The elevator doors opened. “You go ahead,” Morgan told Micah as she scanned the corridor. The bomber was here, on the floor, watching—how else could he know Micah was with her? “I forgot to ask Emma something. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Micah stepped into the elevator. Then he frowned. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Andre,” Morgan lied, still scrutinizing each face in sight. There were two nurses typing on computers—could one of them be using a text-to-voice program? A clerk at the nurses’ station, a man pushing a pharmacy cart, two visitors emerging from another patient’s room… Too many possibilities.
The elevator doors slid shut. At least Micah would be safe. “He’s gone,” she told the voice on the phone.
“Wait with the old woman.”
“Where’s Adam? Let me talk to him.” But the line was dead.
She stared at the phone. Then at the people in the hall. All day long the bomber had been pushing them—her—around like pawns on a chessboard, and she was sick of it.
But how could she risk that he wasn’t here, watching her, ready to blow up Emma or these other innocent people if she didn’t obey his instructions? She trudged back toward Emma’s room, her neck burning with the feeling that she was being watched. How could she get ahead of the bomber? He—or she, since Kelly was her top suspect; in fact her only suspect right now—had obviously spent a lot of time learning everything there was about her and the people she was close to.
He knew her every weakness, just as he’d known exactly how to manipulate Jenna’s and Andre’s own vulnerabilities to get them to leave town, to abandon Morgan. He’d taken Adam, killed his foster mother—the only person who could identify him—and yet, he had not harmed Morgan even though she’d been right there, an easy target.
He wanted her alive. Alone.
And here she was, playing right into his hand.
She stopped; then spun on her heel and sprinted back down the hall to the stairs beside the elevator. What had she done?
She’d sent Micah right to him. How could she have been so stupid?
She dialed Micah to warn him. No answer. She sent a text, hoping it was only the elevator blocking her call.
Her pistol in one hand, the other on the stair rail, using it as leverage so she could skip over steps in her mad dash, falling more than running, she careened around each landing, her footsteps echoing like a madman’s tap dance.
Finally, she reached the subbasement where they’d parked the car. She took a moment to haul in a breath and open the door only a crack, looking to see what waited for her on the other side. No ambush, no tripwires, no devices. She slid through the door and scanned the area. The Subaru was right where they’d left it. Micah was nowhere near it.
The entire floor was empty. No movement anywhere.
Keeping her pistol at the ready, she cautiously made her way over to the Subaru. There was a note on the windshield but she didn’t get close enough to grab it, not right away. First she holstered her pistol, shimmied below the SUV parked beside it, and peered through the darkness, searching for anything unusual, using her cell phone as a flashlight. Nothing.
She crawled back out and sprinted to the Subaru, snatched the note, and retreated to read it. Another piece of heavy card stock like the fake birthday card, only this one was a map. The killer had traced directions out of the city—down route 22, then turning off onto a rural road leading into the countryside. The end of the map was a big red star with the words:
Blood or love?
Come alone or lose both.
No more games, no more masks.
Only your truth can set them free.