Page 20 of Deadly Threat
Mia patted both dogs and stood, stretching her legs. Another memory tickled at her brain but she couldn’t catch hold of it, and it passed. “Not a butcher shop. I know that odor.”
Malachi shifted in his chair, toying with the wrapper from his breakfast. “Whatdidit smell like?”
Besides sweat and blood? Not blood from animals, but her own. “Chemicals.” The odor had clung to her nostrils for days after her rescue, no matter how many showers she took or candles she burned.
Sam wrote something down then glanced up at her. “Like cleaning products?”
“Yes and no.” Mia was so exhausted yet wired at the same time. Was Amber in one of those cells right now? “I could smell something cloying and kind of weird.” She gave them all a desperate look. “Sorry, I don’t know exactly what it was, but I hated it. It made me think of death.”
There was another quiet exchange around the table. Sam nodded. “Maybe it’s a manufacturing plant where they make and use all various chemicals,” she suggested to the others.
Josie entered with Cooper’s coffee. “I hate to interrupt, but we have a problem.”
Malachi’s face turned to stone. “What now?”
She motioned at him to follow her. Everyone rose and did the same.
The front of the office contained Josie’s desk, a few waiting chairs, and file cabinets. Josie went to the blinds and lifted one of the slats. “You’ve got fans.”
They all seemed to move as one, nearly blocking Mia from looking out with them, but she shoved herself between Malachi and Caleb, both men towering over her.
Joe let out a low whistle between his teeth, and Cooper swore under his breath. Malachi said nothing, but his body was so tense, Mia feared he might punch the window.
Reporters lined the sidewalk and the tiny square of sandy lawn in front of the building. News vans crowded the street, spotlights on cameras cutting across the landscape as several of the bolder reporters knocked on the door yelling questions at Malachi, spotting him through the blinds. Caleb reached around Mia, poking his brother in the shoulder. “The video’s gone viral. You’re famous, bro.”
If possible, he tensed even more. “Fucking A,” he cursed, letting the blinds snap back into place. He stepped back and shook his head. “My worst nightmare has come true.”
Eight
The go signal came at 0220 hours. Thomas checked the readout on his smartwatch, pushed off the wall of the building behind Bondsmen Brothers and kept the brim of his hat down low over his forehead.
The media had packed the area out front, a few stragglers here in the alley on the chance that Malachi Cahill might sneak out the back. The tiny gravel parking lot was filled with vehicles whose owners were inside. Used to undercover work, Thomas knew how to blend in, go unnoticed. Cooper ‘The Beast’ Harris had anticipated this shit show as soon as the video hit the airways, and as usual, The Beast came prepared.
Thomas toyed with the tiny device in his pocket that would create the diversion they needed once Caleb dashed to Malachi’s truck, pretending to be him. While he drew the gawkers and reporters away, Thomas’s small and harmless explosive would keep them in chaos, preventing most from following.
Every time he thought about the mayor’s kidnapping, her sister’s as well, his guts crawled. Unbidden memories of his own encounter with a group of lowlifes who’d tried to get information out of him still wrecked his sleep, haunting his dreams. He didn’t know Amber or Mia Livingston, and yet, he wanted to hurt those who had done this.
The combined distractions would give him time to pull the van up to the back and help the real Malachi, and Mia, slip away unnoticed. Keeping his head low, he skirted the crowd and planted the device on the broadcast truck stationed down the street, approximately center of the others. He made sure no one was inside before placing it on the rear cargo doors. He was pleased to see it belonged to one of his least favorite media outlets that consistently searched for the worst stories around and publicized them to keep folks living in fear.
Not that the world wasn’t a shitty place. He knew that firsthand from all his Taskforce missions, and those before he’d ended up with Coop. Every day, he hunted the bad guys, hung out with gang members, watched innocent people get hurt. But that’s why he did what he did—to try and save those he could.
After he’d secured the device that would simply blow the doors of the truck open and make a deafening noise that led people to believe they were under attack, he jogged to the minivan—classic ride that—and drove it around to the alley.
In position, he typed, sending a text to Coop.Ready when you are.
0245came the reply. Thomas idled, a couple of those staked out eyeballing him. Only a minute until it all went down.
Sure enough, Caleb, pretending to be his brother, drew everyone’s attention. Two of the three newshounds left their post and ran for the lot. The other checked his phone.
“Come on,” Thomas urged from behind the steering wheel. “Get out of here.”
He punched the code into his watch and counted down the seconds.
Boom!
The device sounded like a bomb, then the repetitive tat-tat-tat of gunfire.
There were no guns or bullets. No bombs. But the crowd didn’t know that. Screaming ensued, the last asshole watching took off for the street at a run, and Thomas smiled.
