He adjusted the bandage gingerly and leaned back against the concrete of the parking deck. They’d spent three hours last night walking every inch of the mall and its surroundings. It was a good spot, plenty of escape routes, stairwells on three corners with connections to the parking deck, the grocery in the bottom, even the loading docks out back. Plus, security was a joke. Jack unzipped the navy jumpsuit, fingered the pistol slung against his T-shirt. The rain smelled good, even layered over the exhaust and oil smell of cars.
On his belt, the cell phone vibrated once. He opened it, saw the text message from Marshalclass="underline"
theyre here
Jack took a deep breath, then slipped through the break in the chain-link fence, rounded the corner, and stepped into the loading dock, a wide concrete bay, dingy and smelling of trash. A guy unloading a panel truck looked over, and Jack tossed a salute. The man nodded and went back to work. As Jack opened the door into the mall, he felt that old tightness in his stomach. It felt like home.
ANNA’S SKIN WAS STRETCHED TOO FAR, like she might split at the seams. All around them, people shopped and ate and chatted as though everything were normal. Two men laughed at a downstairs table. A couple of hairstylists from the salon wandered into Victoria’s Secret. They were easy to spot, black clothes and fried bangs. Why did stylists always have the worst hair? A woman pushed a stroller, the boy in it wearing that slightly stupefied expression like the world was a hell of a show.
This had seemed like a good idea last night, clean and easy. Just a thought experiment, a move they were contemplating in a game. But now that she stood here, it wasn’t rational thought that filled her. It was dread and nerves and a child’s desperate fear of punishment.
A muscular man in a Cubs jersey rounded the corner to their right. He moved swiftly, not running, but with fast, long strides. His eyes were on them.
“Tom.” She nudged him. He turned to look, saw where she was staring. His fingers went white on the handle of the bag.
The guy kept moving, staring straight at them. He had short-cropped hair and broad shoulders. She remembered Tom saying yesterday that they didn’t know if Jack would come himself. The guy was thirty feet away. Twenty. She heard a woman talking in a singsong voice, saying, “Isn’t this fun, baby?” The mother pushing the stroller, coming from the opposite direction. The man in the jersey sped up, one hand moving to his waist.
“Tom.” Her voice breaking. He took a half step in front of her.
Fingers lifted the edge of the jersey.
The woman said, “Don’t you like shopping with Mommy?”
Ten feet.
Anna wanted to scream, to run, but found herself locked in place. Watching the man pull up his shirt and reach for his waist.
Grabbing at something. Panic pounded in her temples, panic clenched her fingers. Jesus, it was all going wrong, this guy was going to just shoot them, right here, in the middle of the mall, right in front of this mother pushing a child, believing herself safe, borne up by belief in a world that followed immutable rules, the same ones Anna used to believe in.
The hand came out. Clutching a cell phone.
“Nah, nothing. Just shopping,” said the guy in the jersey, moving right past them, one hand pushing at the door to the stairwell. “When you want to-” The slamming door cut off the rest of what he had to say.
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a long, hard whistle. The world spun, and she put a hand on the railing. Tom slumped too, dropped the bag to the ground, reached up to rub at his forehead. The stroller reached them, one wheel creaking a little. The mother smiled at Anna as she passed. The railing was cool. She put both hands on it. Watched people move. “I can’t do this.”
Tom turned, touched her upper arm. “We’re almost done. Just a few more minutes.”
“I can’t. I can’t. What if someone gets hurt?” She gulped air. “I thought… that guy-”
“I know.” He spoke soothingly. “We’re both jumpy. But it’ll be okay. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
“Are you kidding? Where have you been for the last few days? Let’s get out of here. Go to the police.” She stared over the edge of the railing, to the levels below. “Wait, better. There’s a cop here. Let’s go get him, tell him-”
“Tell him what?” Tom’s voice a slap. “Tell him we set up a thief to get kidnapped and tortured to death by a drug dealer so that we could keep our stolen money? He’d think we were crazy.” He shook his head. “Worse, he might believe us.” He put his good hand on her shoulder. “If we screw this up, Malachi will kill us. That’s if Jack doesn’t. We have to get through. Just a few more minutes. Okay?”
She stared at him, at the tension in his jaw, the wide eyes. He was scared too. She could see that. But he was beating it. She straightened. Tried to breathe like yoga class, in through the nose, steady exhale through the mouth, picturing the air filling her with pale blue light. In, hold, out. I am the center of calm.
I am pale blue light.
THICK PIPES RAN UP THE CORNER. A sign beside the door marked this as the west stairwell, ground floor. Jack stepped to the door, looked out the window in the center. Beyond he could see the mall, the ramps spiraling upward. A brunette with a shirt that read “Porn Star” strolled past, oblivious to him three feet away. Jack smiled. Put on work clothes, stand in a stairwell, he could have been invisible. He could have been Mexican.
He was reaching for the door when his phone buzzed. “Yeah.”
“Hold on.” Marshall’s voice quiet.
“What’s up?”
“I’m not sure. I think something’s wrong. I’m going to get closer.”
“Where are they?”
“Fourth floor, northwest corner. Near the movie theater. They’re carrying a bag,” Marshall said. “You want me to just go get-”
“No. Stick to the plan.” He hung up, peered out again. What are you doing, Tom?
Jack unzipped the jumpsuit halfway, then took his phone from his pocket and dialed.
TOM’S PHONE RANG. He didn’t recognize the number. Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open. “Hello.”
“Mr. Reed? This is Detective Halden. Where have you been? After our last conversation-”
Shit, shit, shit! “Detective, now isn’t a good time.”
There was a pause. “Are you in danger? Is the drug dealer there?”
He snuck a glance at his watch. 10:02. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just” – he looked around, sure he would see Jack coming toward him at any moment, that big gun in his hand – “I can’t talk right now.”
“Listen, whatever you’re doing, this is more important. That guy, he’s going to be looking for you, and you won’t see him coming. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in ten minutes. I can keep you safe.”
Tom hesitated. The window of the luggage store was empty. Where had Andre gone? Everything was happening so fast. He thought of the guy with the jersey, how he’d realized in that moment that they were in way over their heads. Maybe he should tell Halden everything. Get the cops here. The idea was tempting: Give up control, let the professionals handle it.
“Mr. Reed?”
Tom opened his mouth. There was a beep in his ear, and he pulled the phone away to look at it. Another number he didn’t recognize.
“Tom, I know you’re scared. Let me help.”
His pulse was heavy enough to shake his vision. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you back soon. I promise.”
“Wait-”
He hung up, clicked to the new call. A familiar voice said, “Who were you talking to, Tom?”
ANNA SAW THE WINCE, saw Tom look around wildly. He mouthed the word Jack, then said, “No one.” Paused, and said, “It was my mother, all right? I got her off the phone as quick as I could.”