Nanny 911

by Julie Miller

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Already spoke to your friend Cutler. His team is on the way. Local cops are clearing a perimeter around the nearby businesses.”

  She picked up the phone again and punched in a number. “Where is the lab located?” she asked.

  “Fourth floor,” David answered.

  Her call picked up. “Yes, sir, this is Murdock. I’m at GSS headquarters now.” Michael Cutler must be on the line. She was all business, all focus now, as she pointed to the computer screen. “Can we print this out?”

  David hit the print command while Officer Murdock answered another question. “Nine souls on the top floor.” She stretched over the desk to see through the glass wall. “Four men, a woman and a child are coming down the northeast stairwell.”

  Quinn remained a step behind her, unheeded, fuming. “What about Fiona?”

  “You don’t think I can do more good for her dealing with the bomb than holding her hand?”

  “What if that bomb’s a dummy and this is all a ruse to get Fiona outside, unprotected?”

  She glanced up at David. He muttered a curse and shook his head, understanding the silent request. “My job is to protect this man and this company.”

  As much as Quinn wanted Miranda out of here with Fiona, he knew what needed to be done. He motioned David to the door. “Your job is to do what I say. She’s right.”

  “I don’t like leaving you up here.”

  “We’ll be right behind you in a few minutes. I won’t have any other deaths on my conscience. My daughter is your top priority. Get her someplace safe. Go.”

  “Don’t let Dirty Harriet here screw up our protocols. If I don’t see you outside in fifteen minutes, I’m coming back in.”

  As far as Quinn could tell, security was already screwed up if someone had gotten inside GSS to place a bomb. The idea that anyone could get past all the systems he’d invented and put to use smacked of an inside job. But with the clock ticking and people in danger, he didn’t have the luxury of speculation right now. With a nod from his boss, the security chief, David, hustled out the door as quickly as he’d barged in.

  Quinn pulled the photo from the printer and tried to make out the bomb’s schematics while Miranda glared at him across the desk. “You should go, too.”

  “You stay,” he challenged, “I stay.”

  All at once her posture changed. She was talking on the phone again. “No. I can’t, sir.” She squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed a curse. “My gear’s in my truck, back at the estate. I rode in with Quinn and Fiona. All I have on me is my sidearm.”

  “Miranda?”

  “But—” Whatever Michael Cutler was saying transformed the bullheaded cop into a woman far less sure of herself. “Understood, sir. Yes, I will. Murdock out.”

  She hung up the phone. “Captain Cutler will be here in ten minutes to take charge of the scene. He wants the building clear by that time, too. In the meantime, I don’t suppose you have an extra flak vest lying around?”

  “Come with me.” Quinn reached across the desk and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a jog out the door with him. Finally, something he had an answer for. “GSS makes them.” A few seconds later, he unlocked a storage closet beside the break room and shoved aside a box marked Gas Masks and one labeled Flash Bangs before opening a third crate and pulling out two vests. “We keep samples of these and other nonlethal products in the building. We use them as visual aids in our sales presentations.”

  “I can only wear one.”

  “I’m coming with you.” He pulled off his jacket and tie and strapped on the vest. “I’m guessing Michael told you to get the hell out of the building, and you plan to go take a look at that bomb, anyway, before you leave.”

  At least she didn’t bother denying her intent. She secured the Velcro straps beneath each arm, then checked her gun to make sure she could still easily access it with the vest on. “I need to get eyes on that device so I can describe it to the bomb squad when they arrive. Why are you still here?”

  She ran to the stairwell and Quinn chased after her. “I’m the bomb squad.”

  “What?” She stopped in her tracks on the stairwell’s concrete landing, and Quinn plowed into her back. He got a brief imprint of sleek curves and heat against his harder thighs before he grabbed her arms and pulled her back from the steel railing. She turned to face him. “You think you’re going to defuse that bomb?”

  “I build bomb components in one of my GSS divisions. I’ve designed half the electronics in that picture myself. Chances are I can defuse it before any of KCPD’s experts can get here.”

  Miranda’s hand came to the middle of his chest and pushed him back to arm’s length. “We are not leaving this to chance.”

  He leaned forward, pressing into her hand. “I’m not arguing with you on this.”

  “Rule 2 of my job is to get eyes on the threat. As officer on the scene, that’s my responsibility.” She slid her hand up the vest and cupped his cheek. “Rule 1 is to protect civilians and prevent casualties. You need to be outside, out of harm’s way.”

  Quinn reached up to cover her hand with his, wondering if she was aware of just how much concern was shining from her eyes, and just how afraid he was for her and Fiona, in return. “My building. My people. I’m the captain of this ship. You don’t think I can do more good for my daughter dealing with the bomb than holding her hand?” Her eyes widened when he threw her own words back at her. He leaned in, stopping up her protest with a quick kiss to ease the sting and trade a bit of reassurance. Now to toss some infallible logic into a debate he refused to lose. “Do you know where the lab is located?”

  “Fourth floor. I can find it on my own. You need to leave.”

  “Do you know the code to get inside?”

  With a sigh of resignation and a squeeze of his hand, she pulled away. “Fine. Lead the way, Captain.”

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda clipped the spare radio Sergeant Rafe Delgado had brought her from the SWAT van to her collar, and adjusted the earpiece before testing it. “Captain Cutler, this is Murdock. Can you hear me?”

  Michael Cutler’s voice buzzed over the connection. “Loud and clear, Murdock. Now give me eyes on what you’re seeing.”

  She went back into the sterile white computer lab to find both Quinn and the sergeant examining the briefcase bomb with flashlights and an assortment of tools. A lump of worry caught in her throat to see the contrasts between the two men. Rafe, the team’s explosives expert, was suited up from head to toe in protective armor. But Quinn had only whatever protection the flak vest and his tailored wool trousers could provide. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Heck, he wasn’t even wearing his glasses. Instead, they lay on the tabletop beside the case while he leaned over, his face mere inches from the bomb itself.

  But none of that was what the captain wanted to hear. She swallowed the lump and relied on her training to get her through this. “Sarge and Mr. Gallagher think they can disarm it. They’re removing the firing pins from the C-4 blocks.” She moved in close enough to look over Quinn’s shoulder. “I think the trick is going to be removing the firing mechanisms from the briefcase itself. It’s tangled up pretty good in there, with several redundant systems. They’re going through them one by one, but the timer’s down to—” she read the thin red numbers counting down on the digital clock in a beat more steady than her own heart “—seventeen minutes. Even an accidental connection with the electrical current might set off a chain reaction that could still blow everything.”

  “Are we all clear on the time?” the captain asked, including the rest of the team. “Everyone is out of the building in fifteen minutes. No exceptions.”

  “Captain?” Rafe tapped his mike and added to the report. “I can safely remove about half of the C-4 without disturbing anything. But if Gallagher can’t turn this off, there’ll still be enough explosive left to take out this room. I recommend bringing in the box.”

  “Roger th
at.” The “box” was a heavily reinforced metal container with specially designed baffles inside. It was used to detonate a theoretically controlled explosion so that no shrapnel would be thrown out to cause injury or damage. Still, an explosion was an explosion, a wild mess of forced air and flying debris, a potentially deadly risk to everyone in the area. The captain called another member of the team. “Trip, what’s your twenty?”

  Trip Jones’s deep voice came over the line. “Ninthfloor stairwell. The floors above me are clear. No sign of another bomb or any civilians or suspects in the building.”

  “Roger that. Continue your search.” Captain Cutler wasted neither time nor words to keep his team moving in its symbiotic fashion. “Taylor, what’s your twenty?”

  Alex Taylor chimed in. “Third floor, working my way down, sir. Three through six are clear.”

  “All right, Murdock, I’m putting you to work.”

  Miranda snapped to attention at her captain’s summons.

  “I need you to leave your position and take over the search of the last two floors.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Here. Take this.” Rafe handed her his big metal flashlight, then pulled a smaller spare from one of the pockets in his utility vest and stuck it between his teeth to free up his hands. “Thanks, Sarge.”

  While she pulled her gun and checked the clip, the sergeant opened the carryall bag he’d brought with him and started gently packing the blocks of C-4 he could safely remove.

  Captain Cutler was still issuing directions from the command center in the van. “Taylor, you’re with me right now. I need you to take the box in to Sergeant Delgado.”

  “Roger that. Taylor out.”

  Quinn’s steady voice sounded behind her. “Cutting the blue wire in three, two, one…”

  Miranda held her breath and heard the tiny snip. No boom. Always a good sign. She exhaled and headed for the door. “You two okay here?”

  “Wait.” She glanced back as Quinn put on his glasses and straightened. His laser-blue gaze reached her clear across the room and jolted through her. “Check on my daughter again.”

  She nodded and tapped her radio, beginning to understand the depths of how much a father could love his child, and just how much he would risk to keep her safe. “Captain? Do you have eyes on Fiona Gallagher?”

  “She’s right here in the van with me and Elise Brown.” He chuckled, a rare sound. “I gave her a walkie-talkie without batteries to play with, and she’s running her own op, copying nearly everything I say. Tell Quinn not to worry. She’s occupied.”

  “Thank you, sir. Murdock out.” She never took her eyes off Quinn. “Fiona’s with the captain. She’s just fine. I’ll check her myself once I get out there, and radio in to the sergeant.”

  “Be safe,” Quinn warned.

  Miranda smiled. “Don’t either of you blow up.”

  And then she was out the door and down the stairs to the second floor. The offices were smaller and more numerous here, belonging to paper pushers rather than researchers or executives. Leading with her flashlight and gun, hand over fist, she moved quickly along each hallway, meticulously checking in each and every door on the floor. She nudged open the door to the stairwell landing, looking up and down before venturing out. “Second floor clear.”

  She made her way down to the first floor, tuning out most of the chatter on her headset. “KCPD,” she announced with each new room she entered. Door open, light on, check behind desk, look inside closet. Close doors and move on. She ignored Christmas trees and Hanukkah decorations, paid little heed to whether the decor of each space was flashy or homey or modern. She was simply searching for bombs and bodies and hidden bad guys, making sure the citizens of Kansas City were out of harm’s way.

  She was doing her job, doing it well.

  Until one of the captain’s commands resonated loudly in her ear. “Kincaid, you’re my eyes in the sky. Have you spotted anyone showing a particular interest in what’s going on?”

  Miranda pulled up short behind the reception desk in the GSS lobby. Eye in the sky. That was codespeak for when the sniper on the team found a high vantage point where she could take a clean shot or provide intel as needed for the rest of the team. That was her job. And Holden Kincaid was doing it.

  You’re not good enough.

  The team can get the job done without you.

  They don’t really need you.

  “Shut up.” Miranda silently cursed that voice denigrating her in her head. She still had the same badge, the same skills she’d possessed when she joined SWAT. Had she been blind to her shortcomings before the RGK’s blitz attack? Or had something in her truly changed that day?

  “Murdock?” the captain questioned.

  Oh, hell. Her mike was on. “Nothing, sir.” Shake it off. She literally shook her ponytail down her back and straightened her shoulders. “First floor clear.”

  “We’ve got your usual looky-loos, press vans and reporters lined up on the outer road leading to the interstate. It’s pretty wide-open countryside to the west and south of the building.” Holden Kincaid was back on the line. “Wait. I’ve got a black car parked in front of that trucking company about half a mile to the north beyond the cordoned-off perimeter. I count three men inside. They’re separated from the rest of the crowd.”

  Black car? A different voice spoke inside Miranda’s head. “Can you make out the plate number?” she asked.

  Holden must be adjusting his binoculars because several seconds passed before he rattled it off.

  Captain Cutler recognized the license number as soon as Miranda did. “The first three digits match the plate of that car with the camera creep outside Quinn’s estate.”

  She remembered the name on the car rental agreement, too. It was the second black BMW an Alex Mostek had taken from one of the airport rental places. A man was entitled to like a certain kind of car, but she wasn’t buying the coincidence of the same cars showing up near Quinn at two different locations three times in the same week, either.

  Thank God he wasn’t on a radio to hear of the suspect in the area. Quinn was working with enough C-4 to kill him, Sergeant Delgado and maybe the two other SWAT cops in the building if he got distracted and made a mistake.

  The need to do her part to put an end to this nightmare got her moving. “I’m checking it out.”

  She was reluctantly grateful for Holden’s next report. “Be advised you need to use the east exit and stick to the parking lots or he’ll see you coming.”

  “Roger that.”

  Captain Cutler, of course, always had the last word. “We’ve got five minutes until I want that building clear, and I expect a roll call from every one of you, so make it fast.”

  “Yes, sir.” Miranda raced to the side door leading out into the parking lot and pocketed the flashlight before stepping outside. A brisk wind chapped her cheeks, reminding her that her winter coat was still upstairs in Quinn’s office. But five minutes, twelve flights of stairs and their first real lead on whoever was behind the threats to Fiona, Quinn and GSS forced her to ignore the cold and hunker down a bit to move forward at a good pace along the side of the building.

  Once she left the shade of the building, she had to squint against the afternoon sunlight reflecting off the snowy hills around her. Once her eyes had adjusted to the brightness outside, she covered the distance across the parking lot and ran along the fenced lots between GSS and the next set of buildings in this industrial-park area. Her boots kept her feet warm and dry as she crunched through the snow, but her jeans were soaking in the moist cold and chilling the skin around her knees and calves.

  “You’re headed right for them,” Holden advised. He was probably on the roof of one of these buildings already. “If you circle the truck company offices—the yellow brick facade—you’ll come up on the car’s backside.”

  “Roger that.”

  The cold was making her fingers stiff and she wished she’d at least stopped by the SWAT van to bag a pai
r of gloves. But determination was fueling her and the clock was ticking. If she could find out who was in the car, she might be able to put a stop to this dangerous game. She could protect the Gallaghers the way she knew how and prove to herself that she still had the mojo she needed to make it as a SWAT cop.

  “Kincaid, I want you on the ground now to provide backup,” the captain ordered.

  Miranda paused at the corner of the building and leaned back against the bricks. Great. Just what she needed—the man poised to replace her on the team swooping down to save the day because Cutler didn’t think she could do the job herself. While the rational part of her knew SWAT was all about teamwork, that raw need to prove she was worthy tried to get inside her head again.

  She gritted her teeth to silence the voices of doubt and tried to fill her head with images of the dark-haired little girl who was depending on her, and the dark-haired father who was risking his own life to take a bomb apart so they could all be safe. Flexing her fingers around the grip of her Glock, Miranda took in one last steadying breath, nodded her own readiness and spun around the corner.

  She spotted the target vehicle almost immediately and darted between the semitruck trailers parked on the outer road behind it. She peeked out the far side to make sure she was in the car’s blind spot and then crept up behind it, sticking close to the trucks and bending her legs to keep herself low to the ground. The plume of exhaust coming from the tailpipe told her the engine was running.

  Were they curiosity seekers just trying to stay warm? Or was someone much more sinister preparing to make a quick getaway after seeing the results of his handiwork? Either way, she doubted Quinn would appreciate the obsession with him and his company.

  “The briefcase is in the box,” Sergeant Delgado reported in her ear. “Quinn got it down to a safer payload. We’re moving it outside now to blow it.”

  “The parking lot is clear.” The captain indicated they should bring the reinforced bomb box out to the deserted parking lot east of the building. “SWAT 1, sound off your twenty.”