Deadly Messengers (38 page)

THE VOICES WERE CLEAR. KENDALL had this mission to complete before everything could be perfect, the world made safe. Then she would see her mother again. She sensed the old man by her side, there to help; he, too, part of the plan.

The Burger Boys outlet was like most fast food outlets, situated on a busy main road. Cars whooshed past as she stood at the entrance, making the world feel as though it were flying by at an incredible pace, as though her life was set to fast forward
.

Something about this place caught and wouldn’t let go of her mind.

Death. Charlie
.
Something from long ago
.
Many deaths.
And Charlie … the name Charlie, important.

While the old man went inside, she would wait.

Wait at the entrance door …

Yes, she would.

A family hustled past her, pushing through the door, causing her to step back. A little boy, about four, looked up at her. “Hi, I’m getting a kid’s meal. I want the toy.”

Kendall stared at him. She would have answered, but no words arrived in her head except for the voice.

For the count of sixty.

The seconds counted down as though a timer ticked inside.

Twenty-eight …

A group of teenagers went by, ignoring her, talking animatedly as they pushed through the door. The smells of burgers and fries encircled her

Ten…

A couple entered. A group of office workers departed.

Three … two … one …

She felt her legs move beneath her, sluggish and restrained, her muscles and joints feeling rusty and worn. Kendall pushed against the resistance and felt energy flow into her limbs, which gave way to her command.

The woman with two children had stopped inside the doorway and now blocked her way. She turned to Kendall: “Sorry, kids, you know? I’ve told them to say
Excuse me,
but they always forget.”

Then, to the little blonde girl: “Ainslie, you can’t shove in front of people.”

Kendall looked beyond them, ignoring the mother.

The cooking oil and fried onion smell surrounded her, the aroma so strong she imagined tendrils winding through the air. The bustling sounds of the crowded interior battered her senses. Her olfactory and ocular pathways seemed rewired, boosted to super strength. Every input felt like razor-sharp claws slicing through her brain. Kendall winced at the pain.

She stood inside the entrance, trying to control the pain, filing it away, pushing at it to recede, so she could keep moving forward, carrying out the mission.

Tables and three lines stretching from the counter, each four to five deep segmented the room, crowded with lunchtime patrons. She’d never been here before—she didn’t like burgers—but, she
did
have a vivid memory of this exact same room. A picture flashed into her mind.

Bodies. Terror. Death.

Something
had
happened here. Whatever it was, however, she knew it didn’t matter. Good would visit here now, and Kendall would deliver that good. Heal what had come before. Save her mother. Save everyone.

Keep moving.

The voice, insistent, demanding.

Walk to the right. Near the window.

She turned to the large window with its view to the parking lot. Nobody noticed her. Nobody spoke to her as she gently moved between the waiting patrons. Snatches of conversation filtered into her consciousness.

Two middle-age men in long-sleeved white shirts and ties talking in line: “
He’s a lame-ass, and I cover for him. If not for my mortgage, I would—”

A t-shirted teenager carrying a skateboard spoke into his phone:
“There in a sec. Just grabbing some fries.”

A child on her mother’s hip demanded a soda, even though her mother kept repeating
no
.

Two denim-clad girls discussed a night out.
“and a hangover from hell.”

Saturated with life, conversation, and inconsequential moments, this place exuded normal. Normal, that would soon become extraordinary and the beginning of change.

Kendall knew she should care about these people, care that some of them would give their lives. But the voice, repeating in her mind, made too much sense. Its promise nullifying those thoughts, so they became small smudges in her consciousness.

Behind the counter, servers dodged back and forth taking orders, fulfilling them, and then quickly moving to another customer. Everyone so occupied, nobody recognized her for who she was. The messenger. The savior.

Now standing at the window, she was close to the kitchen. The smells of burgers, fries, and oil overwhelmed her senses. Her stomach rolled. Kendall willed the nausea to calm.

Straight and true,
she mouthed
.
Just the mere thought of those words gave relief as the soundtrack in her head played on.

Wait until you see the old man. You know him as Doug McKinley.

The gun was heavy in her jacket pocket. She itched to pull it out, complete this mission, be with her mother again.

Wait for Doug McKinley to stand at the counter.

Kendall searched for him, scanning the moving bodies and nodding heads of customers. She spied him, third from the front in the middle line. He stood casually, staring up at the large menu board. In his hand he held an iPhone turned toward her.

We need a record.

A woman passed near Doug McKinley from the line nearest Kendall, pushing a baby in a stroller while balancing a loaded tray. A toddler followed at her side. The old man politely stood back to allow them passage.

He didn’t acknowledge Kendall. Both had roles to play. Both understood what needed to be done.

A customer received his meal and backed away from the counter, excusing himself as he moved through the lines to search for a table.

Only two people now stood between Doug McKinley and the counter.

Warmth traveled through Kendall’s core, endorphins released at the thought of how close she was to completing her mission and seeing her mother. The next step, exhilarating, almost upon her.

As he places his order—

The instructions fell into her head like a roulette ball falling into a slot. She nodded her understanding, even though acknowledgement wasn’t required. It simply felt the right thing to do.

Kendall rubbed her hand across the back of her shoulders, squeezing the muscles with her thumb and fingers. In response, the throb eased slightly. She straightened her neck and squared her shoulders. Only minutes to go. A thought flittered into her mind and Kendall felt a flicker of a smile.

Now it begins.

O’GRADY DIDN’T CALL IN HIS suspicions. He didn’t call for backup. Even if he had, he had no intention of waiting for the backup. He’d ignored protocol for two good reasons. All he had was a hunch of a crime in progress at the Burger Boys restaurant. His main reason, though, was if he even intimated a potential siege was happening, the panic button would irrevocably be pressed. Within ten minutes, the place would swarm with squad cars and a S.W.A.T. team. In fact, they’d probably beat him there.

If Kendall Jennings were involved against her will, then the situation could easily spiral out of control, transforming into an even greater disaster. Already his partner was dead. He didn’t need the tally of people-he-knew-who-died-today to grow.

At the final intersection, he didn’t let a red light slow him, carefully weaving around a car crossing on green.

“Sorry, buddy.” He nodded an apology toward the other driver who signaled his disapproval.

The ticking clock in his head felt heartless. It watched and taunted with the sound of irrevocable fate working against him. He kept calculating the time.

Five or six minutes before he found Trip after the report of the gunshot.

Three minutes to enter the house.

Four minutes in the computer room.

Two minutes to get out past the incoming police and take off.

Maybe fourteen minutes start on him. At current speed and traffic lights he ignored, he’d probably gained a couple of minutes.

So ten minutes? Twelve minutes lead?

Was that enough time before they did whatever they were planning? If it hadn’t happened already.

He saw the Burger Boys’ sign just ahead. A hand holding a burger on high as though the meal were an Olympic medal. He swerved into the Burger Boys’ driveway, tires angrily complaining. He might need the seconds he would save from the action.

He swung in to the drive-thru lane, the same drive-thru where an enraged killer twenty-three years before had begun this chain of events, echoing down into this decade, into
his
life, and every other life destroyed in these past three weeks.

If Kendall and McKinley
were
inside, then he wasn’t going in via the front door. The staff’s side entrance was his best bet. He could scout for Kendall and it might give him time to attempt to defuse any situation he might find. Leaving his car in the driveway would also block any other civilians from entering and be caught in a dangerous situation.

He knew his ass would be kicked for everything he’d done today, or more correctly, hadn’t done, but he’d gladly take that risk. He trusted his instincts like he’d been trained to do. His instincts were now his partner. Uppermost in his mind: find Kendall Jennings and ensure her safety.

Ahead, two cars idled in the drive-thru. He parked at the entrance, jumped out and ran down the drive. As he passed each car, he paused to flash his badge through the drivers’ window and instructed them to drive on. He didn’t have time to explain anything else, other than they needed to leave for their own safety. They received the message loud and clear. Both cars immediately took off at a pace.

At the service window, a young girl with curly, blonde hair tucked under a dark-blue baseball cap sporting the intertwining Bs of the Burger Boys logo, greeted him.

He showed her his badge; her face instantly registered surprise.

“What?” Her customer service training kicked in. Shaking her head, like she’d made a foolish mistake, she corrected herself. “Can I … can I help you?”

“I need to get inside. I don’t want to come through the front door. Don’t be alarmed, but there could be a—.”

He paused, not wanting to panic her. How to make her understand the gravity of the situation? “We’ve received a report. You’ve been … that you’ve been targeted for a robbery. I’m here as a preventative measure.”

She squinted at him, then her eyes grew wide. Nothing else registered on her face for a second. Then both hands flew upward to cover her nose and mouth. Her next words came out muffled.

“Uh, maah God. A robbery! Here? No way. Guns? Do they have guns?”

O’Grady indicated with his hands to remain calm.

“Guns, no, well, I
hope
they don’t have guns. What’s your name?”

“Carmen.”

“Right, Carmen, what you need to do now is let me in. Okay? Can you go to the delivery door and unlock it?”

She nodded slowly; her stare never leaving his face as if she looked away the world would end.

The problem, though, she wasn’t
actually
moving. He needed her to move. Fourteen minutes kept ticking in his head like a broken clock hand, stuck. They had fourteen minutes lead. Standing here was costing him time, time that might count, time that might save lives.

“Carmen …”

“Yes?”

“Can you do it now? I need to get in quickly. And, Carmen…”

“Yes?”

“Be very quiet.”

She wrapped her arms about herself as though she were suddenly chilled. Still she didn’t move.

“Carmen?”

Suddenly her batteries kicked alive. Her arms dropped back to her sides. Then in a hurried, whispered voice: “Oh. Yes, yes, sorry. It’s around the other side. I’ll be there in ten seconds. Hey, should I tell the manager?”

“No, first let me in. Don’t tell anyone. If the robbers are already there, we don’t want to start a panic, do we? Stay calm. Go to the door. And Carmen …”

“Yes?”

“Act normal. You
can
do this, Carmen. I’m going around now. I
will
see you at the door. Okay?”

She nodded again, but didn’t move. She was good at nodding. Carmen was panicked. He needed to jolt her into action. He pulled out his gun and held it so she could see.

“Now, Carmen. Now!”

“Ah, yes. Okay!” Short, sharp shakes of her head punctuated each word.

Carmen spun on her heel, turned from the window, and disappeared. O’Grady bolted back past another three cars in the drive-thru that had since lined up behind his. The drivers gave him a look varying from curiosity to annoyance. For all they knew, he’d blocked their access to a meal. Until he flashed his badge and shouted, “Move along. It’s not safe.”

It took him twenty seconds to sprint around the building and find the side door. As he ran, he kept the gun close to his chest, concealed but ready. If McKinley or whoever he had drugged was anywhere in sight, he didn’t want him alerted someone was there to stop him.

O’Grady rounded the corner in time to catch sight of the door swing open. He raised his gun. Just in case. But it was Carmen who stepped outside. She stood at the entrance, holding the door open, her face whiter than the burger buns they served.