it hurt.
She thought she could hear sirens now. There were shouts from below. Was someone shouting “Police”?
The shouts were drowned out by an ear-piercing electronic buzz. Somewhere an alarm had been set off. No one seemed to pay attention to any of it. There wasn’t a sound that could stall the hysteria.
Rebecca stayed put. She tried to assess the damage to her arm. Her coat was shredded on the left side where broken glass must have pummeled her. Funny, she didn’t remember.
How could she not remember the pain?
It happened so quickly. She was probably lucky to have just one piece of debris stuck inside her.
She carefully ripped the fabric away from the wound and the sight of her own flesh, purplish-red, raw and torn made her sit back. She leaned her head against the rail, waiting for the nausea to pass. She felt the vibration of the stampede around and under her. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear over that buzz and now there was an annoying whirling sound like bursts of wind through a tunnel. She closed her eyes and that’s when she realized it wasn’t wind. It was her own raspy breathing.
She had to do better than this.
She needed to get the glass out of her arm.
Come on, Rebecca. Just pull the damned thing out.
One, two, three…like a Band-Aid in one quick jerk.
But she’d need to stop the bleeding when she pulled out the glass. Her eyes flew open. She’d have to shove something into the hole the glass left in her arm. If not, she’d bleed to death. This was actually good. It made her think through the process. It made her focus.
She grabbed pieces of her coat that she had ripped away and began peeling out the lining. It’d be cleaner than the outside of the coat. And it was softer.
“I can help you with that.”
Rebecca looked up to find a man standing behind her. He wore a cap that read PARAMEDIC but he was in jeans and hiking boots. No uniform. Although she couldn’t really see underneath his winter coat. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder.
She should have felt saved, rescued. She wouldn’t have to do this herself. But there was something about the way he held the already loaded syringe that didn’t seem quite right.
Chapter
13
Omaha, Nebraska
Nick Morrelli was trying to check flights on his smartphone while Christine waited to drive them home. Outside the car her son Timmy and his friend Gibson helped the Lanoha Nursery worker load the Christmas tree on top of Christine’s SUV. Nick had offered to help, too, but the boys insisted they could do it. He didn’t argue. All he could think about was finding a way up to Minneapolis.
His new boss had chosen Nick to represent Mall of America’s security company, their security company, United Allied Security. With his experience as a county sheriff he had dealt with homicide scenes and forensic evidence. And as an attorney he had the legal background to protect the company’s rights. That’s what his boss Al Banoff had told him. Nick guessed it was one of those golden opportunities that shouldn’t be questioned. Even if the opportunity would be measured in fatalities.
“How many do they think are dead?” Christine asked him.
Nick gave her a warning look.
“What?”
“Stop being a reporter,” he told her.
“I’m just asking,” she said, then added, “Out of concern. Nothing more.”
“Right.”
He waited. He knew she wouldn’t give up that easily.
“Seriously, it’s bad, isn’t it?”
But this time without even glancing at her Nick could tell she was concerned by the catch in her voice. He caught a glimpse of her hand before she hid it in her lap, nervous fingers combing through her blond hair. Explosions going off in a crowded mall the day after Thanksgiving—it was a nightmare that could happen anywhere. That’s what grabbed you by the throat and choked your senses for a minute or two.
“Yeah, I think it’s bad.”
“Reminds me of the Hawkins shooting,” she said in almost a whisper.
“It was around this time of year?”
“December 5th.”
Nick had been living in Boston at the time but he knew the incident had rattled the state of Nebraska. A nineteen-year-old named Robert Hawkins walked into the Von Maur at Westroads Shopping Mall, took the elevator to the third floor and started shooting. By the time he was finished and turned the gun on himself, eight other people were dead. All of them random and innocent shoppers and store employees.
“That was so hard on the entire community,” Christine said, now watching out the SUV windows, as if she wanted to make sure her son couldn’t burst in and overhear. “I can’t even imagine what this will be like for the families.”
Nick operated by getting through life step by step, prioritizing and keeping focused on what needed to be done immediately. He couldn’t think about the victims right now or their families. As heartless as that sounded, he needed to stay focused on his job. For his old job as a Boston prosecutor that meant finding the bad guys and putting them away. This job would be a little trickier. The premise remained the same—find out who did this. Find who cracked their firewall of security. No, not cracked. More like ravaged.
“I’ll take you to the airport,” Christine said, startling Nick back.
“Looks like there’s room on a Delta flight in two hours from now.”
“Can you pack and be ready that fast?”
“Sure, why not. If I forget something I’ll be at the mall.”
She rolled her eyes at him and he thought he saw the beginning of a smile. But just as quickly it disappeared. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and Nick watched her face transform from sister to mom while Timmy and Gibson opened their doors and piled into the backseat.
“You’re gonna miss the Nebraska Colorado game, Uncle Nick.”
“You can TiVo it for me, okay?” he told the boys.
Nick caught Christine’s eyes and just in that moment they seemed to exchange the same thought: Oh but to be fifteen again and have the world revolve around only you.
Chapter
14
Mall of America
Patrick saw Rebecca just as he heard the first shouts from down below, “Police, put up your hands.” She looked crumpled against the railing that separated the open expanse of the atrium and
