Val followed the wall, hoping it would lead her to the exit like in a traditional maze. But an asteroid display cut her off after a few feet, and she was forced to go deeper into the exhibit. She swerved around models of stars, exoplanets, black holes. Past a panel illustrating the history of the universe. She took a right at a pile of disassembled display parts—and ran into the asteroid display again.
“Goddammit!”
She rushed around the display, turned left, and stumbled to a halt when a replica of the Mars Rover came into view, next to a “Fun Facts about Mars” placard.
Oh no.
She spun around, and of course, just like in her vision, Barrister was there. He clocked her in the face so hard she flew backward and crashed into the wall. Her gun fell out of her hand and disappeared somewhere on the ground. He grabbed her sweatshirt in both hands and threw her against the wall again. Val pounded his chest with her fists and kicked him in the shins, but his massive frame absorbed the blows with more irritation than pain. He lifted her in the air and slammed her into the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Then he wrapped his giant hands around her neck and squeezed.
Val clawed at his hands, but they were like metal vises. She looked away from his grotesque face, warped in homicidal fury, as stars popped in her vision and blackness closed in around the edges.
Please don’t let it end like this.
She didn’t know who she pleaded to—God, the Fates, whoever pulled the invisible strings of the future, whatever gave her the ability to predict this moment. The woman in white, with a voice like a Baroque sonata.
“You know what you must do, and yet you keep dying.”
Her fading gaze settled on the display to her right—a kiosk dedicated to Olympus Mons, the tallest mountain in the solar system.
“Pray at the base of the mountain that touches heaven.”
This was it. She pawed at the kiosk, her strength quickly waning. Her hand fell, and she groped around the floor underneath it.
Please. Please.
Then she felt it—the Italian’s gun. It must’ve slid under the kiosk after she’d dropped it. She grasped it with weak fingers and put the barrel to Barrister’s head as blackness devoured her world. With all the strength she had left, she pulled the trigger.
Through her sliver of consciousness, a pop. Then the vise around her neck loosened. Val gasped, sucking in precious air. It burned through her bruised throat and flooded her lungs. She blinked as the dark outline of Olympus Mons came into focus again, towering above her. Barrister’s heavy, dead body slouched on top of her chest. After pushing him off with shaking arms, her whole body a mass of trembling jelly, she slowly sat up. She touched her throat, felt the raw skin where Norman had nearly crushed her windpipe. Maybe he had crushed it; every breath felt like fire, though the pain was a bargain for the sweet air it provided.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d lived. She’d changed the future.
Justice for Robby had been delivered. What now for her and Max? Did Delilah still need her help, and would Barrister’s wife still come through with evidence to incriminate her husband? How would she explain any of this to the police? Would they still try to kill her? Would Max go to prison for killing his father? All the questions she’d put off thinking about jumped to the forefront of her mind now that Robby and Chet, and Dean to an extent, had finally been avenged. She couldn’t think of any answers. The relief of just breathing, of feeling her heart beat, dominated her thoughts.
With great effort she hefted herself to her feet. Val stood still for a moment to ensure her wobbly legs would hold, then shuffled forward to renew her search for the exit with significantly less urgency. She limped on her injured leg, the adrenaline that had compensated for the pain now dissipated. Finally the exit revealed itself behind the Mars section, a simple glowing red sign above a black door that reminded her of the Red Raven’s entrance—a doorway into another world.
She pushed open the exit and stepped into a loud room full of anxious people, a stage wedged against the far wall where Barrister was supposed to be addressing his fans about his love for science. The noise from the commotion outside had apparently masked the firefight that’d taken place inside the service hallway.
For a moment no one noticed her, the wanted fugitive, standing there holding a gun, bullet wounds on her arm and leg, fresh bruises marring her face and neck. Then a woman looked at her and shrieked. A shock wave rippled through the crowd as everyone’s attention jumped away from the explosion outside and onto Val. People backed away, and a bubble formed around her. From the corner of her eye she saw a flurry of movement. A second later a college-age version of the colonel pushed his way through.
“Where’s my father?” Norman Junior demanded.
She opened her mouth and tried to ask him where his mother was, but the words came out as a wheeze through her mangled throat.
Junior narrowed his eyes and stepped toward her with the same arrogant bravado as his father. However Norman had terrorized his wife, his son seemed ready and willing to carry on his violent-asshole legacy. “I’m not afraid of you, bitch—”
Val’s mouth curled into a snarl and she raised her fist like she might punch the little fucker’s face in. The crowd gasped and the bubble grew wider as Junior recoiled from her and backed away. Before she could break his nose, a sign above his head caught her eye—“Puget Sound Model and Saltwater Tide Pool,” with an arrow pointing to a corridor on her right.
Puget Sound…that’s where Max’s visions had told him to go. That’s where she’d find him—if he was alive. Wherever Delilah was, she was safe from her husband now. Val could track her down and get the evidence she had after making sure Max was okay.
Val lowered her fist, though the invisible cordon around her remained. No one followed her as she limped toward the Puget Sound exhibit, praying she’d find him there.
Chapter Thirty-three
With his baseball cap and hood pulled down over his face, Max followed the crowd of confused event goers looking for shelter into the Center’s main entrance. People huddled around the floor-to-ceiling windows, exclaiming into their cell phones and comparing notes—explosion, car bomb, arson—and theories—terrorism, anarchists, teenage prank gone horribly wrong. Fake dinosaurs roared nearby. No one gave him a second look, because even if someone recognized him, what in the world would Maxwell Carressa be doing there? Thank God for confirmation bias.
Max scanned the signs above him, looking for directions to the space exhibit. He saw a hanging placard with a section whited out, possibly where the space exhibit used to be. Before he set off in that direction, his eyes landed on a different sign: “Puget Sound Model and Saltwater Tide Pool.” Puget Sound—that’s where his vision wanted him to go…maybe. Without his books for confirmation, it was impossible to know for sure what the numbers tried to tell him. But Val had seen Puget Sound in her vision, too; unlikely to be a coincidence that the Pacific Science Center just happened to have a Puget Sound exhibit. Maybe that one led to the defunct space section. But if he was wrong and the exhibit led nowhere, he’d have wasted precious time that he could’ve spent saving Val’s life…
He was overthinking it. He should trust the visions. Though he hated them, they’d never been wrong. Max took a breath, then weaved through the crowd toward the Puget Sound exhibit.
A rope with a “No Entry” sign in the center cut through the hallway from the main entrance, meant to section off the area for the event. After ensuring no one saw him, he ducked underneath the rope and hurried inside.
The clamor of the main entrance gave way to the soft gurgle of a water filtration system. A diorama of Puget Sound sprawled in the corner of a long, curved room with colorful information booths every couple feet. Cigarette smoke tinged the air.
No sign of Val.
He took two steps into the exhibit’s main area, then froze when he heard a lone man’s voice around the corner. With a hand on the gun wedged at the small of his back,
he inched forward, not daring even to breathe to keep from alerting whoever lurked nearby. Slowly an artificial tide pool emerged from around the corner, a twenty-by-five-foot enclosure on a raised platform with algae-covered Plexiglas walls at waist height. Marine life lounged within the water; filtered air bubbled to its surface. At the edge of the pool, the back of a man’s cheap brown suit came into view. He leaned against the pool’s edge while he smoked a cigarette and talked on a cell phone.
“I’m here,” the man said into the phone. “This is stupid. We should just kill them.” He took a drag off his cigarette, then flicked the ashes into the tide pool as he exhaled. “Yeah, yeah. A man can dream, though.”
With a shiver, Max recognized the voice of the police officer who’d attacked him in the parking lot—Sten Ander. Though the exact details of what had happened were a blur, hot anger from what he could remember prickled across his skin. He pulled out his gun and snuck up behind Sten.
“Are you going to the victory party?” The cop paused while the person on the other end answered. “Just wear a wig. No one will recognize you…Well, I’m going, I don’t care what Cassandra says. I’m sure she already knows exactly what I’m gonna do anyway.”
Max crept closer, gun pointed at Sten’s back.
After another pause, Sten said, “All my pants are party pants, honey. I’ve got a pair of ass-less chaps I’ve been saving for just this occasion.” He took another puff, flicked ashes into the water, then laughed. “Yeah, well, I hate you, too, baby. May we both eat shit and die.” He hung up.
Max rammed the butt of his gun into the back of Sten’s head. Sten dropped his phone and staggered forward. Before he could fall, Max grabbed him by his coat collar and shoved his head into the tide pool’s water. Sten bucked and thrashed, sending up a storm with his arms.
“How does it feel to be ambushed and helpless, you sick fuck?” Max said through clenched teeth. He braced his forearm on Sten’s neck and used his weight to hold the cop’s head underwater. Max relished every second of Sten’s panic.
If he killed Sten now, he’d be doing the world a favor.
The thought froze him. That’s what he’d told himself after he snapped and killed his father—I rid the world of a monster. Would he keep succumbing to his anger and murdering people he deemed unworthy of life? How was he any better than them?
Mercy, his vision had implored of him. Show mercy.
Max began to ease off Sten’s neck when he saw the cop grope for the sidearm strapped against his hip. He seized Sten’s trigger finger and yanked it back until he felt it snap. A scream bubbled up from the water. Max took Sten’s gun, jerked his head out of the pool, and threw him on the ground. The cop sputtered and gasped, clutching his mangled hand to his chest.
Sten coughed up water. “Oh,” he said. “You.”
Max shoved Sten’s gun into the back of his pants while he pointed his own gun at the prone man. “Where’s Val?”
“How should I know? You’re the one with magical sex powers.”
Max flinched. Great—a psychopath in a position of authority knew one of his deepest secrets. Maybe he should’ve killed him after all.
“Get up,” Max said.
“Why?”
“We’re going to find Val.”
Sten’s eyes widened with fake concern. “But there’s a crazy bomber on the loose.”
Max kicked Sten in the legs. “Get up.”
Sten took his time standing and winced when he touched his finger, cocked at an unnatural angle. “You sure you wanna be seen leading a cop around at gunpoint?”
“You’re not a cop.”
“Funny, my badge says I am, though these days I feel more like Cupid.”
Max scoffed. “You’re dirty as shit. I know you’re one of Norman Barrister’s lackeys and you murdered people on his command. Not to mention how you tried to beat me to death.” He shoved Sten toward the exit. “Move, asshole.”
Sten shuffled forward. “I’d ask how you plan to prove any of that,” he said over his shoulder, “but I already know you can’t. I’ll admit to a dirty mind, though. How was the fucking, by the way? I’m dying to know.”
Max’s finger tensed against the trigger. “Shut up. Move faster.”
Sten didn’t move any faster. “Did she go down on you? That’s her specialty.”
“I said shut up.”
“Or do that thing where she lets out this sexy high-pitched wheeze—”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Max threw his shoulder into Sten’s back. Sten tumbled forward, and would have face-planted into the floor if he hadn’t ran straight into Val as she rushed into the exhibit from the opposite direction.
For a couple seconds that felt like an eternity, the two struggled while Max could only watch in horrified silence. Despite his mangled finger, Sten easily gained the upper hand on Val as she reeled from his sudden appearance, her face and neck badly bruised while blood leaked out of wounds on her arm and leg. Sten twisted her wrist, and she grunted in pain as the gun she held—not his father’s gun, Max noted with the cold detachment of someone watching a car wreck from the sidewalk—slipped out of her hand and into his. He clamped his arm around her neck and jerked her back flush to his chest. With his uninjured hand, he put the gun to her head.
He glanced at Max’s Glock. “Drop it.”
Max didn’t move. He left his gun trained on Sten, Val his human shield, as his mind worked furiously to come up with any other option. Val tried to speak, but either the chokehold of Sten’s arm or the damage done to her neck kept her words from coming out.
“Drop it, pretty boy. She won’t be so hot with a bullet in her brain.”
Val shook her head. Her wide eyes pleaded with him to not give in. Max still didn’t move. His body had gone numb. He should have killed Sten when he had the chance. Goddamn mercy. Why? Maybe Max could shoot Sten in the head, but he wasn’t a good shot, and he couldn’t risk hitting Val. He loved her. He couldn’t—
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Sten sighed and rolled his eyes. His finger tightened on the trigger, resigned to fire. “Fine—”
“No!” Max dropped his gun. “There. Let her go. Please let her go. Arrest me. Kill me. Do whatever you want with me. Just let her go.”
Tears filled Val’s eyes. Sten laughed.
“Oh, you two!” Sten said. “You make me wanna buy the world a Coke.” He looked at Val, leaned his head into hers as if he was smelling her hair. She cringed as his lips touched her ear. “Don’t say I never did anything for ya,” he said, then turned the gun on Max.
The bang of a gunshot echoed through the exhibit. A shriek finally clawed its way out of Val’s chest. For a moment Max thought Sten had shot the wall behind him. Then he felt a strange pinching sensation in his gut. He looked down, and saw blood. His own blood. He put a hand on the red stain that blossomed at the base of his sweatshirt. Warm liquid flowed through his fingers. Strange, it didn’t hurt.
The world tilted on its side, and Max fell to his knees. Sten shoved Val away, then disappeared as she ran to Max. He reached for her as the ceiling slewed toward the floor. Then his head was in her arms, and he was looking up at her as his body went slack. Val’s tears rained onto his cheeks, her wet eyes the color of storm clouds on a clear summer day, rolling in from nowhere to stop a couple blissful hikers in their tracks and make them stare.
“Don’t move,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I think—I know help is coming. It’s coming, Max…Max—”
Her words trailed off as Max’s eyes closed against his will. Damn, he was going to die—when finally, for the first time in his life, he wanted to live.
Chapter Thirty-four
Val stared dully at the mud-colored liquid in a Styrofoam cup a police officer had placed in front of her—instant coffee with a dash of instant creamer, which tasted instantly like turpentine. She sat alone in an interrogation room, shoulders slumped, hands in her lap, waiting for her lawyer. She picked at the bandage around her
sprained wrist and tried to be happy she was still alive.
After she’d been arrested at the Pacific Science Center and Max had been rushed to the hospital, they’d carted her down to the police station and tried to wring her through the third degree before she lawyered up. For once, Sten was nowhere to be found, though she didn’t trust anyone in the Seattle PD—any of them could be his accomplice. She’d told her court-appointed counselor everything—everything that didn’t make her sound insane anyway, which meant leaving out the visions-of-the-future parts—and then he’d told her to sit tight while he corroborated her story.
She’d spent a restless night in jail, fully expecting to get shivved in the back, startled when she opened her eyes to rising sunlight and her still-beating heart. Now she sat and waited, exhaustion from her ordeal continuing to weigh her down, still expecting a cop to burst through the door and plug her full of lead at any moment.
She jumped when she heard the click of the doorknob, then relaxed a little when her lawyer, Joshua Samson, slipped into the room. The middle-aged man gave her a large smile as he entered, the top of his bald head glinting under the fluorescent lights.
“Good morning, Ms. Shepherd,” he said with pep as he took the seat across from her. “How are you—”
“How’s Max?” she asked, her voice still hoarse from the previous day’s choking.
“Still in the hospital. I can’t get any more information than that, I’m sorry. HIPAA and all.”
At least he wasn’t dead. It would be all over the news by now if he’d died. Please, God, don’t let him be dead.
“I do have some good news for you, though.” Joshua smiled again.
She leaned toward him. “You searched Norman Barrister’s financial records and found evidence he was using stolen money from an account in Dean Price’s name to fund his campaign?”
“Well…no.”
Val sighed and fell back in her chair. “Of course not.”
“The cops got a confession out of the accountant,” her lawyer said. “He confirms that Dean Price was siphoning money from Carressa Industries into an offshore account. Apparently the other man killed at the scene was helping him—Giovanni Dinapoli was his name. Career criminal with a lengthy record for money laundering, racketeering, identity theft, forgery, sexual assault, and a few other violent crimes to spice things up.”
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