Chapter Thirty

“Af!” Eric ordered, wanting Tiger to lie down so he wouldn’t get flung backward. Then he hit the lights and floored it, speeding east on I-78 toward Newark. Behind him, the cavalry had his back.

Tess sat rigidly in the passenger seat. There was still so much he wanted to say, but between relaying critical information on his phone and nonstop radio calls, there’d been no opportunity.

“Tess, we need to—”

“Two-four-one.” His on-air call sign.

He grabbed the microphone. “Two-four-one.”

“Be advised, Newark PD and state police are closing all roads leading to Newark. Bomb squad units from multiple agencies are en route.”

“Ten-four. My ETA in”—the speedometer read in excess of ninety—“ten.” He set the mic in his lap. Calls were coming in so fast there was no need to bother hooking it back on the console. “Tess—” His cell shrilled, and he swore under his breath.

“Miller,” he said into the phone, not bothering to identify the caller.

“Eric.” It was RAC Verrone. “The JTTF broadcast your photo of Gant all over the state, starting with the Newark PD. No sightings yet. We’ve ordered the hotel to begin evacuating. Police will issue orders to surrounding buildings.”

“Copy that.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Out.”

“When this is over,” he said to Tess, although given how fast he was flying down the highway he couldn’t actually look at her, “we’ll talk. About everything,” he added. Meaning his dirtbag behavior toward her.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” From the corner of his eye, he caught her shaking her head. “I can’t change who I am, where I come from, or the fact that I lied to you about the most important thing in your life. You’ll never be able to look at me again without remembering that. Without seeing him.”

“That’s not true.” At least, now it wasn’t. He hit the air horn to warn drivers ahead of the cavalry zooming up behind them. “And you’re wrong about Gant being the most important thing in my life. You’re—”

“How can I know that for sure?” she interrupted, using nearly the same words he’d thrown back at her yesterday.

You’re the most important thing in my life. He realized that now.

“The way you looked at me when I told you…” She paused to take a deep breath, shaking her head. “After what happened to your friends, I don’t blame you for not being able to disassociate me from him. I need to know that whoever I’m with can love me without constantly thinking about the man who murdered his friends and nearly killed him.”

“It won’t be like that.” He might be sitting only inches from her, but he was losing ground every second. And he received her message loud and clear: that person—the lucky bastard she was referring to in the future tense—will never be me. The thought of that happening… Never.

About a mile outside Newark, he had no choice but to slow down. State police had blocked off exit ramps, except to emergency vehicles. Soon, traffic would back up on the interstate.

“Promise me you won’t go back to Alabama.” He jerked the wheel to the right, cautiously speeding up the shoulder past the long line of vehicles.

She gave a stony laugh. “That’s one thing I can promise.”

Her words gave him no solace. They sliced his guts wide open. She wouldn’t go back to Alabama, but he could tell from her tone that she was definitely set on leaving New Jersey, and even more determined to leave him behind.

He snaked between two yellow barriers. The other K-9 units behind him followed closely on his bumper. Soon after that, he was crisscrossing through less traveled back roads, avoiding the crushing evacuation of vehicles that was turning city streets into parking lots.

The closer they got to the hotel, the more people crammed the sidewalks. It was a mass exodus.

At the corner of McCarter Highway and Market Street, the Excelsior Hotel loomed ahead, its darkly tinted windows reminding him of a tower of death, which it would be if they didn’t get to the bomb and disarm it before Gant set it off.

The hotel was situated smack dab in the center of the city, and only a block from Penn Station. An explosion could take out the entire subterranean rail system.

With no room directly in front of the hotel, he and the units behind him parked in the middle of the street. He turned off the engine and pocketed the key. “Stick close,” he said to Tess. “The crowds will only get worse and I don’t want to lose you.” In more ways than one. “Let’s go.”

After leashing up Tiger, they met Dayne and the others off to the side of the main lobby doors. Sirens wailed, and air horns blasted. Half a dozen uniformed police from the Newark PD directed evacuating hotel guests down the street. There was no screaming or shouting, only low, hushed voices.

A dozen ATF and FBI field agents he recognized were waiting for them at the corner of the building. Half of them were looking at their phones, probably at the photo of Gant that had been circulated. Problem was, Gant might look totally different, or he could be wearing a disguise. If that was the case, only someone who knew him well could ID him. So as much as he wanted Tess at his side, they’d double the chances of spotting Gant if they split up.

“Dayne, you and Nick are with me. We’ll take half these agents and meet the bomb squad units by the loading bay doors. Matt, Kade, you take Tess and the others inside and look for Gant. He may be long gone by now, but if you see him, grab his ass. Best case scenario, the bomb’s set on a timer so he can escape. Worst case—he’s got a detonator and can blow it from a distance. He’s too arrogant to die, so if you catch him with a detonator, chances are he won’t punch the button.”

He handed Tess the spare radio he’d brought with him. “Keep this with you and stay with Matt or Kade. If you see Gant, notify one of them immediately.” He showed her how to use the push-to-talk button. “Do not approach him. I don’t want you going anywhere near him alone.”

She took the radio, nodding slowly. He’d expected to see fear in her beautiful eyes, but all he saw was determination, and that scared the hell out of him.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Always,” he answered softly, then to everyone else, “Move out.”

“You got it.” Matt nodded as he and Sheba led the field agents into the hotel, with Kade and Tango taking up the rear.

Tess quickly disappeared inside the building, sandwiched between Matt and Kade. As he watched her go, he knew where his heart was. Somehow, he’d always known.

Later. We’ll work it out later.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he led the other team of agents down the side street to the loading bays. Before they’d gotten to within twenty feet of the corrugated metal doors, Tiger strained at the lead, his head in the air.

His dog was picking up explosive vapors, and from the way he was behaving…

They were everywhere.

More uniforms stood near the bay doors. None of the bomb squad units were anywhere in sight.

Getting Jesse out of that explosives vest had been child’s play that any ATF agent could handle. Gant would never design anything so simplistic. Bottom line, they needed the bomb squads, and they needed them now.

“Where are all the bomb techs?” he asked the closest cop.

“Still en route. The nearest one is ten minutes out. We’re waiting for one of the hotel managers to open the bay doors. They can only be opened from inside the office.”

Christ. That should have been worked out by now. Didn’t matter that this was potentially the most disastrous shitstorm since September 11. The logistics were totally messed up.

“Where is he?” Eric shouted. “Where’s the damn manager?”

“Right here,” someone shouted, and they all turned to see a man in dark slacks and a maroon suit jacket running down the sidewalk, carrying a ring of keys.

“Open it!” Eric pointed to the access door.

With a shaking hand, the manager shoved the key into the solid metal door and pushed it open.

Eric brushed past him into a small office. Through the observation window on the far wall, he saw a full-size tractor trailer. One of the rear doors of the trailer was open, and a man—Ruffalo—jumped out and began closing the door. In one hand was a padlock.

Oh, hell no. If he padlocked those doors, they might never get to the bomb in time.

He unhooked Tiger’s lead and flung open the door to the loading bay. “Stellen!”

Tiger bolted toward Ruffalo. Eric charged through the door after his dog. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Nick and Dayne were on his heels with their K-9s.

Hearing their approach, Ruffalo jerked his head around, his eyes going wide. He spun and hastily began hooking the padlock through the container door rings.

Tiger hit hard, clamping onto the guy’s thigh, dragging him from the door screaming in pain as his dog’s teeth sank deeper.

Ruffalo’s face twisted in agony, and still the man managed to drag himself back to the container doors and shove the padlock through the rings.

Not wanting to send a bullet flying into whatever was behind those doors, Eric launched at the man’s upper body, diving over Tiger and body-slamming Ruffalo to the ground. Air whooshed from the man’s lungs, and the back of his head whacked on the pavement.

Even with his mouth full of homicidal asshole’s thigh meat, Tiger managed a vicious growl, as did Saxon and Remy, who now stood nearby with Dayne, Nick, and the uniforms.

He flipped the semi-conscious man onto his belly, cuffing him.

“Nice job,” Nick said. “I’d give that dive a perfect ten.”

Leave it to Nick to find humor in the darkest of situations.

“Los.” Tiger released his jaws from Ruffalo’s leg.

Eric’s heart slammed as he carefully removed the still-open padlock from the container doors. Cautiously, and with delicate care, he opened the doors, cringing when they squeaked. The sight that greeted them made his pulse soar.

The container was packed to the gills with drums. Wires crisscrossed everywhere, linking the drums together with strips of Domox “sausages”—commercially manufactured explosives that looked similar to links of sausage meat.

“Holy mother of God,” one of the cops said.

Eric couldn’t have articulated it better himself.

“I don’t know much about bombs,” Nick said, “but I’m guessing that’s not good.”

“You got that right.” Dayne stared at the bomb. “What can we do to help?”

“Give me a boost up. Slowly,” he added, not wanting to jar anything and blast them all to Hell.

Dayne linked his hands together to heave Eric into the container. There was enough room to stand in the back, but he needed to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell everyone to beat feet, but if what he suspected was true, there was no way any of them could put enough safe space between them and the truck in time.

“Need a light?” one of the cops asked, about to flick on his flashlight.

“No!” Eric held up his hand. “The wrong kind of flashlight can be an ignition source. I’ve got this.” He tugged his flashlight from his belt, one designed not to blow shit up. He pushed the button, lighting up the inside of the container.

He wasn’t particularly religious, but dear God in Heaven.

Turning, he warned, “No cell phones or radios unless they’re ATF- or bomb squad-issued devices. Any wrong signal could set this thing off. Someone go outside to wait for the bomb techs.” Because they sure as hell needed them, and they needed them yesterday.

The uniforms hustled out the door. As if standing an additional twenty feet away can protect them from getting blown to bits.

Nick and Dayne didn’t budge. Not that he’d expected them to. A lump lodged solidly in his throat. Even though none of them could do a damn thing to help, they wouldn’t leave him. If they went down, they’d go together.

Tiger paced back and forth, never taking his eyes off Eric. His K-9 knew the truck was packed with explosives and wanted to be up there with him.

Moving slowly, he weaved in and out between the drums, being careful not to trip on one of the hundred feet of wire that had been used to interconnect everything. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

He’d reviewed schematics of the Oklahoma City bomb. Every agent in the ATF had during initial training at FLETC. That bomb was estimated to be the equivalent of 5,000 pounds of TNT and had taken down half a federal building. The bomb he was staring at was bigger. Twice the size, he’d guess, based on the number of drums. Some were labeled “ammonium nitrate,” others “nitromethane.”

There was no timer that he could see. He was so far out of his league. No way did he have the skills to disarm this monster.

Turning slowly, he made his way back out and hopped to the ground. Worried faces greeted him, but still no bomb squad.

“How bad is it?” Dayne asked.

“As bad as it can get. It’s on a detonator.” He glanced to where Ruffalo lay on the ground with Matt’s size-twelve shit-kicker planted firmly in the small of the guy’s back. “He still out?”

Matt shoved Ruffalo roughly with his foot, but the man didn’t budge. “So it would seem.”

“Then let’s wake his ass up.” Eric reached down and grabbed Ruffalo’s upper arm, flipping him onto his back. When the guy groaned, Eric slapped the guy’s face with the back of his hand. “Wake up. Wake up!”

Ruffalo grimaced then opened his eyes.

“Where’s Gant?” Eric demanded.

In response, Ruffalo gave an infinitesimal shake of his head and grinned. “Fuck you, fed.”

He wanted to wipe that grin off the bastard’s face with his knuckles, but it wouldn’t do any good. “We’re wasting our time. He drank too much of the sovereign citizen Kool-Aid. We need to find Gant before he leaves the blast radius.”

Heavy footfalls sounded at the office door. “Someone call a bomb squad?”

Nearly a dozen men wearing padded suits came into the loading bay.

“Holy fuck!” one of them said, looking into the truck.

Eric quickly ran down his initial observations.

“We’re on it,” the head of the unit said. “For what it’s worth, you can leave.”

The other radio clipped to his belt crackled. “Eric.” Tess’s voice.

“Tess, are you all right?” As if his pulse weren’t in the red zone already, the hushed, worried tone in her voice sent his heart rate skyrocketing. When she didn’t respond right away, he shouted into the radio, “Talk to me! Where are you?”

“I see him,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s Harley.”