Blowing them up won’t change anything,” Luke said.
“You’re wrong.” Danny settled the rifle more firmly against his shoulder and lowered his head to peer through the sight.
Morgan stared, as if encased in ice, unable to move, to scream, to prepare herself for the death her brain told her was coming. Time seemed frozen, too, and then with a jolt, everything unstuck, events happening so fast they were a blur of movement and color and noise.
A slim figure in a yellow jersey raced toward the shooter. “No!” Scott shouted, and launched himself at the man.
Danny turned toward her brother and in that moment Luke drew his gun and fired. The first shot caught Danny in the shoulder. The second hit him in the head. He let go of the rifle and dropped to his knees. Scott stood over him, panting, and then the SWAT team rushed in and surrounded them both, obscuring them from view.
Luke holstered his gun and ran to her. He embraced her, holding her up, and gently removed the gag from her mouth. “I knew you’d come,” she said, as he cradled her face and kissed her.
“I love you.” He looked into her eyes. “I wasn’t about to let you go when I’d finally found you.”
“You don’t ever have to let me go again.”
“Sir. We need you to move back now.” A helmeted man with a backpack in one hand and a pair of bolt cutters in the other moved in beside them. “We’ve still got work to do.”
Reluctantly, Luke released her. “I’ll go check on Scott,” he said. “But I’ll be back. I promise.”
“I know,” she said. “You’re a man who keeps his promises.” The kind of man she could trust with her life—and her heart.
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER what the newspaper dubbed the end of the Bicycle Bomber, Morgan stood before a gathering of press, city officials and law enforcement and read from a prepared statement. “I’m very grateful to the law enforcement personnel who worked tirelessly to rescue me and stop a tragedy.” She looked up from her notes to find Luke in the crowd. When he grinned at her, she couldn’t keep back a smile of her own. Since her rescue, they’d been inseparable.
Had it really been only two days since that horrible ordeal? So much had happened since then. In the midst of almost unrelenting attention from the media, she’d been offered a staff job with a Colorado biking magazine. Best of all, Scott and she were growing close again. The new medication he was on was doing a good job of controlling his symptoms. But more than the medicines, the ordeal had summoned up a new strength and determination within him. The man who had launched himself at a madman in order to save her wasn’t the tormented, rebellious man who had hidden from her for almost a year.
She turned and squeezed his shoulder before yielding the microphone to him. He cleared his throat and looked out at the crowd. “Some people have called me a hero for what I did,” he said. “But the real heroes are the men and women in uniform who serve and protect the rest of us every day. I was simply a big brother who wanted to save his sister.”
He paused for applause and cheers from the crowd, then looked back down at the paper he clutched. “I want to thank the mayor and city council for recognizing me with their service award. I also want to thank the other people and organizations who have reached out to me. I hope that I have helped others see that having a mental illness does not automatically make a person bad, or prevent him from being a contributing member of society.”
He stepped back from the podium, only to be surrounded by the friends from his biking days who had rallied around him in the past forty-eight hours. He had been offered a coaching position, work as a trainer and even a book contract to write his story.
As the press conference ended, Luke found Morgan in the crowd and pulled her aside. “You looked beautiful up there,” he said.
“I’m glad it’s over,” she said. “I’m ready to go back to being an anonymous journalist.”
“I guess the new magazine job will keep you here in Denver,” he said.
“As long as I stay in Colorado, I’m good. Scott is going to be here in Denver.”
“Oh? What are his plans?”
“He’s decided to take a job with the bicycle shop that supplied the gear for your agents in the race. The work will be enjoyable but low stress, and he’ll be close to his new doctors.”
“That’s good.” He glanced toward where her brother stood, talking with his bicycling friends. “I’m glad he’s doing so well.”
“What about you?” she asked. “What are your plans?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer to that question.
“I got my new assignment this morning. Looks like I’m headed to Durango.”
“Searching for the people who helped Danny?” In their time together since the bombing attempt, she’d learned a lot more about his work.
“Yes. Taking out Danny may have slowed them down, but I doubt it will stop them for long.”
“Maybe I can find a way to visit,” she said. “I know it’s tough for you to get time off while you’re on a case.”
He took both her hands in his, his expression tender. “I was hoping I could persuade you to come with me.”
Did he mean for a visit or something more permanent? “What, exactly, are you asking?”
“I meant it when I said I have no intention of losing you again.” He pulled her close. “We have something special between us. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” From the moment they’d met, they’d shared a connection and the events of the past week had only drawn them closer together.
“Then let’s make it official,” he said. “I’m okay with a long engagement, if you need that, but I want you to be my wife.”
“This is crazy,” she said, laughing.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” Before the bomber had kidnapped her, she would have said it was too soon to make such a commitment—that she and Luke didn’t know each other well enough. But facing death head-on had made her realize how fragile and unpredictable life could be. Luke had risked everything for her. She could take a few risks to be with him. To love him forever.
* * * * *
Cindi Myers’s miniseries
THE MEN OF SEARCH TEAM SEVEN
continues next month with
LAWMAN ON THE HUNT.
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Native Born
by Jenna Kernan
Chapter One
If Cassidy Walker had known what would happen that Monday morning, she most certainly would not have worn her new suit. As an FBI field agent, Cassidy had drawn the short stick on assignments today or perhaps this was her boss’s idea of humor. He knew there was no love lost between her and Tribal Councillor Clyne Cosen. Yet here she was watching his back.