Page 132 of Bonded in Death

Your account has been charged forty-five dollars, and is verified and cleared. Drive safely and enjoy the rest of your day.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, then carefully eased out of the lot.

He drove east. He needed to drive well clear of any canvass area. Basic evasion techniques. He knew what to do, but couldn’t find his calm.

The bitches had set him up. Somehow, some way.

And somehow, some way, the cop bitch had located the bomb and deactivated it.

She’d nearly had him! It seemed impossible, but she’d been right on his heels. He’d gotten two good shots off. He’d hit her, he knew it. Protective gear.

As he paused at a light, he felt himself begin to settle again.

He should’ve gone for a head shot.

She’d jumped right in front of the women he’d aimed at to distract her. Probably considered herself a bloody hero.

Bloody idiot, more like it.

She’d chased him down the sidewalk as if he were a common criminal! There was nothing common about Conrad Potter.

She’d have to pay for humiliating him, for ruining his day. He should be celebrating. He should be heading home to toast his success with the bottle of champagne he had chilling.

The finest French champagne.

Now he was driving around in the goddamn rain with his bladder throbbing with the need to empty.

Oh, she’d pay. They all would.

He pulled the candy, his Fry’s Peppermint Cream, out of his pocket. Its sweetness, and that bite of peppermint, soothed.

They all thought of themselves as heroes. Well, he knew just the way to make them prove it.

He knew exactly how to lure them out.

He’d thought to save this for the last of them, for Summerset. He’d just push the plan up in order, and—why not?—give the heroes a choice of who would stand as sacrifice.

Yes, let them prove themselves heroes. And he’d prove, at last, he was better than all of them.

Back at Central, hoping to avoid any more comments, Eve changed her shirt. After pulling on the plain gray T-shirt, she shoved the ruined one in the recycler.

When she came out of the locker room and started down to the conference room, Whitney got off the elevator.

“Lieutenant.”

“Commander.”

“You were injured during the op?”

“A minor injury, sir, and treated.”

“Very well. I’m attending this debrief to learn what went wrong. And how one of my officers was injured when the suspect opened fire with an illegal weapon on a public street.”

“Yes, sir.”

Head throbbing, wound stinging, she walked into the conference room where the team already gathered.

“Take your seats,” she ordered. “Conrad Potter remains at large. The operation to capture him failed. Each one of you performed your duties during same. The failure is my responsibility.”

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