“Shut. Up,” he snarled. “Open your mouth again, and I’ll detonate the bomb I left with your baby.”
Allie’s mouth snapped shut. Her parched tongue seemed to swell behind her teeth. And her limbs began to shake.
O’Lear leaned away and smiled. The dim light of a caged overhead bulb cast long shadows over his maniacal expression. “Now sit up.” He grabbed her shoulder before she could obey and hoisted her roughly into a seated position. He jammed her back against a row of boxes along the wall. The tile where she’d been lying was stained with blood from her swollen lip, and probably her head where he’d knocked her unconscious.
She scanned the room with squinted eyes, fighting nausea as he fumbled for his phone. He was likely planning to taunt Max and the team with a text or photo. To flaunt his insanity. His deranged idea of superiority.
But a picture isn’t a bad thing, she realized, shreds of hope floating in her battered, aching head. A photo was her chance to send the team a message. Opaline would find the clue, if Allie could leave one.
O’Lear tapped his phone screen, presumably writing his message.
Allie had seconds at the most to come up with a plan.
Think, she willed herself. It wasn’t time to give in to the pain. Right now, she needed clarity. A way to alert the TCD to her location.
There were rows of cleaning materials on the shelves across from her, but nothing to suggest where she was. A pile of boxes pressed against her back, but she didn’t dare attempt a look. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t risk drawing O’Lear’s attention or somehow detonating the bomb.
O’Lear stepped back with a snarl, glaring at his phone. His heel crushed a small empty box, and he kicked it aside. The logo on the address label sent a jolt through her core.
Great Lakes Mall.
If the boxes behind her had the same label, there was still hope for Allie.
She pulled her arms in front of her, curving her shoulders and making herself as small as possible. Attempting to give the best view possible of the boxes at her back.
When O’Lear raised the phone in front of him, eager to snap a photo of his battered, bomb-clad hostage, she wilted forward and to the side. She did her best to appear as injured as she felt, as if she couldn’t possibly remain upright any longer, even while seated on the floor. A flash of light drew her haggard gaze up to meet his.
“Now he’ll see,” O’Lear said, tapping the screen with a sinister grin and palpable energy. “Now he’ll know. I’m in charge here. And he’s going to regret he ever provoked me.”
And Allie hoped he was right on the first point. She hoped Max would see.
* * *
MAX PACED THE sidewalk outside the mall. Anger replaced the fear he’d felt all day while worrying for Allie’s safety. Now he knew. He’d been right to worry. His initial bout of self-loathing had morphed quickly into primal rage as he’d waited, helpless, unable to save her. Not knowing where to begin.
He imagined the scene on repeat in his mind. Saw O’Lear breaking into Allie’s home and overpowering her. Hitting her until she bled on her bedroom carpet. Had she been napping? Changing clothes? Had she heard him enter, then run to her room to hide?
Now she could be anywhere.
She could be dead.
Max pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, forcing the thought away. If Allie was gone. If Max was too late. There would be hell to pay for Fritz O’Lear, all consequences be damned. Because when Max got his hands on O’Lear—when, not if—he was going to tear him apart.
Thankfully, Allie’s parents and Max Jr. had been taken into protective custody. He didn’t have to worry for his son or in-laws. He could concentrate on O’Lear and Allie, as soon as he had something to work with. Until then, he was in a holding pattern. Simmering with fear and rage. Biding his time until someone told him where to find the criminal who’d dared lay a hand on Max’s ex-wife.
Around him, his teammates made phone calls and chattered among themselves. Carly called Opaline to check her progress on finding O’Lear. Rihanna spoke privately with local news channels, requesting they scan the crowd and nearby area for signs of the bomber or his Toyota. Axel contacted Pamela, determined to get an idea of where the psychopath might’ve taken a hostage. He also asked the officer looking after her to use her phone to text Fritz, asking for a callback, but he didn’t hold out much hope they’d get an answer, now that the man knew her phone was compromised.
Aria and Selena were meeting with the Grand Rapids bomb squad and a team of handlers and bomb-sniffing dogs on Max’s behalf. Reviewing mall blueprints and relaying the plan Max had outlined for their search. Whatever was happening with Allie, the mall still needed to be searched. If there was a ticking bomb meant for Emilio West, the device still needed to be disarmed and recovered.
Max had removed himself from the mission. He couldn’t do the job with his heart and head so inextricably tied to thoughts of Allie’s abduction.
A sharp whistle turned him toward the group of hardworking TCD teammates, and he broke into a jog to reach them. It was the first they’d called for him since he’d walked away to pull himself together several minutes before, and he knew they wouldn’t have intruded without a substantial lead.
“You have something?” he called, as his friend waved him close.
“Opaline was able to manipulate the photo of Allie.” Axel passed his phone to Max. “We have confirmation on her location at the time the photograph was taken.”
Max stared at the enhanced image on Axel’s phone screen and felt the snap of purpose in his limbs.
The barely visible address label on a box against the wall behind her bore a familiar logo.
Great Lakes Mall.
* * *
ALLIE DRIFTED IN and out of consciousness, nauseated and dizzy with pain. She’d tipped back over, sliding down the collection of boxes to press her burning cheek and body against the cool tile floor. Her head spun and her stomach churned. Bile pooled in her mouth and sweat broke across her forehead. Her thoughts wound over sweet, distant memories and through the more recent hell she’d lived today.
A round of footsteps tugged at her mind, piercing the hazy thoughts and bringing her back to the moment once more. She pressed her eyelids closed and her lips together tightly, praying Fritz O’Lear would just leave her alone. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. Couldn’t fight. What was left for him to do to her?
Besides press the button and blow her up.
Curiosity peeled her dry, itchy eyelids open to half-mast, and she was surprised by the darkness of the room. The overhead light had been extinguished, leaving only a faint red glow across the floor before her. A countdown, she presumed, from the bomb fixed around her neck.
Tears welled and slid over Allie’s cheeks. She was both desperately thankful her parents had agreed to take Max Jr. for the day, and hopeful that O’Lear had kept his word not to hurt them.
At least this way, Max Jr. hadn’t been home when O’Lear had broken in. Her baby hadn’t been injured by the lunatic, or worse. He wasn’t in jeopardy, and he hadn’t witnessed his mother’s abduction. All things she couldn’t have protected him from.
She’d likely be dead soon, but at least her cooperation had saved her son.
Her breath caught, mid hazy thought. Whoever had been approaching stopped outside the closed door across from her. There was a strange snuffling. A heavy, breathy huffing. She blinked gritty eyes, sure it was a hallucination. The sound wasn’t human. It was animalistic and wild. The noises scratched at her consciousness, but her eyes fell shut again. The nausea was back, and pulling her under once more.
* * *
THE BOMB-SNIFFING canines and their handlers stopped before a brown metal door in a long corridor beneath the mall. The dogs sat, and the men turned to Max, tipping their heads and first two fingers toward the barrier.
Max motioned the men and canines back, then reached carefully for the doorknob, twisting the cool metal with his left hand and a silent prayer. He raised his sidearm in his right hand, ready to fire as needed, and hoping it wouldn’t come to that in proximity with a bomb.
He swung the door open slowly, on high alert, as a wedge of light spread across the closet floor. A familiar form appeared on the ground across from him.
“Allie!” Max rushed to his ex-wife’s side and fell to his knees on the tile. She was pale and bleeding, sweating and shaking. The collar bomb around her throat gave him only twelve minutes to set her free, and time was ticking.
A team of men and women, along with three canines, waited in the hall, lingering at the doorway. Dog handlers, bomb-squad members and Axel. Max had grabbed them all as he’d torn into the mall with one thing on his mind. Finding Allie.
Now here she was, with small red numbers counting down beneath her chin, and none of them were safe if Max screwed up.
“Get back!” Max yelled. “Retreat. I’ve got her. Everyone out!”
He didn’t turn to watch them leave. The sounds of jogging feet and the rhythmic click of canine toenails told the story as they faded into the distance.
Max held Allie’s cold tear-and blood-streaked face between his palms. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, taking a closer look at the device beneath her chin.
A small digital clock had been attached to a galvanized pipe. The steel was bent into a circle around her neck. An imperfect device, and an obvious rush job in comparison to the precision designs of O’Lear’s pressure cookers. He’d created this bomb in anger instead of reverence. And the haste had likely made the device far less stable.
Allie’s eyes opened by small slits. Her swollen lip quivered, but her body remained eerily still.
“What can I do?” Axel asked, his voice booming in the dim, silent space.
Max started, twisting for a look over his shoulder at the man who’d been with him through every manner of danger and challenge. A man clearly too stupid to leave so he wouldn’t be blown up. “What are you doing here?” Max scolded. “This bomb is unstable. Get back. Go with the others.”
“Not a chance,” Axel said. “I’m not leaving, and you don’t have time to argue, so you might as well tell me what I can do.”
Max wavered, torn between saving Axel’s life and improving the odds of saving Allie. It was dark, and Max couldn’t hold a light and work on the bomb. Plus, Axel was right. Every second spent arguing was a moment lost to the countdown. “Hold a flashlight over here.”
Max didn’t dare touch the switch on the wall. He couldn’t trust it or anything else in this room not to blow them up. At less than ten minutes to go now, he’d have to make do with the tools on the utility vest he’d strapped on. Axel had insisted he wear a bomb vest beneath the tools, but they both knew the added protection was more of a talisman than protection. Nothing could save their lives at this range. Max was doubly thankful he hadn’t taken the time to dress in a proper EOD suit before entering the facility. Time would have run out before he geared up, then slogged through the mall, down maintenance stairs and along the subterranean corridor to Allie.
A beam of light hit her pale face and she whimpered.
Axel swore.
Max knew the feeling. Allie’s blood was visible everywhere beneath the light. On the floor and smeared across boxes, saturating the hair at the back of her head. She wasn’t opening her eyes or speaking, probably because she couldn’t. These kinds of injuries. This much blood. She was likely concussed. Probably weak, dizzy and nauseated. It was a miracle she was conscious. “I’m going to sit you up slowly,” he explained. “I want to get a look at the entire device.”
Max tilted her upright, then slightly forward, pushing hanks of sweaty and blood-soaked hair away from her back and shoulders. The sweet blond curls he loved were stuck to her skin and shirt. Max’s eyes blurred with emotion. Seeing her like this was enough to undo him. “Okay,” he said, satisfied there was nothing else to see. “I’m going to lay you down now.”
“Go,” she whimpered, tears falling from her eyes as Max lowered her to the floor. “Protect our baby. There’s a bomb with him and my parents.”
Max stilled. He glanced at Axel for confirmation. Axel shook his head. Negative.
“There’s no bomb,” Max told her. “Max Jr. and your parents are with the police. They’re safe.”
Allie’s chest quaked, and a cry broke free. “I didn’t fight because he told me…” She trailed off, sobs replacing words, and Max felt bile rise in his throat. O’Lear had threatened her family, and Allie had bent to his will.
Max settled her on her back, then caressed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “You’re going to be okay, too, baby. I will never leave you. And neither of us are dying here today.”
He tipped her head against the tile, using extreme care. “Axel.”
His partner moved into position beside him, crouching to focus the light so Max could work.
Allie’s hand dragged across the floor, seeking and finding Max’s knee. “I’m so sorry I believed him.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Max assured her. “You couldn’t take the risk. I would’ve done the same thing if I thought you or Max Jr. was in danger.” He pulled a small screwdriver from his vest and removed the bottom panel from the clock.
“That can’t be good,” Axel whispered.
“Nope.” Max stared at the tangle of wires and liberal use of putty. There were visible gaps between the metal and the clock from this viewpoint. Sloppy. Amateur. Reckless work. A visual representation of O’Lear’s limited time and skills.
“What’s the verdict?” Axel asked.
“Not good.” The collar bomb was clearly as unstable as its maker. “There’s no pressure. The blast will barely escape this room if it detonates. But it would destroy all the lives in it.”
Axel nodded. “Then you’d better stop it before it goes off.”
Max turned back to the wires, sorting and logging them quickly and mentally. “He doesn’t want to kill me right now. He wants to punish me. Make me fail in my attempt to save her. But there’s a flaw in his plan. I will never let that happen.”
“No?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
Max and Axel jerked around, hands on guns. Stalling at the sight of Fritz O’Lear with a makeshift detonation device in his grip.
“You didn’t think I’d leave again, did you?” O’Lear asked. “The last time I set a bomb and left, you went rushing in and took it away.”
“I’m not going anywhere without her,” Max said. “So your plan is cracked. And you aren’t leaving this building without handcuffs or being in an ambulance.”
O’Lear smiled. He wasn’t much to look at up close. Five foot ten, 180 pounds of dough. Unkempt beard, disheveled hair. He looked wild and childish, a grown man throwing a fit. Demanding respect instead of earning it.
What he needed was a time-out. Preferably in a federal prison with a lifetime of therapy. But that would come later. After Allie was safe.
Max turned his attention back to the bomb. Done wasting precious seconds on a psychopath.
“Stop!” O’Lear growled. “Get away from her.”
Max ignored him. There were six minutes on the bomb. Six minutes left in Allie’s life. He had to work fast.
“You should be grateful,” O’Lear said, inching into the room. “You think you’re doing the right thing. Being the hero. But she dumped you. She vowed to be with you forever. Richer and poorer. Good times and bad. But she left. She broke her promise.” His voice grew louder with each new phrase, the words shaking from his tongue, as if he could barely contain the anger. “She humiliated you,” he continued. “Tossed you aside, made you feel weak and pathetic, like you were an embarrassment. Like you were nothing. And she deserves payback.”
; “That was you,” Max said. “Not me. None of this is about me. Or Allie.” He ran his fingers along a set of thin wires connecting the clock and pipe. The space was small, his fingers broad, making it difficult to see and to work. “I love this woman,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to punish her. I want to save her.” He patted his vest in search of the needle-nose pliers. If he could wiggle the wires out a bit, create some leeway in the tension, he might be able to disrupt the connection between the bomb and the detonator. Effectively removing O’Lear’s power.
“Stop!” O’Lear screamed. “Stop touching her! She deserves punishment for what she did to you. And you deserve punishment for what you’ve done to me. You watch her die. Then I watch you die. You get the same thing they all get. Because I’m the one in control. Not you!”
“In five minutes, we all die,” Max said. “Maybe you should start running.”
“Hey, now,” Axel said sharply, throwing his hands wide like an umpire. “I don’t want to die. I’m just here on assignment. Someone told me to help this agent because a woman was in trouble.” He turned his back to Max and Allie, leaving his light on the floor, pointed toward the bomb.
“What are you doing?” O’Lear asked.
“Pleading for my life,” Axel said, lifting his palms and engaging the killer. “Please don’t do this. I can understand why you want to. Women are spiteful and mean. But I want to live.”
“This isn’t about you,” O’Lear sneered. “Shut. Up!”
“My girl broke my heart once,” Axel continued. “She cheated. With my brother. And my best friend, Sarah.”
O’Lear growled. “Women.” He spit the word. “They make you feel good before they stab you in the heart. Men aren’t any better. They all want to puff themselves up. Feel powerful, but they aren’t.”
“You are,” Axel said. “You literally have power over our lives right now.”
Max worked the tip of his small pliers under a pair of parallel wires, buried among the rest. Then he tugged slow and steady. Four minutes on the clock.
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