Asher had arrived at the Frasier Center seconds before the FBI pulled into the parking lot. Which meant he was able to slip into the building just in time. The foyer conveyed comfort, a feeling of peace and serenity. He let his eyes land on each person, watching as he hurried toward an interior exit door. Once inside, he stopped and thought. The first thing the FBI would do would be to start clearing the building. He had to make sure they didn’t see him before he found Brooke.
He spotted a nurse heading down the stairs. “Excuse me, I was told there was some space to rent here. Where would that be?”
She frowned. “I haven’t heard of any rental space.”
“I don’t think it’s on the market yet.”
“Well, the only area not used in this building is the basement.”
“Of course. Thanks.”
With a nod, she pushed open the door he’d just come through.
“On the floor! Everyone on the floor! Hands where we can see them!”
It had begun. Asher darted for the stairs leading down. If he’d calculated correctly, he’d entered on the second floor. He took the stairs as fast as he could move and found himself on the bottom floor. In front of a door with a key code.
Expecting that, he zipped under the stairs and waited.
And waited.
“Come on, come on.”
Footsteps pounded above him.
The door shoved open and he heard a woman’s voice. “I don’t know what’s going on!”
He darted from his hiding place and grabbed the person. She squealed and he gave the off-balance woman a push toward the stairs. “Go! Hurry!”
She did, racing up the stairs, and Asher slid through the door and found himself in the hallway of a busy area. An area that was supposed to be empty.
He didn’t question how that could happen but instead went looking for Brooke.
“Hey!” A hard hand landed on his shoulder, spinning him around. “You can’t be down here.”
“Sorry—I think I can. Cops are here. You’d better run.”
Wide blue eyes stared at him a moment before the man swallowed hard and took off for the stairwell.
Nurses and workers pushed past him, eyeing him, knowing he didn’t belong there, but no one else said anything. He’d never find Brooke like this.
“FBI!” he yelled. “Everyone out of the building!”
For a moment, stillness. A piece of time frozen. Then, like ants, they scattered to the exits and doors.
“Brooke!”
He shoved open the next door. Empty. Then the next. Nothing.
A sign above the room to his right snagged his gaze. HOLDING AREA.
He pushed the door open to see Brooke kneeling over the body of a woman dressed as a nurse, phone pressed to her ear.
“Asher!” She threw herself at him and he caught her against him. “I’m so glad to see you!”
He lifted his phone even as his right arm trapped her. “Caden, in the basement, room labeled Holding Area.”
“Put the phone down, James, and move toward the exit.”
Newell. “You’re done,” Asher said without moving. “It’s over.”
“Maybe so, but I have enough money to disappear and live on it for the rest of my life. So I have no intention of giving up and going quietly. Now move.”
Asher gazed down at Brooke, feeling her trembling. Shards of hate slashed at him and he drew in a breath. “No.”
“So I shoot you and take someone else hostage?” He paused. “No, I shoot Brooke. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a painful way to die.”
Asher spun, keeping Brooke behind him. She gasped and stumbled. It was enough to knock him off balance and send him slamming into his former captain.
The man roared, lifted his weapon, and aimed it. At Brooke.
She ducked and Asher turned his back to the man, shielding her, expecting to feel the bullet burn a path through him.
Instead, the man pressed the muzzle against the back of his head. “Go.”
Asher gritted his teeth and moved, following the directions he was given.
“FBI! Stop!”
Caden. Hope revived itself and Asher tried to stop, but Newell jabbed him with the weapon. “Move! Into that room!”
“Show your hands! Drop your weapon!”
Newell didn’t bother to acknowledge the orders. Asher let Brooke go ahead of him into the room. Newell pulled something out of his pocket and held his thumb on . . . the kill switch.
A bomb.
“Can’t believe you risked your lives for a bunch of nothing kids. Kids who won’t amount to anything and are nothing but a burden to those who have to take care of them. Worthless brats. They were just collateral damage in a stupid war until I gave them worth! I gave their lives meaning! And you’ve ruined it all!”
Newell pressed.
The building rocked and shook, and Asher’s mind spun back for a brief moment to the explosion that had killed his unit members, his friends . . . his brothers.
Until Brooke’s scream derailed his flashback. She knelt on the floor, hands over her ears.
“There’s more where that came from!” Newell hollered. “Back off!”
Asher realized the man had always had an out—a plan—in case something like this happened. A plan that didn’t include dying in an explosion he set. No, he wanted to live to spend his blood money. The bomb had been on the far side of the building. It was a warning. A scare tactic.
Newell tossed the kill switch and his hand aimed back for his pocket. Another kill switch?
Asher lunged. Shoved him back into the hall. He gripped Newell’s hand and held on. The man roared, brought his weapon around.
The crack of a bullet echoed in the hallway and Newell’s face exploded into a red mist.
Time slowed. Asher flinched and threw himself back. He fell to the floor and landed with a hard thud. “Brooke!”
She lay beside him but rolled at his shout. Relief shuddered through him. She wasn’t hurt.
Her gaze went past him and her eyes stopped. Stared.
He turned to see Caden and his team rushing toward them, Caden’s weapon still held on the dead man.
Time sped up once more and Asher rolled to his feet. Brooke scrambled up too. “The doctor,” she gasped. “Geraldine Frasier.”
“We’ve got her,” Caden said. “She even gave up our mystery man too. Ever heard of Chester Howard?”
“Yeah,” Asher said. “His nickname was Buzz. Only knew him for about four months.”
“And he was one of my clients.”
Asher turned to her and she met his gaze.
“I had him discharged as medically unstable. He was sent home the day of the bombing,” she said.
“He and Phillip were in high school together,” Caden said. “Got into a lot of trouble but managed to graduate and be model citizens for a while. He requested to be transferred to Newell’s unit and finally got it.”
“Was he suicidal or was he just playing me?” she asked.
“He shot himself when officers stopped him about a mile from here.”
“Oh my . . .” Brooke drew in a deep breath. “Unbelievable.”
“Anyway, we think we’ve gotten everyone involved. It’s going to take some time to sort out, but it’s over. The kids are safe.” Caden shook Asher’s hand. “And now you might want to go clean up a bit. Slasher movie isn’t a good look for you.”
“Right.”
Brooke hurried back into the room. When she returned, she pressed a wet towel into his hand. He smelled alcohol. He rubbed his face until it was raw and the towel turned pink. She handed him another wet one, and he continued the process until he had himself as clean as he was going to get without a hot, steaming shower.
“We’ll find you some scrubs to change into,” she said.
Asher nodded. “It’s over.”
“Yes.”
“They can’t hurt anyone else.”
“They can’t.”
For the next little while, he and Brooke stayed, watching the agents work. Finally, he blew out a breath. “I’m ready to go home.”
“Home,” she said. “That sounds amazing.”