by Rick Mofina
Muldowney was fast, gaining on them, reaching for her weapon.
“Everybody down! Police! Get on your stomach! Now! Now!”
Children screamed and got down as flat as they could while some, thinking it was part of the show, giggled and clapped. Kate saw the officer raising her gun, finger on the trigger, then saw Blaine reaching for the cord.
“Down! Down!” Muldowney was ten yards away.
Kate smacked her hand on Blaine’s, then dropped to her knees as Muldowney fired rapidly, hitting Blaine’s head, chest and shoulders.
Blaine and Kate fell on to two boys from Brooklyn.
Blaine was dead before he could detonate the bomb.
* * *
The show was stopped.
The NYPD sealed the area and evacuated the park.
The bomb squad used bolt cutters to free Kate from Blaine’s corpse and defuse the IED.
Later, she was still in shock when they took her to the same hospital where they’d taken Strobic. He’d been shot in the thigh and would recover, a nurse told her.
“That’s good,” Kate said, gazing out her hospital window, listening to the never-ending wail of sirens echoing through the city, trembling as tears rolled down her face. “That’s good.”
Epilogue
As soon as she could manage, Kate called Grace, Vanessa and Nancy from the hospital to let them know that she was “a little shook-up, but okay.”
In the hours after the failed attack, Varner and Tilden arrived and took detailed statements from Kate and Strobic.
By the time Kate’s family got to the hospital, the enormity of what had happened was the nation’s top news story. Grace locked her arms around her mother and never let go during her entire visit.
Later, doctors gave Kate a sedative, kept her overnight for observation and arranged counseling sessions for the posttraumatic stress she would likely experience after the event.
In the days after her release, Kate and Strobic agreed to Reeka’s request to give their account of their ordeal to Newslead. Reeka assigned their best writers to weave their dramatic experiences with the interviews Newslead had obtained with Lori and Billy Fulton—a major Newslead exclusive on the planned attack against New York City by homegrown extremists. Kate was the lead writer on the feature, which was presented in a compelling four-part series that was picked up by subscribers across the country and around the world.
In the wake of the incident, editorials, blogs and news network political talk shows addressed the issues of detecting and preventing attacks by domestic self-radicalized loners, vulnerable to be guided by overseas factions. The New York Times and Britain’s Guardian newspaper investigated Blaine, his mother, Nazihah, and their links to senior extremist leaders in Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan and Yemen. Within two weeks, the US, using intelligence arising from its investigation of the attack by the Young Lions, launched drone strikes destroying extremist compounds hidden in mountainous border regions.
A month after the events in Bryant Park, the story had faded and Kate was happy things were returning to normal. She had declined most requests for interviews and speaking engagements, with the exception of one.
It came about six weeks after the event.
Kate was at Newslead working at her desk when a news assistant handed her an envelope.
“This just came for you, hand-delivered by some government guy in a suit. He said it was to be considered ‘a priority.’”
Kate opened the envelope to find an elegant card with beautiful calligraphy that began: The President requests the pleasure of the company of Kate Page at a ceremony to be held in honor of the citizens whose extraordinary acts...
Kate was stunned as she scanned the words over and over. It was an invitation under the presidential seal! Her phone rang and soon she’d learned that Grace, Vanessa and Nancy had also received individual invitations. Later she learned that the Fulton family, Stan Strobic and his wife would also attend.
Preparing for the event was exciting as Kate, Grace, Vanessa and Nancy shopped for what to wear and received advance protocol advice from White House staff.
The day at the White House was like a fairy tale.
Dan Fulton was in a wheelchair and still bore the scars of his ordeal, as did Lori and Billy. It was heartwarming to see that Sam, Billy’s dog, was allowed to participate. Word was that the president, having learned Sam’s role in Billy’s recovery, insisted his dog be present.
NYPD officer Rita Muldowney, the officer who had shot Blaine in the park, was also there, along with many of the tour bus passengers. Officials from the FBI, Homeland Security, the Justice Department, the New York State Police, the NYPD and more than a dozen other security agencies also took part.
During the ceremony, the Fultons, Strobic and Kate sat on the riser, listening to the president’s remarks.
“We’re here today because these people behind me, these ordinary American citizens, selflessly placed themselves in harm’s way for the safety of our country. They took unusual risks and steps to protect others. Through their courage and sacrifice, they bravely thwarted a major attack on New York City. They demonstrated unimaginable resilience to disrupt the plans of those who would wish us harm. A great many lives were saved because of them, and on behalf of a grateful nation, I thank you.”
At the reception that followed, Kate was thrilled to talk to the president and other officials. But one of the most meaningful moments was when she talked with the Fultons and introduced her family and Nancy to them.
Grace liked petting Sam, who seemed to be enjoying the doggy treats in a bowl with the presidential seal.
Later, as things wound down, Kate was surprised to hear a familiar voice and turned.
“Agent Varner, I didn’t see you here!”
“I was at the back with my boss and didn’t want to intrude. You seem quite popular today.”
“As my daughter says, it’s been awesome.”
“I was just waiting for the right moment to ask you, Kate.”
“Ask me what, Nick?”
“About that coffee?”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from FULL TILT by Rick Mofina.
Acknowledgments
Every Second was, in part, inspired by a number of terrible but true events that took place in Australia, Canada, France, the United Kingdom, the United States and other countries around the world. It is not in any way a criticism of any faith or group. This story is above all and entirely a work of fiction concerning ordinary people confronted with life-altering circumstances.
I want to give special thanks to the agents at the FBI’s New York Field Office, who provided exceptional help when I visited them in Manhattan.
In my travels to New York City I also struck up conversations with some New York City police officers. I kept in touch with a few. They’d requested anonymity but helped me with technical and procedural aspects of my work.
If Every Second rings true for you, it’s because of the kind help of the FBI and the NYPD. If this story fell short, blame me, the mistakes are mine.
My thanks to the amazing Amy Moore-Benson.
Many thanks to Emily Ohanjanians and Michelle Meade, and to the incredible editorial, marketing, sales and PR teams at Harlequin and MIRA Books in Toronto, New York and around the world.
Wendy Dudley, as always, made this story better.
Very special thanks to Barbara, Laura and Michael.
It’s important you know that in getting this book to you, I also relied on the generosity of many people, too many to thank individually here. I am indebted to everyone in all stages of production, the sales representatives, librarians and booksellers for putting my work in your hands.
This brings me to what I hold to be the most critical part of the
entire enterprise: you, the reader. This aspect has become something of a creed for me, one that bears repeating with each book.
Thank you very much for your time, for without you, a book remains an untold tale. Thank you for setting your life on pause and taking the journey. I deeply appreciate my audience around the world and those who’ve been with me since the beginning and who keep in touch. Thank you all for your very kind words. I hope you enjoyed the ride and will check out my earlier books while watching for my next one. I welcome your feedback. Drop by at www.rickmofina.com, subscribe to my newsletter and send me a note.
Rick Mofina
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“Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
If you loved Every Second by international bestselling author Rick Mofina, be sure to catch every action-packed moment in the edge-of-your-seat thriller series starring reporter Kate Page.
Whirlwind
An anguished mother in a deadly storm…
A journalist under pressure breaks the story…
A vortex of life-and-death forces.
Full Tilt
Screams in the night…
A gut-wrenching phone call…
A life-and-death race against time.
Complete your collection!
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Full Tilt
by Rick Mofina
1
Rampart, New York
The old burial grounds.
Nobody ever goes out there.
Chrissie was uneasy about her boyfriend’s birthday wish to “do it” there.
“That place gives me the creeps, Robbie.”
“Come on, babe. Think of it as your first time with an eighteen-year-old man, and our first time in a graveyard. How cool is that?” Robbie sucked the last of his soda through his straw, then belched. “Besides, we’ve done it everywhere else in this dog-ass town.”
Sad but true. There was not much else to do here.
Rampart was a tired little city in Riverview County, at the northern border of New York. It was home to small-town America—flag-on-the-porch patriots, fading mom-and-pop shops, a call center for a big credit card company, a small Amish community and a prison.
The way Chrissie saw it, all people in Rampart did was work, get drunk, have sex, bitch about life and dream of leaving town.
Except maybe the Amish, she thought—they seemed content.
Chrissie and Robbie had been together for two-and-a-half years. Now, as they sat in his father’s Ford Taurus waiting for the light, she contemplated the dilemma facing them.
She’d been accepted at a college in Florida. Robbie didn’t want her to go. He was getting a job at the prison and was talking about marriage. Chrissie loved Robbie but told him she was not going to stay and be a Rampart prison guard’s wife, working at the mall, driving her kids everywhere while trying not to hit the Amish buggies.
Chrissie wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of months, but Robbie avoided talking about it. He lived in the moment. That was fine, but sooner or later she would have to end it with him.
But not tonight. Not on his birthday.
The light changed and they rolled by the Riverview Mall. Its vast parking lot was deserted and dark.
“So, are you up for the boneyard, babe?”
Robbie was already guiding the Taurus along the highway out of town. The white lines rushed under them and she made a suggestion.
“Why don’t we go to Rose Hill?”
“Naw, we go there all the time.”
Chrissie felt Robbie’s hand on her leg.
“Come on. It’s my birthday.”
“But it’s so freakin’ creepy. Nobody goes out there.”
“That’s what makes it fun.” He rubbed her inner thigh. “I got the sleeping bag in the trunk.”
Chrissie sighed and looked out her window at the summer night.
“Okay.”
The headlights reached into the darkness as they drove beyond town. The Ford’s high beams captured the luminescent eyes of animals watching from the forests along the lonely drive.
After several miles, Robbie slowed to a stop and turned off the road onto an overgrown pathway. It was marked with an old weather-beaten sign that was easy to miss and bore two words: Burial Grounds.
The car swayed and dipped as he drove slowly over worn ruts until they stopped at a no-trespassing sign wired to a gate that was secured with a chain and lock.
“There, see.” Chrissie pointed. “We can’t get in.”
Robbie slipped the transmission into Park.
“Yes we can.”
He got out and went to the gate, his T-shirt glowing against the blackness. Moths fluttered around the headlights as he worked on the lock, and the only sound was the chorus of crickets.
Chrissie knew the area’s history. She’d written about it for a ninth-grade paper.
In the late 1800s, the state built a large insane asylum in Rampart. It had its own cemetery because locals didn’t want patients buried next to their loved ones. When the asylum was closed down forty years ago, all the headstones had been removed and grave sites kept secret to protect the families’ privacy. There was nothing there now but a stretch of green grass bordered by lush woods.
Robbie unlocked the lock, the chain jingling as he removed it and opened the gate. After edging the car through, he closed it.
“How did you open that lock?”
“Trev’s dad works with DOT and he told me that if you give that old lock the right twist, it’ll open.”
Robbie drove slowly along the wooded border of the graveyard, cut the engine and killed the lights.
Stars blazed above.
Guided by the light of Robbie’s phone, they walked to a remote section where the grass was like thick carpet. They unrolled the sleeping bag.
“Nothing around but the crazy dead under us.”
“Shh, birthday boy.”
Robbie slipped his hands around Chrissie’s waist then under her shirt and jeans. They kissed and as her fingers found his zipper she froze, pulled away and looked into the pitch-black forest.
“What is it?”
“Something’s out there!”
Robbie followed her gaze to flames, flickering deep in the woods.
“What’s that?” Chrissie held Robbie tighter.
“I don’t know. There’s nothing there for acres.”
“There’s an old barn the asylum used years ago, but—”
A faint, distant scream—a woman’s scream—carried from the fire.
“Oh, God, Robbie!”
“What the hell?”
More screaming, this time louder, pierced the night, raising gooseflesh on Chrissie’s skin.
“Help me! Please! Help me!”
Robbie grabbed Chrissie’s hand and started for the woods leading to the fire—but she yanked him back.
“Let’s take the car!”
“I don’t know if we can get through!”
“We’ll be safer in the car, Robbie!”
They ran to the car, dragging the sleeping bag.
Robbie fumbled for his keys, turn
ed the ignition and headed the car down the path that seemed to vanish into the woods ahead.
The flames were growing.
Chrissie called 911.
“I want to report a fire and a woman screaming for help!”
As they followed the trail, knifing into a thick wall of trees and undergrowth, Chrissie guessed they were about one hundred yards from the fire. She gave the dispatcher directions and was assured that fire, paramedics and police were on the way.
Leafy branches continued scraping and slapping at the car. Robbie drove carefully over the rugged road.
“My old man will kill me if I scratch the Taurus!”
Underbrush and stones smacked at the undercarriage as they came to a clearing, gasping at the sight before them.
The old barn was engulfed in flames, the fire raging against the night sky.
A woman ran from it shrieking, trailing smoke and sparks. The flames that were devouring her entire body flapped like horrific flags as she staggered and collapsed into a burning heap in front of the car.
Chrissie screamed.
Robbie grabbed the sleeping bag, rushed to the woman and smothered the flames. While the inferno of the barn crackled and roared, Chrissie’s screams were soon overtaken by the approaching sirens.
The woman groaned in agony.
As Robbie tried to take her hand, which was now a blackened hook, they saw charred ropes tied to her wrists.
Copyright © 2015 by Rick Mofina
ISBN-13: 9781460390214
Every Second
Copyright © 2015 by Highway Nine, Inc.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
