Raw Edges (16 page)

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.

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.

Clint appeared at the top of the stairs. Holding a gun on Andre. What the hell was Andre doing here? She didn’t have time to come up with an answer as she skidded to a stop and raised her pistol. “Andre, down!”

Then Clint showed her his other hand. The one with the dead man’s trigger and a suicide vest bristling with explosives. “Stop right there or he dies.”

“You mean you both die.”

“Fine with me, little girl. One more step, and I’ll kill us all.”

Morgan stopped. She was about fifteen feet away, only three tables between her and Andre. The blare of the alarms continued, but it was as if her hearing and vision had narrowed to a focused cone; she had no problem hearing Clint.

“Let him go,” she yelled across the empty space.

“Why should I?” Clint answered amicably. As if they had all the time in the world.

She hoped that meant that he and Gibson had no more bombs ready to go off. She risked a glance over the railing to her left, wasn’t all that surprised to see Jenna standing in the atrium, holding a weapon on Gibson.

“Tell you what,” Clint continued, mistaking her hesitation for weakness. “You come join us, and I’ll keep him alive. We’ll all leave together.”

Andre shook his head despite Clint jamming the pistol into his cheek. She remembered what Pete had said back in the cabin before she tore his face apart. He’d said she’d kill a hostage before she let them be used against her.

She moved her aim from Clint to Andre, surprised her pistol wasn’t shaking. The rest of her felt as if it was, shaking so hard she had to blink back tears. Then she lowered the gun, her arm dropping uselessly to her side. “Take me instead.”

Clint’s laughter was as wicked as she remembered. “Interesting. You’d leave all these people to die, just to save one man?”

Jenna could handle Gibson. No one else would die here. Not tonight. But Clint didn’t need to know that.

“Let him go. Take me instead.” She set her pistol on the table beside her, raised her hands.

“Why would you do that?” He sounded genuinely interested. “You know what I’m going to do to you, the price of betrayal.”

“I know. But he’s family.”

The look of confusion and resentment that twisted Clint’s face was worth all the diamonds she’d prevented him from stealing. Even more priceless was the smile Andre gave her. A smile that stopped her shaking and helped thaw the icy fist that gripped her. No one had ever looked at her that way before, not even Micah. More than grateful or thankful. Proud. Loving. As if her treacherous, bloody, deceitful life was actually worth something.

That smile was everything.

Clint considered. “Only if you wear the vest.” He handed the vest to Andre and nudged him forward. “Take it to her. She puts it on, you’re free to go. Any funny business, and I blow you both up.”

Andre slowly walked toward her, his expression turning thoughtful as he measured his steps. She knew what he was thinking: how far would Clint’s detonator reach? Could they dump the vest and run fast enough to escape the explosion? Maybe if he threw it over the side into the courtyard below…his gaze angled that way and a frown filled his face. Too many people, including Jenna.

In the end, he stopped halfway between them and slid the vest on, snapping the padlock that secured it shut.

“Andre, no!” Vest or no vest, she rushed to him.

“Only way.” His voice was low, for her ears alone. “Tell Jenna—”

“She knows.” Lock picks, she needed lock picks. Damn it. She’d lost her barrettes, her sunglasses, anything useful. “Why—”

“You know why. I’m sorry no one’s told you before now. It shouldn’t be this way. You deserve better, Morgan.”

She blinked hard against tears. She didn’t cry, she reminded herself. She never cried. “I don’t understand.”

He was backing away, almost to Clint. “Because you’re family. And you’re worth it.” Clint grabbed him by the arm. “Never forget that, Morgan Ames.”

Clint pulled him to the stairs. Morgan reached for her gun, but who was she going to shoot? Not Clint or he’d use the dead man’s switch to kill them all.

Andre? It would be the humane thing to do, spare him whatever Clint had planned. She squeezed one eye shut, trying to lock in her aim, but her hand was trembling. Once again, she lowered the weapon in defeat. God help her, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take the shot.

They vanished down the stairs, and the world returned in a rush of noise so furious she staggered against the railing, fighting to remain upright. She watched Clint push Andre before him toward the exit.

Jenna shouted. “Stop!”

Clint whirled, saw Jenna holding her weapon on Gibson, and actually laughed. Then he raised his hand with the pistol, aimed, and shot Gibson. He shoved Andre out the exit without looking back.

Gibson staggered, grabbing his arm. Morgan was surprised Clint had hit him at all, given the distance and distractions. Gibson shouted Clint’s name. But it was too late. Clint and Andre were gone.

Jenna ran toward the exit, following Clint and Andre.

“Jenna, no!”

“It should have been you,” Jenna shouted back, her voice choked with smoke and fury.

Morgan kept her sights on Gibson. She couldn’t shoot him, not if he still had his own dead man’s switch. Besides, there were too many people on the lower level, most of them wounded. He jerked his head up at Jenna’s sudden departure, glanced around in surprise as if not sure what to do next.

Still clutching his arm, Gibson scuttled to a spot immediately below Morgan, crossing into her blind spot.

Suddenly she knew where he was headed—the last place anyone would look for a mad bomber while the place was being evacuated and the one place where he had control of everything, from the alarms to the locks to the sprinkler system: the security office.

Exactly where she’d sent Micah to wait.