with him. Good thing it was just last week. With all the probationers she had to keep track of, she might not have remembered the man otherwise—that’s how safe and normal Tripp was. She didn’t have any idea why her probationer was doing this, but she honestly didn’t believe he would hurt her.
Shamus hurting Tripp, though, she wasn’t sure about. Her instincts were all out of whack when it came to the former detective.
“Mr. Tripp,” she said, keeping her tone as authoritative, yet low-key, as possible, “please put that gun down. I know you don’t want to harm anyone, and I would hate it if you accidentally hurt yourself.”
“I, on the other hand, wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
Shamus’s intimidating words worked. Tripp swung his gun downward, and Mallory sighed with relief.
“Ms. Larsen is right about me,” Tripp said, his voice squeakier than Mallory remembered. He focused on her. “And she’s a really kind person—”
“Yeah,” Shamus broke in. “We’ll put that on her tombstone. She was a kind person, and it got her killed.”
Oh, this was so not the man she’d been acquainted with, and admired, two years ago. That man would never have put anyone down like that. Mallory pursed her lips. Apparently Shamus thought she was a fool for trusting Tripp…or for being nice in general—she wasn’t sure which. Either way, for some reason, his criticism hurt.
“That’s it, Shamus,” she said. “You’re officially off my Christmas gift list for next year.”
His stern gaze flickered with what looked like disappointment to her. She must be seeing things.
“Don’t criticize Ms. Larsen,” Tripp ordered Shamus, shifting his weapon back toward him.
Shamus didn’t respond, just kept his own weapon pointed straight at Tripp, his wide shoulders steady. No negotiations possible with Shamus Burke, it looked like. Okay. That just meant she’d have to defuse the situation before Shamus took action, so no one would get hurt.
She refocused on the former accountant.
“Let’s pretend he’s not here, Mr. Tripp,” Mallory said, doing away with authoritative and trying soothing. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how I can help you.” She beckoned for his weapon, but Tripp raised his free hand.
“You two have to leave,” he said. “The building has to be empty.”
“Why?” she asked, drawing out the word. Her subdued manner seemed to be working, judging by the way some of the fear had left Tripp’s voice, and his shoulders had slumped. But then, to her right, she sensed Shamus stepping forward.
“Drop the weapon, Tripp!” he ordered again.
Shamus was definitely getting on her nerves. Mallory took a deep breath to keep herself from saying something not so nice. She was a Christian and needed to show Shamus some understanding. He didn’t know her at all. He had no idea she was capable of handling this on her own.
The first step was to make Shamus see Tripp as a human being. She said a quick prayer under her breath and then turned to him. “Shamus, please,” she said. “Can’t you see he’s scared to death?
“That makes two of us,” Shamus said.
“You?” she asked. “Frightened? I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah, I’m scared he’s going to end up killing you.” Shamus took another step forward. Tripp backed up to where he could see both of them at once, arcing the gun back and forth nervously.
“Please don’t try to stop me!” he said. “This man—he says he took my daughter, and if I don’t do this, he’ll kill her.”
“Somebody took Tara?” Mallory’s heartbeat revved up with her first real flush of fear. Tara Tripp was a sweet teenager who liked to read. She reminded Mallory of herself at that age. And now she was in the clutches of some nut who was sending another victim to do…whatever it was Tripp was supposed to do? Her fear started to turn to anger, and she quickly squashed that down.
Retreating, she stood next to Shamus, whose expression never lost one bit of its fierceness. In the light of the new information about the kidnapping, that fierceness now was comforting.
Not that she would admit it to him.
“Who has Tara, Mr. Tripp?” Mallory asked.
“Just leave so I can get on with it,” Tripp pleaded. “Please?”
“Get on with what?” she asked him, truly perplexed.
“He has a bomb in the backpack,” Shamus said matter-of-factly, as though he’d known it all along and it didn’t terrify him one bit. Her? Her eyes felt like saucers. She blinked, hard, as her gaze shot back to Shamus. He wasn’t joking. His eyes were narrowed and shadowed, his full lips in a thin line. He looked ready to pounce.
And she was almost ready to let him.
No denial sprang from Tripp about the bomb, so Shamus had to be correct. A thin sheen of sweat on her brow joined her thumping heart.
“You need to leave, Mallory,” Shamus said softly, in a different tone than she’d ever heard from him before.
She wanted to. The only thing stopping her was extreme doubt that the caustic Shamus would get any information out of Tripp at all. Her coworker might not like it, but he needed her there.
“Do you have any idea who this kidnapper is or where he might be holding your daughter?” she asked Tripp.
Tripp just stared at her.
She persevered. “Do you have a contact number? Do you know why he’s doing this?”
“No.” Tripp shook his head. “No to everything.”
“The police can help you, Mr. Tripp. We need to call them,” she said. With a trembling hand, she reached for Shamus’s phone, the nearest one.
“He says get away from the phone!” Tripp yelled.
Startled, Mallory dropped the receiver onto its base and took a quick step back, bumping into Shamus. His arm slipped around her waist, steadying her. A few seconds of his touch was reassuring, but it was probably good he withdrew his arm—since they were in the middle of maybe getting blown up and all.
“Who said get away from it, and how would anyone but us know what I was going to do?” she asked.
Shamus spoke. “Tripp sometimes delays answering you. I think he’s wired for sound and possibly has a video cam on his jacket or the backpack strap.” He paused. “Isn’t technology wonderful?” He sounded weary, almost as though none of this was surprising him, and he was sorry that it didn’t.
“We should leave, then,” she said.
“I think I just said that a minute ago.” He indicated the rear exit with a sweep of his head. “Go.”
She should leave. She wanted to. But she felt a strong tie to this
