Georgia ran back to the storage room off the maintenance platform. The EMTs hadn’t arrived yet.
“I’m here, Con,” she whispered, stroking her friend’s face. “Help is on the way.”
“You’re all right,” Connie sputtered. A crooked smile played at the edges of her lips. Her skin was cold.
“You’re going to live, Con. Let others do the same. Tell me where you put the bomb on the Empire Pipeline.” Georgia glanced at her watch. Ten-ten A.M. They still had a fighting chance.
Connie reached up a bloody hand and pulled Georgia’s face closer to her lips. Georgia’s necklace dropped from inside her blouse onto Connie’s chest. Connie fingered it now. “Apache’s tear,” she mumbled, feeling the stone between her fingers. “I want…to go…the same way.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Georgia insisted. “Please, Con. Think about those innocent people. Where did you put the bomb?”
“Flags…” Connie choked out. “…Cross.”
“What flags? What cross?” Connie’s chest cavity was filling with blood. Georgia could hear the thick, gurgling sound.
“Greenpoint,” Connie mumbled. “It’s…gonna be…gone.”
Georgia reared back. “How many explosives did you use?”
“It’s…where you…put them…that…counts.”
The EMTs came into the room now, ushering Georgia out of the way. Connie stretched out a hand. Her voice sounded like she was gargling. Georgia couldn’t even make out what she was saying.
“Connie,” Georgia pleaded, her voice ragged with choked sobs and exhaustion, “be strong. Hard as a rock. Sharp as a razor—remember, girl? Remember?”
Mary Constance O’Rourke Ruiz closed her eyes. Her lips parted, and a soft breathy name came out. Not Georgia’s or Joanne’s or even Mac’s. Her last word didn’t even sound like a word at all. It sounded like a greeting. A welcome release.
“Bear.”