Souls Estranged (The Souls Trilogy Book 2)
Page 15
He took a deep breath and collapsed into a chair with Maggie standing in front of him. He nervously took both of her hands into his own.
“Damien is parked on Woodruff in a dark blue Malibu with Ohio plates. Once you set off the explosives in the Administration building, walk into the parking lot. The drill for employees is to face the building, to watch for escapes. Since Marsha is not on duty for another half hour, they will assume she came in early which she already did.” He paused again when she raised an eyebrow.
“I spiked her coffee ten minutes ago. She’s asleep in the lounge. Plant the phone bomb at the gates and hang in the lot until the fire engines arrive. When you think there is enough commotion, detonate the bomb by dialing 123 on the black phone. The explosion will be massive. Security will scatter. Exit the gate and head west on New York Street.
“Jack is the guard at the door of the administration building and Rick is at the gate. They both know Marsha. Her voice is a bit deeper and she has allergies. Rub your eyes and sneeze a few times. There are tissues and some cash in your shirt pocket.”
Maggie glanced at the clock.
Kurt’s husky voice lowered in warning. “Don’t run, Maggie. It’ll attract attention. You look exactly like Marsha. No one will suspect a thing.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time. Remember where to go?”
She nodded, holding the brick up with a grin.
“Don’t tell me when you’re gonna hit me. I don’t want to know. Get away from Damien as soon as you can. Promise me you won’t return to the streets, Maggie.” His voice crackled with concern.
In complete control, her grin widened.
“You’re above gang life. I can help you start over. We—”
She touched a finger to his lips.
“Shut up and kiss me for luck.” Her fingers traced his cheek and he obeyed. He pulled her closer when her tongue penetrated his lips.
Kurt moaned softly and took her into his arms.
Maggie’s hands wandered through his hair and guided his soft kisses down her neck. She straddled his lap, and he sought her lips again.
A sigh escaped him before his body became limp and slumped forward.
Maggie tossed the brick on the table. She gently lifted his head off her chest, relieved the phone bomb hadn’t detonated.
Pothead Jenny, the inmate who made the bomb, had warned her about its unstable state. A call from the second cell phone wasn’t the only way to detonate it. The slightest impact could set off the massive explosion.
She leaned Kurt over the table, making sure he wouldn’t fall out of the chair. Blood oozed from the back of his head.
She smiled, knowing he’d enjoyed the kiss. She had never felt satisfied at another’s happiness before and considered contacting him after her escape.
Where did that thought come from?
With a second glance, she stole his watch and left.
Time to walk off death row and out of prison.
“Morning, Marsha.”
She nodded at the guards at both sets of double doors and headed into the grassy yard to the administration building. The sun warmed her pale face and arms. She entered the back side of the building and found the women’s restroom.
Exactly as Kurt had said, a ‘closed for cleaning’ sign had been attached to the door. She walked in and sent the tiny Hispanic worker out. Within one minute, flammable cleaning fluid had been poured on a paper towel roll. She scattered several pieces of the plastic explosives under the cleaning cart, and a few inside. Striking a match on the sole of her shoe, she lit the paper towels. Fire caught and spread.
She flushed the toilet and left the ladies’ room, shaking her head at the custodian and pinching her nose closed.
When the plump, dark haired woman didn’t change her route, Maggie grabbed her by the arm.
“You don’t want to go in there. It’s nasty. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
The custodian looked at her as if she were crazy. They walked to a coffee machine where Maggie shoved in a crumpled dollar. It spat the bill in rejection. With extreme patience, she reinserted the dollar and, thankfully, it accepted the bill. A cup plunked out. The machine sputtered and chugged until the cup filled with questionable liquid.
Maggie handed over the crummy cup of French Vanilla.
“Take a break here for at least ten minutes,” Maggie waved at a nearby bench.
Coffee is not part of the plan.
With no idea why she protected the custodian from the impending explosion, Maggie rubbed her temples.
Since when did I start caring about others? Stupid.
She noted the time on Kurt’s watch and hurried outside. The next building remained behind the interior fence, but promised access out. She entered without notice.
The second distraction required more fire power. Grabbing a handful of the explosives out of her pocket, she shuddered at the thought of one prematurely going off. Carefully she positioned the pieces one by one to trigger a series of explosions.
A muffled detonation from the neighboring building sounded. Within seconds, a fire alarm blared. Maggie threw a piece of explosives at the base of a trash receptacle. It hit its mark.
She relished the first explosion. The impact of the following detonations threw her to the floor.
Smoke filled the building. More alarms sounded. People rushed forward. Someone helped her to her feet. Maggie watched the woman’s lips move, unable to hear anything. She indicated she was okay and scrambled out the front door on wobbly legs.
Two guards approached her in the parking lot. One grabbed her by the arm and said something she couldn’t understand. She concentrated as his lips repeated the words, “Marsha. It’s me, Jack. What happened?”
“Explosion. Go, I think people are hurt.”
The other guard ran inside as Jack eased her to the curb.
“I’m fine. Go help the others.” Her voice rang inside her head.
Jack nodded and sprinted inside the building.
Maggie scrambled to her feet as another guard waved her to the gate. Both guards trained their vision on the administration building.
“Rick,” Maggie yelled. Her voice echoed in her head and she wondered if she sounded anything like Marsha.
One head snapped in her direction.
“Marsha? What’s going on? Our radio is out.” Rick sent the other guard to the Administration Building.
A fire engine and two police cruisers entered the drive and waited at the gates. Maggie pressed her hands against her ears. Her hearing had returned but she didn’t want to chance a conversation. She pointed to the fire truck.
“I’ll send them in and secure the perimeter,” she boldly commanded.
Rick nodded and opened the gates.
She waved the fire truck and policemen in before exiting on New York Street. More emergency vehicles blared their sirens.
Freedom.
On the outside, Maggie picked up the pace. As she took a turn on Randolph Street, a hand clenched her arm, spinning her around.
“What’s going on?”
Maggie sucked in a breath as she faced her lawyer, Mitch. He hadn’t recognized her and for a second she considered throwing her arms around him.
“An explosion, sir.” She stared at his hand on her arm. Mitch had never touched her before. She had wanted him to on several occasions and thought he reciprocated the feelings.
He promptly released his grip.
“My client is in there,” he grimaced.
She faced the prison. Single pillars of smoke rose from both buildings.
“I have to establish and secure a perimeter, sir. They’re evacuating prisoners now.” She hurried across the street with Derrick’s car in sight.
She dared
one glance over her shoulder at Mitch.
His fingers clung to the chain link fence. Questioning eyes met hers and narrowed.
She avoided his intense regard and glared at the prison from the outside. A police cruiser screamed past her.
Fools.
“Goodbye,” she cried in between wailing sirens. She spied Mitch, nearly a block away, slowly raise one hand in disbelief.
Chapter 23
The Bomb
Maggie
“Where is it?” Derrick’s voice hung with an edge of fear.
Maggie savored the moment. Adrenaline rushed through her veins.
She focused on the bleached-blonde waitress carrying food to Derrick’s car. Two pork tenderloin sandwiches, a family size basket of fries, and two thirty-two ounce sodas heaped the tray the bimbo attached to the driver’s side window.
“How’s everything look?”
“Fine,” Derrick replied.
With a crooked-toothed smile, the server cracked her gum and sashayed to another parked car.
“You set off the explosives in the buildings, but not the bomb at the gate. Where’s the bomb?” Derrick’s fingers white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Stopping at Mug-n-Bun for an early lunch followed the plan. Empowered by the thrill of escape, the complete control she possessed over Derrick, and the power to accomplish what she most desired, Maggie tipped her head back and laughed.
“Damn, this looks good.” Her first words to Derrick in over eight years centered on food. “Dig in. We have work to do.”
Neither had dared to say anything when Derrick drove away from the prison. With the phone bomb in her possession, she called the shots and the greasy fries smelled good.
Derrick sighed, tossed the basket of fries on the dashboard, and handed her a sandwich.
She studied it. Inmates raved over this local favorite and despite the obvious calories, she dared to eat one. The hand breaded fried pork measured considerably larger than the bun, poking out at least two inches from the bread in all directions. Lifting the top bun, she wrinkled her nose and scraped excess mayo on the paper liner. Satisfied she removed enough, she took a bite.
Delicious.
The clock on the dash read eleven thirty-one, less than an hour since her incredible escape. She wondered if the guards even noticed her missing amid the chaos. The simplicity of acquiring freedom from death row amazed her.
I should have left years ago.
Another bite.
The crisp, lightly seasoned breading gave way to tender pork with a crunch of onion and tart pickle. No wonder Hoosier inmates craved it.
Derrick stared at her. Maggie grabbed a fry and popped it into her mouth. Her tongue sizzled, but she savored the hot food.
“How about a fry?” she offered.
“Not hungry.” He shifted nervously in his seat. “Kurt said the bomb would be a hell of a lot bigger than what you set off back there. Where is it?”
Maggie sank her teeth into the sandwich.
Derrick shifted in his seat as sweat beaded on his forehead.
What a wimp.
She pointed to the soda.
Without hesitation, he handed the plastic cup to her.
“A homemade bomb could go off with the slightest movement.” He scanned her from head to toe. “Where is it?”
She knew the bomb’s potential. Had plans for it.
“No worries, Derrick. Blowing up the entire parking lot of Mug-n-Bun and these lovely buildings is a waste of good explosives.” She opened a packet of salt and sprinkled the hot fries, watching him squirm.
Bimbo waitress peered in Derrick’s window. “How’s everything? Can I get you two anything else?”
“No. Take the tray. Thanks.” Derrick gave her a twenty and handed Maggie his untouched sandwich. He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading west on 10th street.
“Turn around.” Maggie wrapped puckered lips around the long white straw. Cold root beer tingled her throat, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body.
Derrick stopped at a red light and took a deep breath. “Tell me where the bomb is, and I’ll do anything you want.”
Maggie grinned and popped another fry. Unlocking her seatbelt, she loosened two buttons of the uniform guard shirt, presenting more than a glimpse.
His eyes locked on the cell phone nestled between her breasts.
“You have plans to get rid of it?” He studied the inside of the windshield.
“Four-seven-five-zero North Meridian.”
Squealing the tires, he spun the car around and headed north on Georgetown Street.
Within minutes, Indianapolis Motor Speedway appeared on her right. The massive metal stands towered over her. It stretched on, reminding her of the endless rows of cells with metal bars. Barriers had kept her from the outside world for so many years.
Her heart pounded in her throat. The fence surrounding the racetrack drew her, haunted her, reminded her where she belonged. Inside the wire fence. Locked up in a tiny cell. Behind metal bars.
No, I’m free and never going back.
Maggie noted the time on Kurt’s watch. Forty-five minutes since her flawless escape. When Derrick stopped at an intersection, she climbed into the back seat. Grabbing a gym bag from the car floor, she stripped out of the uniform and slid into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a faded T-shirt. After readjusting the wig, she grabbed a new pair of pink cushioned flip flops and scrambled into the front seat.
“There’s makeup in the glove box.” Derrick’s voice rang in her ears.
She flashed him her dirtiest look.
“If you’re gonna wear the wig, you need to darken your brows,” he quickly clarified.
Maggie controlled her reaction. “Point taken.”
Anger returned when she realized she acknowledged Derrick in the same manner she had with Mitch. Derrick didn’t deserve that kind of respect. Even though Maggie had been intrigued with Mitch, she chose Derrick’s plan. The lawyer merely promised to get her off death row, not out and free.
Free. I’m free to do anything I want to do.
Blocks away from her destination, she finalized the plan. My plan. Never had she discussed this with Derrick, Mitch, or Kurt. None would have approved.
Her directions took them to Meridian Street. Derrick slowed the car as they passed Forty-Sixth.
Maggie stared at an immense, meticulously landscaped lot.
“We’re going into one of those?” Derrick waved a hand at the mansions in Indianapolis’ Historic District.
She stared at the dark English Tudor on her left.
“That one.” Her finger pointed across the street.
Derrick turned on a side street a few hundred yards beyond the mansion.
“Park here,” Maggie commanded.
Derrick pulled into a church lot a half-block west of the mansion.
“Who lives there?” Derrick inquired as he lit a cigarette and offered it to her.
When she refused, he took a long drag.
Silence lingered as she studied the house and surrounding area. The lawn, at least five times larger than any of the surrounding lots, held mature trees, thick green grass, and colorful flower beds. Several other fine homes of similar style and grandeur lined the street.
“What time is it?” Maggie demanded.
“Noon.” Derrick exhaled a plume of smoke above her head. “Gonna blow it up?”
Maggie smirked. “Not until midnight, when the Governor will be home and fast asleep.” She patted his cheek, opened the car door, and slid out.
Derrick cut the engine and followed.
“Stay here and wait for me,” Maggie commanded. A lingering hand traced over his chest.
She walked away, putting a little extra sway in her hips.
“You’re gonna just walk right in and leave it there?” Derrick asked incredulously.
“Yep. Be back in a few.” Maggie tossed a smile at him over her shoulder.
Her flip flops pressed the sidewalk, making soft thwaping sounds against her heels. She kicked them off and sank bare feet into the cool, crisp grass of the huge lawn.
Everything had gone according to plan so incredibly easy. There had been enough chaos and distraction from the plastic explosives to grant her freedom without needing to use the phone bomb to explode the front gates.
An extra bomb. A new plan.
The beautiful nineteenth-century mansion and its occupants would be reduced to a pile of rubble. All she had to do was go inside, inquire about tours, excuse herself to use the restroom, and find the perfect spot to hide the phone. The first floor remained open to the public. The governor and his family lived on the second.
Maggie smiled and imagined the mansion exploding as she headed across the lawn.
Pothead Jenny had informed her the destruction would be massive, shattering every window within a half mile radius. She felt a twinge of guilt since Pothead Jenny wouldn’t hear the works of her labor.
With every step, her toes relished the lush carpet of sweet smelling grass. As a contented sigh passed over her lips, piercing pain shot through the arch of her right foot. Maggie jerked as swarming bees stung her ankles and feet. She thrashed and stumbled.