Snip.
Gabe waited, his pulse jackhammering, making him sweat. He checked the wire to be sure. Two ends lay on the floor. He dropped his head, rolled it around as the bunched muscles in his shoulders released.
“Did you do it?” Jo asked.
Sure did. “We’re good.”
“Yay for us. That seriously sucked.”
Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was their combined caustic humor that most didn’t understand, but he laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You’re still attached to the bomb.” He checked the timer, thirty minutes. Crap. “Reese, where are we on getting the shipment released?”
“Tom’s on it.”
“Okay. Can I untie Jo from this chair?”
“Yeah, but be careful. No jerky movements. I don’t know what that thing is made of.”
Gabe’s phone rang—Tom—and he propped the phone at his ear while he went to work on the ropes. “What’s up?”
“The mayor is on with the Port Authority now.”
The mayor? They were so fucked. They were supposed to be down here lending support to the sheriff and they’d gotten themselves into the middle of a PR nightmare.
“Hang on,” Tom said and music suddenly came across the phone line.
Sure, boss. Got all the time in the world. Gabe managed to get Jo’s hands loose while Barry Manilow sang in his ear. Could this get any worse? She kept her lower body still, but worked her fingers in and out. Must be numb.
“They’ll do it,” Tom said. “They’re releasing it now. “They’re putting an unmarked car on the truck so we don’t lose it.”
Thank you. “Roger that. But tell them if the driver spots a tail, we’re fucked. Martinson said no tail or he blows this thing.”
“I’ll take care of it. What’s Jo’s status?”
“I just cut the trip wire. I’m getting her free and then I’ll deal with the bomb.”
“Go. Call me when she’s safe.”
Gabe dropped the phone and set his sights on the knots at Jo’s ankles. Right foot first and then the one with the bomb. I got this.
The cell phone on the desk chirped. Martinson again. Jesus, he had three phones and a computer going while trying to get rid of a bomb. Gabe had always been a great multitasker but this might break him.
“That’s him,” Jo said. “The truck must be there.”
An inch at a time, making sure not to jar the bomb, he rose from the floor and snatched the phone from the desk. “Gabe Townsend.”
“Sergeant,” Martinson said, his voice cool, unfazed. “My truck is at the Port Authority.”
I will beat this fucker into the ground. A child’s squeal sounded from Martinson’s end. Outside. Gabe still believed he was somewhere close. Maybe the park adjacent to the square? He’d find him. Sooner or later, he’d find him. “They’re releasing your shipment.”
“Excellent. When the shipment has been released, I will call you.”
“Hey, asshole, we don’t have time for that. Down to twenty-one minutes.”
“You’d better hope they move quickly.”
Click. Fighting the urge to hurl the phone, Gabe used deliberate care to press end. Gotta move.
“Gabe?” Reese said.
“Yeah, we’re here. About to get royally fucked by this guy.” He squatted again, went to work on the last knot. “How do I diffuse the bomb?”
“With the time you have, you don’t. You get it to an open area and let it blow.”
An open area. Think. In his mind, he pictured the layout of the town, the stores lining Main Street, the small parking lot behind the hotel, the square—not enough room. No matter how he sliced it there was no room anywhere. Not for a bomb.
“That won’t work. How about a Dumpster? Would it contain it?”
“Yeah, but the lid could fly off and decapitate someone. If you leave the lid off, the blast would go straight up.”
“The pond,” Gabe said.
He unwound the last knot on Jo’s ankle and pulled the rope away from the bomb still secured to the chair leg by electrical tape. She’s free. For a moment, he let the thought sink in. The two of them could run the hell out of here and just let the place blow. They’d be safe. They’d be free to go on with their lives, get married—if she’d have him—and have babies. They could do all that. Together.
Run fast, run hard, run long.
“There’s a pond?” Reese asked.
Who was Gabe kidding? He couldn’t walk away from this thing. Let it blow away half this block? Not if he could contain it.
Jo stood, shook out her legs. “In the square. Right across the street.”
“How big?”
He rolled out his bottom lip, visualized the pond he’d walked by on his way back from Ellie’s shop. “Roughly fifty-by-fifty-feet wide. Five or six-feet deep, I’d say.”
“Dude, clear the area and throw that bitch in there.”
Chapter Nine
“Seriously,” Jo said, “that’s the plan?”
Gabe and the bomb wizard had to be kidding. They were going to blow up a pond in the middle of town. The pond with that big, honking brass statue that would probably become a giant projectile and kill someone. Although, she supposed it was better than blowing up the hotel. And the surrounding businesses. I cannot believe this.
Gabe was still focused on the bomb and probably hadn’t even heard her protest.
“Reese,” he said, “the tape is only around the pipe. Can I pull it off? If not, the whole chair is going. I just don’t want to bump anything along the way.”
“Yeah, you’re good. As long as there aren’t any wires stuck to the tape, go for it.”
To keep the chair still while Gabe pulled the tape, Jo set her hands on the seat and leaned in. “How much time?”
“Eleven minutes.”
For the first time, she noticed the beads of sweat dripping down his face. He rolled his shoulder, trying to dry the moisture with his sleeve. Jo cupped her hand around one side of his face, held it there while she took in the tiny lines around his eyes and the bunched skin between his eyebrows. His look of concentration when working—one that was so much a part of this man she’d fallen in love with.
One who was about to risk his life by carrying a bomb across the street. She dragged her hand down both sides of his face and wiped the sweat on her slacks. She couldn’t think about losing him. It had taken years of failed relationships to find him. They’d accomplished so much together, as co-workers and lovers, and she wasn’t ready to let him go. Not now. Not ever. “You’re doing great,” she said. “Thank you.”
He jerked his head toward the laptop on the floor, an obvious message that they still had Reese keeping them company. She didn’t care. All the hiding, she didn’t want it anymore. What that meant for the task force and their careers, she couldn’t think about. Not now.
Gabe held the bomb in place with one hand and peeled back the last piece of tape with the other. “Got it. What now?”
“You have anything you can put it in to absorb some of the blast? Paint can, garbage can, anything?”
“Reese, minutes to dump this thing and you want me to do a scavenger hunt?”
“Hey, it’s a thought.”
Propped on his elbows, Gabe hesitated.
Jo bent low and touched his shoulder. “Should I look for something?”
“No. We don’t have time. I’m going.”
Give him room. She stood held her hands out. “Let me hold that while you get up.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Come on, sergeant; what happens if you bump that thing when you’re getting up? Let me hold it for you. I’ll stand here like a good little girl and won’t move.”
“She’s right, Gabe. Let her hold it. Jo, whatever you do, don’t drop it.”
Cop humor. Terrific.
Jo snorted. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll wait here,” Reese said.
More cop humor. Later, she’d smack him. After she kissed h
im square on the mouth. She bent low, took the pipe from Gabe and held it by both ends. Tiny pricks ran the length of her arms, but she kept her hands still. Don’t move. “I’ve got it.”
Reese cleared his throat and Jo shot a look at the computer where he shifted around, his head looming on the screen. “Come back and give me an update. Jo, record the blast for me.”
Now that was pushing it. They were about to blow up the town square and he wanted video? “Oh, my God! Are you serious?”
“Bet your ass I’m serious.”
Gabe jumped to his feet, gently took the bomb from her. “Get the doors for me.”
“Right.” She lunged for the door and yanked it open. “I’ll go down with you.”
Their eyes connected for a small second as he strode to the door. “No. Just get the door downstairs. Stay here. I have no idea what the blast will bring. This thing could blow before I even get there.”
And in that second, she thought about him once again marching toward a task most people wouldn’t even consider. She thought about Reese sitting in front of his computer, listening to them, and as much as she didn’t want to dwell on it, she thought about these being the last moments she’d spend with Gabe. A man she had an intense love for but had kept that love hidden for fear they’d be reprimanded by their bosses.
Suddenly, their jobs seemed so meaningless. She could lose him and no one would know what he meant to her. That she’d never survive the loss of him. That kind of love didn’t deserve to be buried under office politics. She shifted back to the laptop where Reese sat, now leaning back, arms folded while he waited.
And then she turned back to Gabe who was almost out the door. “Gabe?”
“What?”
“I love you.”
“Come on, Jo, don’t do this to me.” He kept walking, but shook his head, frustration obviously tearing at him. “You’re a lunatic, but I love you too. Reese,” he said, “you didn’t hear that.”
Jo followed him down the stairs, swung around him in the parlor and opened the front door. “Let me at least make sure there’s no traffic. I can help clear the area.”
And, as if on cue, the sheriff pulled into the empty parking space in front of the hotel. Gabe took his eyes off the bomb for a millisecond and glanced at the sheriff. “Priceless. Now he shows up.”
“Sheriff,” Jo yelled, “clear that square. Gabe is about to dump a bomb in your pond.”
“Sweet Jesus, what are you talking about?”
The man was just told a bomb would be detonated in his town and he wanted the backstory? “We’ll explain later. You should probably get your residents out of the area. It’s an election year after all. You wouldn’t want a bunch of bodies shooting through the air.”
Gabe made a noise. Tried to hide a laugh by grunting, and she smiled. Another thing they shared, twisted humor.
Still, the comment earned her a sharp look from the sheriff. Well, she had that whole stress paralyzing her brain thing going on. And, anyway, her sarcasm motivated the good sheriff to start yelling at his citizens to evacuate.
Gabe slowly ventured down the porch steps. “Stay put, Jo. Don’t step off this porch.”
“Please, sergeant. Someone has to play crossing guard and stop traffic so you can get across the street.”
“You’re pissing me off. I don’t want you out here.”
As if that tactic had ever worked on her before? “Somehow I think you’ll forgive me after I keep you from getting flattened by a car while you’re carrying a bomb.”
He drew deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth. “You are the most stubborn, frustrating woman I know. One way or another, you’re gonna kill me.”
“Love you too, honey.”
Enough of this arguing. She marched into the street, held her arms wide and stopped the two cars cruising along. Pre-rush-hour traffic on Main Street.
Gabe passed her, alternating his gaze between the bomb and any impediments he might trip on. A woman walking in front of the hotel pushed a stroller into the street, clearly wanting to take advantage of the crossing guard. “No, no, no,” Jo said. “Ma’am, you need to get out of this area. Now.”
“Why?”
Why? Um, because you’re about to get blown up? How was she supposed to answer? “Ma’am, please. We’re working on a training exercise. The bomb squad is detonating a bomb in the pond.”
“What? In the middle of the afternoon? Are they crazy? We paid good money for that pond. And what about the statue?”
“The county is reimbursing the town.”
Mark of a good lawyer. Fast on her feet.
“Well, in that case. It’s a shame though. We just got that statue.”
Jo sighed and waved the woman along before planting herself on the curb near the square. The sheriff would have to deal with the fallout of Jo’s lie, but someone dying would be a lot harder to explain.
A second police cruiser screamed around the corner, lights flashing, and a young—really young—deputy screeched to a halt in the middle of the street.
“You’ll need to barricade this street,” Jo said.
“Ma’am, you need to move.”
She patted her hand in the air, but she wasn’t moving until Gabe got rid of that bomb and came back with his big, beautiful body intact. “I know, Deputy. I know.”
In the square, the sheriff moved from bench to bench, clearing pedestrians. The last two were occupied, one by a couple, the second by a dark-haired man. Did they not see the sheriff shooing people? Or the giant man carrying a pipe bomb?
“People,” she hollered. “You need to leave this area!”
The couple looked at her and she pointed at Gabe moving closer to them. Their heads slowly swiveled and stopped. Any second now it would sink in.
Any.
Second.
Now.
And they’re off. The couple bolted off the bench and ran like hell. Finally. Staying behind was the dark-haired man, who apparently had a death wish and wanted to watch Gabe blow the town square to smithereens. Unbelievable. Jo took two steps and he turned, facing her dead on.
Him.
Her chest locked up, the pressure building and building until the squeeze in her ribcage cut off her air and her heart damn near burst.
Martinson fast walked to the opposite end of the square. Nuh, nuh, nuh. Another three feet and Gabe would be at the pond. That timer had to be close now. Could Martinson even get out of the square before it went off? If he did, they’d be left hunting him all over again.
She tore into the square, running harder than she had in a long time, the sound of her loafer heels smacking against the bricks. Her gaze bounced between Gabe and Martinson. Get him, get him, get him. Just as she reached the edge of the pond, Gabe swung his arm, sending the pipe sailing.
Not much time. Don’t get distracted. Martinson cleared the opposite end of the square. Adrenaline kicked in, giving her an added push as her long legs devoured the space between her and Martinson. She’d never been a runner. Or any kind of an athlete for that matter, but this? Too much. This maniac had to pay.
Martinson glanced over his shoulder—catastrophic mistake. It slowed him down enough for her to get within a couple of feet.
“Jo,” Gabe shouted from behind her. “Get out of—”
Boom!
Huge flumes of water shot straight in the air, the blast knocking her to the ground with enough force that her loafers flew off her feet. When the wave broke, the weight of it landed like bricks pounding her back, over and over, making her gasp. Crushing pain swept through her. She opened her mouth but only sucked more water. Drowning. Help me. After a long span of time that could have been a minute or five seconds, the water stopped. She lifted her head, opened her mouth again and gagged, her chest and stomach wrenching as the trapped water gushed from her throat.
Her ears clanged and she shook her head, took stock of the sudden pain in her elbow. She’d fallen on it. Didn’t matter. One at a time, she waggled her fe
et, shifted her legs. All working. Nothing broken. Just the ringing. She scanned the space in front of her where Martinson lay, moving slowly but pushing himself to all fours. One of her shoes had landed beside him. Ferocious blast.
Get him. Jo lunged, one giant leap to her feet before he could get away and she dove on him.
“Crazy bitch!”
He rolled and she countered by shifting to the side, forcing him back down. Height-wise he only had an inch on her but he definitely outweighed her. Could probably pin her if she let him, which she wouldn’t do because this jerk had humiliated her, made her look like a fool in front of the mayor of New York.
And he’d almost blown Gabe up.
You’re so dead.
Martinson rolled again and knocked Jo off balance, her body half on him, half off. Her shoe, the Barelli loafer with the solid wood heel, lay inches away. She’d like to mash his skull with that heel. Just beat him senseless.
And why not? The man had terrorized her by locking her in a burning building and strapping a bomb to her.
She picked up the shoe, held it with the heel out and squeezed, let all her rage—the fire, the bomb, Gabe in danger—funnel into her hand. Bastard. She raised the shoe over her head, swung wide and the heel connected with a sickening thunk to the back of Martinson’s head.
“Ow!” he hollered.
Ow? Ow. He had no idea the pain she’d cause. No idea. “You think this hurts? You could have killed us. Stupid bastard.”
Bam! She smacked him again, and then again. “You’re going to prison. I don’t care how long it takes.” Bam! “I love that man and you almost killed him.”
Bam! Martinson lifted his hands to protect his head and she smacked the shoe against his knuckles. After what he’d put them through, she wanted him to feel pain, like fangs tearing at his skin, she wanted him to feel it. Bam! She hit him again.
A second later, an arm—Gabe’s—came around her waist and she went airborne, kicking out but failing.
“Relax, Counselor.”
Jo inhaled long and deep and an enormous pressure slammed against the back of her eyes. I’m insane, right now. Her vision blurred into hazy white lines and she exhaled, tried to focus on something, anything other than killing Martinson, now getting to his feet.
The Evasion Page 9
