Текст книги "Thr3e"

Автор книги: Тед Деккер

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

17

THE WAREHOUSE IDENTIFIED AS 369 on Thirty-third Street stood among a dozen others in northern Long Beach, all constructed from the same corrugated tin, all two stories high, all addressed with the same large black numbers above the doors. Years of neglect had worn most of them down to a dull gray. The 369 was hardly more than a shadow. No sign identifying a business name. Looked vacant.

Kevin slowed the car and peered ahead at the looming structure. Dust blew across the sidewalk. A faded Mountain Dew bottle, the two-liter plastic variety, bumped up against a single-entry door to the right of the loading bay.

He stopped the car thirty yards from the corner and eased the gearshift into park. He could hear several sounds—the purring of the engine, the blower blasting air over their feet, the thumping in his chest. They all sounded too loud.

He glanced at Sam, who stared at the structure, searching.

“What now?”

He had to get the gun out of the trunk; that was what now. Not because he thought Slater would be here, but because he wasn’t going anywhere without his new purchase.

“Now we go in,” she said. “Unless the fire codes were nonexistent twenty years ago, the building will have a rear entrance.”

“You take the back,” Kevin said. “I’ll take the front.”

Sam’s right eyebrow lifted. “I think you should wait here.”

“No. I’m going in.”

“I really don’t think—”

“I can’t sit around and play dumb, Sam!” The aggression in his tone surprised him. “I have to do something.”

She faced 369 Thirty-third Street again. Time was ticking. Sixty-two minutes. Kevin wiped a trickling line of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand.

“Doesn’t seem right,” Sam said.

“Too easy.”

She didn’t respond.

“We don’t have a key—how are we getting in?” he asked.

“Depends. Getting in isn’t the concern. What if he’s rigged it to blow upon entry?”

“That’s not his game,” Kevin said. “He said ninety minutes. Wouldn’t he stick to his own rules?”

She nodded. “Has so far. Blew the bus ahead of schedule but only because we broke the rules. Still doesn’t seem right.” She cracked her door. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”

Kevin got out and followed Sam toward the building. As far as he could see in both directions, the street was empty. A warm late afternoon breeze lifted dust from the pavement in a small dust devil twenty feet to his right. The plastic Mountain Dew bottle thumped quietly against the entry door. Somewhere a crow cawed. If Jennifer had figured out the riddle, at least she wasn’t making the mistake of swarming in with the cops. They walked up to a steel door with a corroded deadbolt.

“So how arewe getting in?” Kevin whispered.

Sam eased the plastic bottle aside with her foot, put a hand on the doorknob, and twisted. The door swung in with a creak. “Like that.”

They exchanged stares. Sam stuck her head into the black opening, looked around briefly, and pulled back. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I could go in alone.”

Kevin looked at the dark gap and squinted. Black. The gun was still back in the trunk.

“Okay, I’m going around back to see what we have,” Sam said. “Wait for me to signal you. When you go in, find lights and turn them on, but otherwise touch nothing. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Could be a suitcase, a box, anything not covered in dust. I’ll work my way through the warehouse in the dark just in case someone’s in there. Unlikely, but we’ll take the precaution. Clear?”

“Yes.” Kevin wasn’t sure how clear it was. His mind was still on the gun in the trunk.

“Go easy.” She edged to the corner, looked around, and then disappeared.

Kevin ran for the car on his tiptoes. He found the shiny silver pistol where he’d hidden it under the carpet behind the spare tire. He shoved it into his belt, closed the trunk as quietly as he could, and hurried back to the warehouse.

The gun handle stuck out from his belly like a black horn. He pulled his shirt over the butt and flattened it as best he could.

Darkness shrouded the warehouse interior. Still no signal from Sam. Kevin poked his head in and peered through the oil-thick blackness. He reached in and felt for a light switch along the wall. His fingers touched a cool metal box with a plastic switch on its face. He flipped the switch.

A loud hum. Light flooded the warehouse. He grabbed at his midsection and withdrew the gun. Nothing stirred.

He peeked again. A vacant foyer with a receiving desk. Lots of dust. The smell of mildewing rags filled his nostrils. But nothing like a bomb that he could see. Beyond the receiving area, stairs led up to a second floor. Offices. A panel of switches was mounted to the wall at the foot of the stairs. Marks broke the dust directly up the middle of the steps. Footprints.

He instinctively pulled his head from the door. Slater! Had to be. Sam was right; this was it!

Still no signal from her. Unless she’d called him and he’d missed it. With all these walls it was possible.

Kevin held his breath and slipped through the door. He stood still for a moment and then walked on the balls of his feet toward the receiving desk. Behind the desk—could be a place for a bomb. No, the footprints went up . . .

Clunk!

Kevin whirled around. The door had swung shut! The wind? Yes, the wind had—

Click. The lights went out.

Kevin started in the direction of the door, blinded by darkness. He took several quick steps, stuck out a hand, and groped for the door. His knuckles smashed into steel. He fumbled for the handle, found it, and twisted.

But it refused to turn. He gripped hard and jerked the handle first to the left and then to the right. Locked.

Okay, Kevin, stay calm. It’s one of those doors that stays locked.Except that it had opened for Sam. Because she was on the outside.

Wasn’t it normally the other way around?

He turned and yelled. “Sam?” His voice sounded muted.

“Sam!” This time the word echoed from beyond the stairs.

He’d seen a light panel by the stairs. Maybe they operated other lights? Kevin turned and walked toward the stairs, but his knees found the reception desk first. The crash sent a bolt of electricity through his nerves and he nearly dropped the gun. He stepped to the side and shuffled up to where he remembered the light switches.

“Samantha!”

He slapped the wall, found the switches, and palmed them on. No lights.

The floor above him creaked. “Sam?”

“Kevin!” Sam! Her voice sounded distant, from the back, as if she was still outside the building.

“Sam, I’m in here!”

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Light glowed from the upper level. Kevin glanced back toward the door, saw only darkness, and mounted the stairs. Light glowed faintly above him, a window maybe.

“Sam?”

She didn’t respond.

He had to get to some light! Another floorboard creaked and he whipped around, gun extended. Was the weapon cocked? He snugged his thumb over the hammer and pulled it back. Click. Easy, Kevin. You’ve never shot a gun in your life. You shoot at a shadow and it might be Sam. And what if the gun doesn’t even work?

He headed up the stairs on weak legs.

“Kevin!”

Sam’s voice came from his right and forward, definitely outside. He paused halfway up the steps, tried to still his breathing so that he could hear better, but finally gave up and hurried toward the light at the top.

The glow came from a doorway at the end of a barely visible hallway. His breathing came hushed and low now. Something thumped down the hall. He held his breath. There it was again, a step. Boots. Directly ahead and to his right. From one of the other rooms along the hall. Sam? No, Sam was still outside! Dear God, give me strength.He felt exposed standing in the hall. What was he thinking, waltzing up the stairs as if he were some kind of gunslinger?

Frantic, Kevin stepped to the faint outline of a doorway on his right. The floorboards protested under his feet. He cleared the doorway and slid back against the wall on his left.

Boots. There was definitely someone else on the upper floor with him. Could be Sam if the acoustics had misdirected her voice. Could it be her? Sure it could.

It is, Kevin. It’s Sam. She’s in the next room, and she’s found the bomb. No, her voice had been distant. And she didn’t walk like that. No way.

Her voice suddenly came again, faint. “Kevin!”

This time there was no mistake, Sam was yelling at him from below, out near the front door now. Her fist pounded on the steel door.

“Kevin, are you in there?”

He took one step back toward the doorway. The boot again. Thumping in the next room.

Someone was in there! Slater. He gripped the pistol tightly. Slater had lured him in. That’s why the riddle was so simple. A dread spread through his bones.

Sam was at the front door. The deadbolt wasn’t engaged—she should be able to either break it or pick it.

Another thought occurred to him. The bomb was probably set to go off—what if he was trapped in here when it did? What if the cops came and Slater detonated the bomb early? But Sam would never allow the cops anywhere near the warehouse now.

But what if she couldn’t get the door open?

Panicked, Kevin slid along the wall, met a corner, and felt his way along the back wall. He put his ear on the plaster.

Breathing. Slow and deep. Not his. Slow shuffling.

A low voice reached through the wall. “Kevinnnn . . .”

He froze.

“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn.”

The difference between innocence and naiveté has never registered in Slater’s mind. The two are synonymous. In fact, there is no such animal as innocence. They are all as guilty as hell. But he can’t deny that some are more naive than others, and watching Kevin creep up the stairs like a mouse has reminded Slater of how utterly naive his nemesis really is.

He’d been sorely tempted to kick the man in the head then, while Kevin was still four steps from the top. Watching him tumble and break would have held its appeal. But place-kicking has always struck him as one of sport’s more boring moments.

Welcome to my house, Kevin.

The man has gone and gotten himself a gun. He holds it like he might hold a vial of the Ebola virus and probably hasn’t thought to cock it, but he’s at least gathered the resolve to arm himself. And he is undoubtedly packing without Samantha’s knowledge. She would never allow a civilian to stumble around with a loaded weapon. Kevin has found a sliver of manhood. How fun! The man may actually try to kill him, as if he’s become the stalker instead of the victim.

In ways not even Kevin can yet know, this isn’t such a new thing. Kevin has tried to kill him before. Their lives are inseparably intertwined, each bent on killing the other. To think that this man who’s crept up the stairs holding his big shiny pistol has the stomach to pull the trigger, much less kill, is absurd.

Now the fool has wedged himself in the next room down and is undoubtedly wetting himself. If he only knew what lay in store for him in the hours to come, he might be lying in a puddle of his own vomit.

Here, kitty, kitty.

“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn . . .”

Kevin nearly pulled the trigger then. Not with calculated aim, but out of sheer terror.

“Sam?” His voice sounded like a wounded lamb’s bleating. He was briefly revolted by his weakness. If this was Slater, he was getting exactly what he wanted. A face to face. A chance to blow him away.

The doorway stood opposite him, its gaping hole darker than the black surrounding it. If he were to run now, he could bound down the stairs and reach the front door, right?

A new sound reached into the room—the sound of something sharp scraping along the wall outside. Down the hall toward his door.

Kevin gripped the pistol in both hands, pointed it at the doorway, and slid down to his seat. If Slater stepped through that space, he’d do it. He’d see the dark form and start pulling the trigger.

The scraping continued, closer, closer. Closer.

“Kevinnn,” a voice whispered.

God, help me!His mind started to go fuzzy.

Take him out, Kevin.Jennifer’s voice echoed through his mind. Blow the scumbag away!

He could hardly see the gun in front of him to aim it, but he could point. And whoever walked through that door wouldn’t be able to see him, right? Not in this darkness. Kevin would only see a shadow, but he had that advantage.

The scraping closed in on the door.

Sweat slipped into Kevin’s eyes. He held his breath.

Sam’s voice yelled distant. “Kevin, you stay put! You hear me?”

He couldn’t respond.

“Stay right there.”

She was going to get something to force the door. Pick the lock. A brick, a crowbar, a gun. A gun! She had a gun in her purse. Hurry!

The whisper came again. “Kevinnnn . . .”

The doorway suddenly filled with the dark shape of a man. Kevin’s finger tightened on the trigger. What . . . what if it wasn’t Slater? A bum, maybe.

The form stood still, as if staring at him. If it moved . . . If it even flinched, Kevin would pull the trigger.

Blood pounded through his head as if pumps had been shoved in his ears and were trying to suck him dry. Whoosh, whoosh.He couldn’t move other than to tremble slightly in the dark. He was eleven years old again, facing the boy in the cellar. Trapped. That’ll cost you your eyeballs, punk.

A metal object clanged against the front door. Sam!

The figure didn’t flinch.

Now, Kevin! Now! Before he runs. Pull the trigger!

Clang!

“Why would I do something so senseless as blow up an old abandoned warehouse?” Slater’s voice asked.

“It’s so nice to meet you again face to face, Kevin. I like the dark, don’t you? I thought about bringing candles for the occasion, but I like this better.”

Shoot! Shoot, shoot,SHOOT!

“We’ve only been at this three days and I’m already tired of it. Practice is over. We start the real game tonight,” Slater said.

The sound of steel against steel echoed from the front door.

“We’ll be seeing you.”

The figure moved.

The pressure Kevin had exerted on the trigger finally sprang the hammer at the same instant. The room ignited with a brilliant flash chased by a horrendous thunder. He saw Slater’s black coat as he cleared the doorway.

“Aaaahhhh!” He fired again. A third time. He scrambled to his feet, leapt for the opening, and spun into the hallway. A door at the end of the hall swung closed. The man was gone. Darkness surrounded Kevin.

He whirled around, grabbed the railing, and stumbled down the stairs.

“Kevin!”

The door burst open to daylight before Kevin reached it. Sam jumped clear and he spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Sam had her weapon drawn. She took one look at Kevin and spun into the doorway, gun extended.

“He’s gone,” Kevin panted. “Out back. A window or something.”

“Wait here.” Sam ran to the corner, shoved her head around, and then disappeared.

The ground felt uneven under Kevin’s feet. He gripped a telephone pole and steadied himself. Why had he waited? He could have ended the whole thing with one shot, right there in the room. On the other hand, he had no proof that the figure was Slater. Could’ve been an idiot playing . . .

No, it was Slater. Definitely. You spineless punk! You let him walk. He was right there and you whimpered like a dog!Kevin grunted and closed his eyes, furious.

Sam reappeared thirty seconds later.

“He’s gone.”

“He was just there! Are you sure?”

“There’s a fire escape with a ladder. He could be anywhere by now. I doubt he’s hanging around for an encore.” She glanced back, considering.

“There’s no bomb, Sam. He wanted to meet me. That’s why the riddle was so easy. I saw him.”

She stepped up to the door, looked inside, and flipped the switches. Nothing happened.

“How did the door lock?”

“I don’t know. I was just in there and it slammed behind me.”

She stepped just beyond the door and looked up. “It’s rigged. He used a pulley with a string . . .” She followed the string with her eyes.

“What is it?”

“The string ends by the counter. He was down here when he pulled the door closed.”

The revelation struck Kevin as absurd. “In the lobby?”

“Yes, I think so. String’s pretty well hidden, but he was here. I don’t want to contaminate the scene—we need to get some light in there.” She walked back out and opened her cell phone. “You sure it was him?”

“He spoke to me. He stood right there and asked me why he’d be so senseless as to blow up an abandoned building.” Kevin’s legs felt like putty. He abruptly sat on the sidewalk. The gun hung from his right hand.

Sam eyed it. “This is what you found wandering your old neighborhood this morning?”

Kevin set the gun down. “Sorry. I can’t just let him push me around anymore.”

She nodded. “Put it back in the trunk or wherever you had it stashed, and please, don’t use it again.”

“I shot at him. You think maybe I hit him?”

“I didn’t see any blood. But they’ll find evidence of the shots.” She paused. “They may want you to surrender the gun. I don’t suppose it’s legal.”

He shook his head.

“Just get it out of sight before the others get here. I’ll talk to Jennifer.”

“Others?”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s time for her to take over here. I have a plane to catch.”

18

THERE WAS NO BOMB and Slater had met his objective forty minutes early. They had solved their first riddle within the allotted time, but it still had served the killer. He’d made contact with Kevin in person and escaped without a trace.

Sam had called Jennifer with the details while waiting for her cab to arrive. She was still unsettled about something—was even a little reluctant to call Jennifer, but she said that she had no choice. Of all the authorities, she trusted Jennifer the most. No cops until the ninety-minute mark had passed; that much she’d insisted on.

Jennifer was on her way with an FBI team to begin the investigation. Sam would be lucky to catch her flight; Kevin watched the cab’s taillights as it sped down the street and around the corner.

Yes indeed, they had solved the riddle. Or had they? He should be swimming in relief about now—he’d come nose to nose with a madman and survived. Chased him away with a few shots to boot. Sort of.

But his head still felt like it was caught in a vise. He agreed with Sam; something wasn’t right.

What was it about this appointment in Houston that was so important to her? And why wasn’t she forthcoming on the actual nature of the meeting? She knew the Riddle Killer was here. What was there in Houston?

And why wouldn’t she just tell him? Here in Long Beach the city was terrorized by the man the media had dubbed the Riddle Killer, but Sam was off on a tangent in another city. Made no sense.

A black car swung onto the street and roared toward him. Jennifer.

Two other agents climbed out with her, one with weapon drawn, both armed with flashlights. Jennifer spoke quickly to them, sending one around back and the other for the front door, which still stood open in a splintered frame. Sam had taken the car jack to it.

Jennifer approached him, dressed in a blue suit, hair flowing around her shoulders in the warm breeze. “Are you okay?” she asked.

She glanced at the warehouse, and for a brief moment Kevin imagined that her question was only a courtesy—her real interest lay in whatever awaited her prying eyes beyond the door. A new crime scene. Like all of them, she loved the crime scenes. As well she should—the crime scene led to the criminal, in this case Slater.

She turned her attention back to him.

“As okay as I can be, I suppose,” he said.

She walked up to him and looked into his eyes. “I thought we understood each other.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re on the same side here. I mean you tell me everything, or did our conversation yesterday not make an impression on you?”

He suddenly felt like a silly schoolboy standing in the principal’s office. “Of course we’re on the same side.”

“Then make me a promise you can live by. You don’t disappear unless we agree for you to disappear. In fact, you do nothingunless we agree you do it. I can’t do this without you, and I certainly don’t need you following someone else’s lead.”

An unreasonable sorrow swept over Kevin. He felt a knot in his throat, as if he might cry, right here in front of her. Again. Nothing would be so humiliating.

“I’m sorry. Sam said—”

“I don’t care what Sam tells you. You’re my responsibility, not hers. Heaven knows I need all the help I can get, but until you hear differently from someone besides Sam, you follow my lead. Regardless of whose idea it is, you talk to me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. “Now what did Sam suggest?”

“That I should do everything you say.”

Jennifer blinked. “She’s right.” She looked past him at the warehouse. “I want this creep as much as you do. You’re our best shot . . .” She stopped.

“I know. You need me to get him. Who gives a rip about Kevin as long as we get what we need out of him; is that it?”

She stared at him, whether angered or embarrassed, he couldn’t tell. Her face softened.

“No, that isn’t it. I’m sorry you’re living through this hell, Kevin. It’s beyond me why innocent people have to suffer, but try as I have, changing the fact is beyond me.” She held his eyes with her own. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I just . . . I’m not going to let him get to you. He killed my brother, remember? I lost Roy, but I’m not going to lose you.”

Kevin suddenly understood. It explained her anger. Maybe more.

“And yes, as a matter of fact, I do need you,” she said. “You’re our best hope of apprehending a very demented nut case who happens to be after you.”

Now Kevin felt more like a clumsy freshman than anyone who might be hauled into the school office for discipline. Stupid, Kevin. Stupid, stupid.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Just don’t run off again, okay?”

“Guaranteed.” He lifted his eyes and saw the same strange look he’d seen in Sam’s eyes at times. A cross between concern and empathy. Stupid, stupid, Kevin.

Jennifer dropped her eyes to his mouth and took a deep breath. “So. You saw him.”

He nodded.

She glanced back at the door. “He’s progressing.”

“Progressing?”

“He wants more. More contact, more danger. Resolution.”

“Then why doesn’t he just come out and ask me for whatever it is he wants?”

She held a flashlight in her hand. “Are you up to walking through it with me? We’ll wait until my men come out—I don’t want to compromise any evidence. I realize you’re frazzled, but the sooner I know how this went down, the greater our chances of using any information we come up with.”

He nodded. “The cops know yet?”

“Not yet. Milton can’t seem to keep his trap shut. He knows we found you and so does the media. As far as the public is concerned, this didn’t happen. Tensions are high enough as it is.”

She looked at her watch. “We still have eighteen minutes left in his ninety-minute window. Somehow that doesn’t add up. Honestly, we were thinking library rather than warehouse.”

“Library. What wants to be filled but will always be empty?As in empty knowledge.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“We’re getting evidence; that’s what counts. We have his voice on tape; we have his presence in this building; we have more background. He’s had several chances to hurt you and he hasn’t. Sam told me that you spoke with him. I need to know exactly what he said.”

“More background?” Kevin asked. “What background?”

An FBI agent walked toward them. “Excuse me, just wanted to let you know that the lights are back on. Fuse was pulled.”

“No explosives?”

“Not that we can find. There’s something here I think you should see.”

She looked up at Kevin. “I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to show you what happened?”

“As soon as they’re finished securing the scene. We don’t want any more footprints or trace evidence than necessary. Hold tight.” She hurried for the door and disappeared into the warehouse.

Kevin shoved his hands into his pockets and ran his fingers over Slater’s cell phone. He was a klutz, no doubt about it. Maybe that was the sin Slater wanted him to confess. Kevin Parson is a fool and a klutz, a man incapable of entering society in any normal way because his Aunt Balinda beat his intellect against an imaginary wall for the first twenty-three years of his life. His mind is scarred beyond recognition.

He glanced back at the building, and the image of Jennifer walking for the door replayed itself. Sam was right; she liked him, didn’t she?

Liked him? How could he know whether she liked him? You see, Kevin. That’s the way first-class losers think. They have no shame. They find themselves pinned down by an assassin’s knife and their mind is drawn to the FBI agent they’ve known for all of three days.Two days if he subtracted the day he ran off with Sam, the stunning CBI agent.

The cell phone vibrated at his fingertips and he jumped.

It went off again. Slater was calling and that was a problem, wasn’t it? Why would Slater call now?

The phone rang a third time before he managed to unfold it. “H . . . hello?”

“H . . . hello? You sound like an imbecile, Kevin. I thought I said no cops.”

Kevin spun to the warehouse. The agents were inside. There was a bomb in there after all, wasn’t there? “Cops? We didn’t call cops. I thought FBI were okay.”

“Cops, Kevin. They’re all pigs. Pigs in the parlor. I’m watching the news and the news says the cops know where you are. Maybe I should count to three and blow their guts to kingdom come.”

“You said no cops!” Kevin shouted. There was a bomb in the warehouse and Jennifer was in there. He had to get her out. He ran for the door. “We didn’t usethe cops.”

“Are you running, Kevin? Quick, quick get them out. But don’t get too close. The bomb might go boom and they’ll find your entrails on the walls with the others’.”

Kevin shoved his head in the door. “Out!” he screamed. “Get out! There’s a bomb!”

He ran for the street.

“You’re right, there is a bomb,” Slater said. “You have thirteen minutes left, Kevin. If I decide not to punish you . What wants to be filled but will always be empty?”

He slid to a stop. “Slater! Come out and face me, you . . .”

But Slater was gone. Kevin snapped the phone shut and whirled to the warehouse just in time to see Jennifer emerge, followed by both agents.

Jennifer saw the look on his face and stopped. “What is it?”

“Slater,” he said dumbly.

“Slater called,” Jennifer said. She rushed up to him. “We’re wrong, aren’t we? This isn’t it!”

Kevin’s head began to spin. He placed his hands on his temples and closed his eyes. “Think, Jennifer. Think! What wants to be filled but will always be empty?He knew we would come here so he waited for us, but this isn’t it! What wants to be filled? What!”

“A library,” the agent named Bill said.

“Did he say how much time?” Jennifer asked.

“Thirteen minutes. He said he may blow it early because the cops talked to the press.”

“Milton,” Jennifer said. “I swear I could wring his neck. God help us.” She yanked a notepad from her hip pocket, stared at the page filled with writing, and began to pace. “36933, what else could have a number associated—”

“A reference number,” Kevin blurted.

“But from which library?” Jennifer asked. “There’s got to be a thousand—”

“The school of divinity,” Kevin said. “Augustine Memorial. He’s going to blow up the Augustine Memorial Library.”

They stared at each other for a moment frozen in time. As one, the three FBI agents ran for the car. “Call Milton!” Bill said. “Evacuate the library.”

“No cops,” Jennifer said. “Call the school.”

“What if we can’t get through to the right people fast enough? We need a squad car over there.”

“That’s why we’re going. What’s the fastest way to the school?”

Kevin ran for his car across the street. “Down Willow. Follow me.”

He slid behind the wheel, fired the engine, and squealed away from the curb. Eleven minutes. Could they reach the library in eleven minutes? Depended on traffic. But could they find a bomb in eleven minutes?

A horrifying thought strung through his mind. Even if they did reach the library, they would have no time to search without risking being caught inside when the bomb blew. There was this matter of seconds again. They could be forty seconds off and not know it.

A car was one thing. A bus was worse. But the library—God forbid that they were wrong. “You sick coward!”

They roared down Willow, horns blaring, ignoring the lights completely. This was becoming a bad habit. He swerved out of the path of a blue Corvette and swung onto a smaller surface street to avoid the sea of traffic. Jennifer followed in the big black car. At each intersection the street dips pounded his suspension. He would make Anaheim Street and cut east.

Seven minutes. They were going to make it. He considered the gun in the trunk. Running into the library waving a gun would accomplish nothing but the confiscation of his hard-earned prize. He only had three bullets left. One for Slater’s gut, one for his heart, and one for his head. Pow, pow, pow. I’m gonna put a slug in your filthy heart, you lying sack of maggot meat. Two can play this game, baby. You picked the wrong kid to tick off. I bloodied your nose once; this time I’m gonna put you down. Six feet under, where the worms live. You make me sick, sick . . .

Kevin saw the white sedan in the intersection ahead at the last possible moment. He threw his weight back into the seat and shoved the brake pedal to the floor. Tires screeching, his car slid sideways, barely missed the taillight of an ancient Chevy, and miraculously straightened. Hands white on the wheel, he punched the accelerator and sped on. Jennifer followed.

Focus! There was nothing he could do about Slater now. He had to get to the library in one piece. Interesting how bitter he’d become toward the man in the space of three days. I’m gonna put a slug in your filthy heart, you lying sack of maggot meat?What was that?

The moment Kevin saw the arched, glass face of Augustine Memorial Library, he knew that Jennifer’s attempts to clear the place had failed. An Asian student ambled by the double doors, lost in thought. They had between three and four minutes. Maybe.

Kevin crammed the gearshift into park while the car was still rolling. The car bucked and stopped. He burst out and tore for the front doors. Jennifer was already on his heels.