Matt squinted at her. “Where are you headed with this?”
“The only direction that makes any sense.”
“Which is?”
The scenario tumbled through Tara’s mind, thoughts piling on top of one another so quickly that she could barely find a way to organize them.
She tried anyway.
“I keep looking for a reason why Imogene would go to all the trouble to help us, only to wind up turning us in.”
“Assuming she did,” Matt said. “And you have no proof of that.”
“Who else is there? The security man at my building never saw you, and the only person who even knew you were in the city was Imogene. She probably called the police at Everhardt’s house, but when that didn’t work, she figured out where we’d go next and tried again.”
“Even if you’re right, it still doesn’t tell me why.”
“Think about it,” Tara said. “What if we were set up? What if our escape, the romp in the woods, Imogene taking us through the mine—what if all of that was planned somehow?”
“That’s crazy. It would be impossible to coordinate something like that.”
“Would it? Maybe not to the letter, there’d be a whole lot of variables to deal with, but if Zane wanted us to get to the city, it wouldn’t be all that tough to engineer. For all we know, he put some kind of tracking device on us. Which would explain how Imogene found us in that shack, and at my condo.”
Matt said nothing. Seemed to be running the idea through his head, weighing its value. Then he began patting his jeans, his face changing expression as he found something and reached into his right back pocket.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, looking stunned, then held up a tiny black nodule, about half the size of a pencil eraser. He studied it closely. “This looks military grade.”
“Still think I’m crazy?”
“No, but I’m still wondering why. Why would Zane go to all this trouble?”
“It’s Saturday, right?”
“That’s the rumor, yeah.”
“So tell me, who goes to the federal courthouse on Saturdays?”
“No one. It’s closed.”
“So why bomb a building that’s unoccupied?”
Matt shook his head, shrugged. “To minimize the casualties.”
Tara raised an eyebrow. “Does Jimmy Zane strike you as the kind of guy who cares about casualties? ‘Collateral damage,’ remember? ‘We hold the power.’ The more people you kill, the more power you hold.” She paused. “And one other thing.”
“What?”
“Zane said the bombs were structural. That they’d been planted inside the building. Do you know how hard it would be to set that up in a working federal courthouse?”
“Practically impossible,” Matt said.
“Exactly.”
Tara could see that he was with her now. His mind seemed to be racing.
“So the courthouse isn’t Zane’s target,” he said. “He knew he was being infiltrated, so he decided to use us to his advantage. We divert the forces while he’s across town, taking down another building and making us all look like fools.”
“A building with tons of collateral damage,” Tara said. And the moment the words passed her lips, she realized what Zane’s real target was, her chest seizing up with panic.
The Performing Arts Center.
She swiveled around to the workbench behind her and flipped on a television monitor. KWEST was televising the dedication ceremony, which would be starting very soon, and on-screen was a shot of the center’s lobby, crowded with people, including a handful of celebrities and some local and national politicians.
Susan and Kyle were in there somewhere, too. Along with Kelly and Kimberly.
Oh my God.
Tara’s gut told her she was right, but she needed proof. “Call the station,” she told them. “Tell them to pipe down the archival footage of the arts center being built.”
Ron got on the phone and a moment later the download was ready and Tara was fast-forwarding through it, watching the screen intently.
When she saw what she was looking for, she paused the footage and pointed to the screen.
“Any guesses what Imogene said her son does for a living?”
On the screen was a shot of the Performing Arts Center, only half built. And parked out front was a large container truck marked RGB CONSTRUCTION.
The very same truck they’d seen at The Brotherhood compound.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They couldn’t get through to the arts center on their cell phones.
Matt had already called Abernathy to tell him about their suspicions, and Abernathy had decided to reroute half their forces across town.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late.
But when Tara tried to call Susan and Kyle, she got no signal.
Same problem with the arts center security office.
“Zane must be jamming the radio frequency,” Matt said. “And judging by the quality of that tracker, he’s using high-end equipment to do it.”
Tara could barely control her panic. “My nieces are in that building. We have to warn them. Get them out of there.” She turned to the driver. “Hurry, Joe, hurry!”
The driver jammed his foot against the accelerator and the van shot forward, weaving in and out of traffic.
“Speaking of the tracker,” Matt said, “if Zane sees we’re headed away from the courthouse, he may trigger the detonator early.”
Moving to the front of the van, Matt threw the device out the window.
“That should keep him guessing for a while.”
Ron the Newscaster checked the road ahead, then shouted back to them. “Only about half a mile to go.”
IT SEEMED MORE LIKE twenty miles, and by the time they reached the building, Tara’s heart felt as if it might literally burst out of her chest.
Before the van even came to a stop, Matt had the side door open and he and Tara were jumping out, racing across a wide expanse of cement to the arts center entrance.
Pedestrians were milling around the courtyard, and they had to weave in and out, dodging bodies.
Matt gestured to Tara, indicating a nearby security car. “I’ll let them know what’s happening,” he said. “You go inside and get everyone out of the building.”
“What do I tell them?”
“The truth.”
“But I’ll start a panic. They’ll go crazy.”
“Better than the alternative,” Matt said, and then he was cutting sideways, headed for the security car.
Tara burst through the lobby doorways, only to find that the place was huge and packed to the gills, patrons drinking champagne and orange juice, munching on bite-sized breakfast snacks. A podium was set up on the stage at the back of the room.
She checked a clock on the wall above it.
Eight-fifty-three a.m.
“Everyone, listen up!” she shouted.
But the ceiling was high and the crowd noise drowned out her voice.
“Everyone, listen!” she tried again, and a few nearby patrons stared at her as if she’d just lost her mind.
She desperately scanned the crowd for Susan and the twins. A group of preschool children stood near the stage, but no Kelly or Kimberly.
“This is an emergency!” she shouted. “Everyone needs to clear out of the building! Now!”
Eight-fifty-four a.m.
The few people who had heard her studied her with great concern, then turned and chattered to one another as if trying to decide what to do.
Should they believe her?
Some of them started moving toward the doorways, but the clock was ticking and this wasn’t going nearly fast enough.
There was a microphone on the podium. Tara knew she had to get to it.
She pushed her way through the crowd, working toward the back of the room. She was halfway there when she bumped into a woman in a yellow sundress, and realized with relief that it was Susan.
&n
bsp; Oh my God, Susan.
Her sister turned, surprise in her eyes.
“Tara!” she beamed. “You made it! I’ve been trying to call you all…” She stopped herself. “What happened to your face?”
“Where are the twins?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Where are they?”
Susan frowned. “Kelly spilled orange juice on her dress. Kyle took them to the restroom. What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
Tara grabbed her by the shoulders. “You should be scared. Listen to me carefully. I don’t have time to explain, but you need to help me get everyone out of here. Right now.”
“What are you talking about? Wh—”
“There’s a bomb in the building. I’ll get Kyle and the girls. You get up to that microphone and tell these people to clear out. I don’t care what you say, just get them out of here and as far away from the building as possible. I’ll meet you outside.”
Susan stared at her in alarm, but didn’t hesitate.
“Go,” she said. “Go.” Then she turned and headed for the podium. Eight-fifty-five a.m.
Five precious minutes. It might be impossible to clear these people out that quickly, but Tara’s only priority right now was Kelly and Kimberly.
She glanced around until she saw a sign pointing to the men’s room. It was located to the right side of the lobby, down a narrow hallway.
Tara pushed past an elderly couple, telling them to leave the building, now, then moved into the hallway beyond an emergency exit and on toward the restroom.
She was only steps away from it when someone grabbed her from behind and stuck a gun barrel to her head, abruptly pulling her to the side.
“Well now, cutie-pie, nice to see you made it to the party. Me and you got some unfinished business to attend to.”
Carl Maddox wrapped his arm around Tara’s waist and dragged her toward the emergency exit.
WHEN THE SECURITY MAN first saw Matt, his eyes went wide and he started fumbling for his sidearm.
Fortunately, Abernathy had given Matt his bureau credentials and Matt already had them out as he approached, quickly explaining who he was and what was going on.
The security man looked wary, as if trying to decide whether to believe the story or arrest him, and Matt had no idea which way he’d go.
“Do you want the lives of hundreds of people on your conscience?” Matt asked. “You can either be a hero or a scapegoat. It’s up to you.”
The security man thought about this, then said, “What do you want me to do?”
“Your radios aren’t working,” Matt told him. “I need you to round up your men and get those people out of the building ASAP. It’s about to blow.”
Without any further prompting, the security man headed toward the lobby. Matt was about to follow when he heard a door at the side of the building crash open and Tara stepped onto the sidewalk.
What the heck?
What was she doing?
He was about to call out to her when he saw Carl Maddox move in behind her, pressing a gun to her back.
Matt felt his heart go into his throat.
He didn’t have a weapon, and if he tried to stop them, Tara might be hurt. First, he needed to find some cover. A simple turn of the head and Maddox would see him.
Quickly moving to the back of the security man’s car, he hunkered down and watched as Carl nudged Tara into the street, motioning for her to cross it.
There was a multistory parking lot on the other side, and Matt immediately knew where they were headed.
He was taking her to Zane.
CARL PUSHED TARA INTO the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, closing them inside.
“This is your lucky day, cupcake. Everything’s in place and ready to go. And you get a front row seat to the fireworks.”
Tara’s chest was pounding, but it was rage that consumed her. All she could think about was Kelly and Kimberly. “You twisted—”
“Now, now, is that any way to talk to the future father of your children?”
“Future dead man,” Tara said as the elevator kicked into gear. “The very near future.”
“Oooh, I like it when you talk like that. You’re getting me all hot and bothered.” He reached over and hit the emergency button, bringing the car to a halt. “Maybe we should forget the fireworks and start making some of our own.”
“Dream on, creep.”
Carl chuckled. “You’re acting like you have a choice in the matter.” He pressed the gun to her head. “But my little friend here says you don’t. And he’s all too happy to introduce you to his big brother.” His eyes went cold. “Get down on your knees.”
Tara refused to budge. He’d have to kill her to get what he wanted.
“Down on your knees, you little—”
Tara spit in his face, then brought one of those knees up fast and hard into his groin. He huffed out a breath, his face churning in pain as he blindly struck out at her, knocking her against the wall.
But Tara whirled and swung, hitting him with all of her strength, then dove for the control panel and pulled on the emergency button.
As the elevator lurched into motion, Carl swore and twisted around, grabbing her by the neck. He slammed her against the wall again, and suddenly the world turned sideways.
Carl put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her to her knees, his back to the elevator doors.
His eyes red with fury, he brought the gun up. “Forget the fireworks, baby. You just signed your death certificate.”
But before he could pull the trigger, the elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal Matt standing behind them.
Matt struck without hesitation, two rapid blows to Carl’s head and kidneys and the creep crumpled to the floor, out cold.
As Matt retrieved Carl’s gun, Tara let out a long, relieved breath before falling into his arms. “Oh, thank God, thank God.”
“Abernathy must be here by now,” Matt said. “Take the stairs and tell him where I am. I have to stop Zane before he has a chance to punch that detonator.”
MATT DIDN’T HAVE TIME to deal with Carl, so he simply pressed the elevator button and let the doors close him inside and take him down to the first floor.
By the time the idiot woke up, he’d be surrounded by federal agents.
Holding the gun at his side, Matt moved to the scarred glass doors separating the elevator from the parking lot. He was on the top floor, and outside was an open-air view of the blacktop jammed up with cars.
It took him only a moment to find the one he was looking for: a shiny black Humvee, parked hastily toward the Performing Arts Center.
He couldn’t be sure, of course, but his gut told him he had the right car. He had parked next to it in The Brotherhood’s compound.
Slipping out the doors, he moved into a crouch behind a nearby sedan, shifting his gaze to a digital clock on the side of an adjacent building.
Eight-fifty-nine a.m.
If Zane stuck to his plan, he’d be pressing that detonator in exactly one minute, and Matt didn’t have a second to waste.
Staying low, he darted across the lot and took cover behind another sedan. The Hummer was only a few yards away from him now, and he could see the driver’s window from here.
Zane was behind the wheel, his concentration centered on the Performing Arts Center building, a small black box in his left hand. The detonator was radio controlled, which meant that Zane would have to cancel the cell phone jammer before he used it. Matt had a feeling that switch had already been flipped.
It’s now or never, he thought.
Bringing Carl’s gun up, he got to his feet and moved as quickly and as silently as possible, making a straight line for Zane.
But just as he reached the car’s window, a shotgun ratcheted behind him and a familiar voice said, “You can stop right there, Mr. FBI.”
Matt froze in place.
“Drop the weapon,” Imogene said, her voice shaky.<
br />
Matt did as told, then slowly raised his hands as Zane gave him a once-over.
“Glad you could join us, soldier. I was just telling Mother what a shame it was we wouldn’t get to see your face when the building blows. So having you here means a lot to me.”
“It don’t mean a darn thing to me,” Imogene said. “Just trigger that contraption already, so I can waste this piece of government garbage.”
Matt felt a chill go down his spine. He couldn’t believe he’d let this old lunatic dupe him. And a jumpy one at that. He could tell by the quaver in her voice that she’d fire that scattergun at the slightest provocation.
He glanced again at the clock on the adjoining building.
Nine a.m.
Zane smiled at him now, his thumb moving toward the detonator’s trigger. “By the time they dig all the bodies out of the rubble,” he said, “The Brotherhood will have a brand-new home in a brand-new state, and Whitestone won’t quite know what hit it.” He paused. “Like I always say, ‘We hold the power.’”
Matt was no longer listening to him. His gaze was burning Zane’s hand and he knew that if he didn’t think of something fast, it would be over. Zane would win.
Tara was down there somewhere, trying to flag Abernathy, rushing frantically back to the building to save her sister and brother-in-law and those two little girls who meant so much to her. And he knew that he had failed her. That in the one crucial, final moment, the moment that meant everything, he had failed to fulfill his promise to her.
All he could see was her face. Bruised but beautiful. The face of an angel.
His angel.
And as Zane’s thumb descended toward the button, Matt did the only thing he could think of.
He moved.
A single step sideways.
And just as he’d hoped—just as he’d prayed for—the sudden motion rattled Imogene and she reacted, letting loose both barrels of the shotgun.
By the time she fired, however, Matt had ducked well out of the way, and the charge rocketed forward, hitting Zane in the neck and chest, blowing a hole clean through him.
Man Undercover Page 13
