Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (27 page)

Ava backed around the corner and into the aisle behind her, her zombie-killing weapon ready to strike. Beside her in this aisle were the round ends of large rolls of industrial carpet, stacked on top of one another in tall wide slots. She stepped into one of the slots that held a single roll, turned around, and backed up on her knees. She lay her weapon the length of the carpet and scooted back as far as she could into the shadows and out of the reach of the bright overhead lights of the store. He would have to stop and peer directly into the long dark slot to see her.

If he did, she was an easy shot.
A fish in a barrel.

Her breathing echoed in the tight slot and the heavy grip of claustrophobia squeezed her lungs.
PleaseGodpleaseGodpleaseGod.

She no longer heard his footsteps, the enclosed place removing her ability to hear quiet sounds, and she abruptly doubted the wisdom of her hiding place.

Female shrieks came from the direction of the bathroom. Ava held her breath. From his cursing and the woman’s pleading, Ava gathered he’d found her hiding in the restroom and dragged her out.

“Hey, Ava! Federal agent lady! I’ve got someone who wants to meet you!”

He knows my name?
She couldn’t move.
How
 
. . .
 
?

More importantly, the shooter now had a hostage. Ava leaned her head against the hard wood of the carpet slot and closed her eyes, the woman’s cries echoing in her head.

It was no longer about her.

The bathroom entrances were directly across the back aisle from the next aisle over. She opened her eyes and inched forward in her hiding space, picturing the area in front of the bathrooms. Would he bring his hostage down that aisle or the next one? Would the contact teams spot him first? The situation had suddenly changed with the addition of a hostage. Ava figured Shaver had given orders for the teams to take down the shooter; he was a proven killer. But with a hostage, they would hold back.

A standoff.

Could she get the woman away? Could she get behind him if he was occupied with a hostage? She scooted forward more, picturing the shooter wrestling with his hostage. He’d be intent on the woman, distracted, with at least one hand holding her, lowering his aiming capability.

Was it worth it?

The woman pleaded with the shooter to let her go. Relying on the distance of that female voice, Ava stepped out of her hiding spot and planted her feet, listening carefully. They were over one aisle.

“Aaaaay-vaaaah!” He drew her name out as if singing it. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he taunted. “I’m going to blow her brains out if you don’t come say hi.”

Run. Get out now.

Her feet wouldn’t move. She couldn’t leave the woman behind with the killer.

She took a deep breath and tightened her hold on the zombie weapon.

40

Travis had found the employee in one of the stalls of the women’s bathroom. It was amazing how compliant she became with a gun pointed at her head. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with long blond hair that gently curled at the bottom. On a regular day she would have caught his eye. Today she was a means to an end. He let her shriek and protest, knowing it would catch the federal agent’s attention. The employee didn’t matter. He wanted the woman who thought she was smart enough to bring him down.

Women had a role. Just as this blonde currently did. He held her against him like a shield, grinding his barrel into her head occasionally to make her shriek on cue. He guided her to the right, peering down the long aisle toward the front of the store. The paint department in the middle of the store blocked him from seeing to the front.

Where was the agent?

He ignored the police out front. They could squawk and send in as many teams as they wanted. As long as he had a blond human shield, he was safe. He bent his head to her hair, smelling her fear over her floral perfume. Fear had a distinct acrid, bitter scent and it was rolling off her in waves. He inhaled it, feeling his chest swell with excitement and the rush of being in control.

He dragged her over one more aisle and glanced down. Four police in helmets and riot gear halted at the far end as they spotted him, all their weapons pointed his way.

“Don’t shoot!” the blonde screamed. “Don’t shoot!”

Travis smiled at the cops, knowing they had no shot. He dragged the woman back the way he’d come and paused behind the endcap. His time was getting shorter. This couldn’t end until the female agent was dead.

“God damn it!” Shaver swore.

“What is it?” Mason asked.

“The contact team says he has a female hostage.”

Mason’s heart stopped.

“Blond woman, orange apron. Must be an employee.” Shaver gestured at one of the patrol officers. “Find that guy who works here. I want to know who he’s holding hostage.”

Dizziness swamped Mason as his blood started pumping again. “No sign of Ava?”

“Not yet. But now we’ve got a different situation. Where’s the team’s hostage negotiator?” he shouted at more of his men.

“Aw, fuck,” muttered Mason, turning away. A hostage situation. New rules to play by. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his son, Jake, was back East, working for the summer while he waited for college to start back up. Last Christmas Jake had been held hostage, and it hadn’t ended well for the hostage-taker.

“We know where the shooter is,” stated Shaver. “I’m creating a perimeter inside the building and want him to know the amount of force we have focused on him.”

“Announce it with the bullhorn,” suggested Zander. “That will let Ava know what’s going on, too.”

The balding employee who’d escaped appeared, stress lines crossing his forehead. “Sounds like he’s holding Lizzy Marks. Sweet kid. Young,” he said to Shaver, shoving his hands in his apron pockets. “That leaves Clyde Simpson inside somewhere.”

And Ava.

It felt as if a truck’s winch had been steadily pulling Mason’s tendons tighter and tighter. Every limb was tense, and he swore his skin would pop if someone physically or emotionally poked him. He noticed the local patrol cops were giving him a wide berth, and both Zander and Ray had been watching him from the corners of their eyes, ready to calm him down if he blew up.

“I’m fine,” he said to no one, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat, but he saw Ray and Zander exchange a look.

Shouts came from the front of the store as two of the officers in riot gear escorted out an employee. “That must be Clyde,” said Zander.

Sergeant Shaver strode over to the gray-haired man. Mason followed, but didn’t hear Shaver’s question to the employee. The employee shook his head, holding up his hands. “I didn’t see no one. I heard the shots and breaking glass and hid over in the lumber area. These guys spotted me as I was crawling past the check stands. The screaming is coming from back by the bathrooms.” He rubbed a hand over his face, looking nauseated. “Sounded like Lizzy.”

“I want more teams in there,” ordered Shaver, turning to his men. “Right now he’s got a hostage near the back of the store.” His gaze fell on Mason. “Maybe Ava can get herself out like this guy did.”

“I want to go in.”

“Hell no.”

Ava knew it was time for action. He would kill that hostage without thinking twice. He’d already murdered over a dozen people; one more didn’t matter to him. But for some reason
she
seemed to matter to him.

She could hear the girl begging and the shuffling of their feet. It sounded as if they were at the end of the next aisle over.

Run. Just leave. He’s too busy to notice you.

She couldn’t leave the girl behind.

“Aaaaaay-vaaaaaah,” he called again.

She tiptoed toward the back of the store and peeked around the end of her aisle, expecting to see him huddled near the end of the next aisle over.

He wasn’t there. She glanced behind her and to her left. All clear. She tentatively stepped into the aisle that ran along the back of the store, wondering where he’d suddenly hidden. She was just passing the bathrooms when she heard his hostage start to scream again—very close—and she darted into the bathroom alcove. He swore at the girl, calling her filthy names as they came closer. After a few moments, his voice volume stayed constant, and Ava realized he’d stopped at the end of the aisle closest to the bathrooms—directly across from her hiding place. Ava pressed her body against the wall, knowing that if he stood in the right place in the aisle, he’d have a clear view of her. She couldn’t dash into the restrooms—the doors were in his clear sights.

She’d trapped herself.

She tried to think. One positive was that he’d already checked the bathrooms, and so he shouldn’t do it again.

Shouldn’t.

“Put down your weapon and come out. We are sending more police into the store. There is no exit unless you put down your weapon.”
The bullhorn was louder, sounding as if it was inside the store.

Shaver’s good ol’ boy voice made Ava’s spine relax a degree, and she hoped it did the same for the shooter.

“Fuck you! I’ve got a hostage, and I’m going to blow her head off unless I can talk to Ava McLane!”

Tension shot up her back.
Why me?

“Release your hostage and put down your weapon. No harm’s been done to the hostage. Let’s keep it that way.”

Ava bit her lip, wondering when Shaver would hand off the bullhorn to a trained negotiator. Surely one was here by now.

“I don’t want to see your teams again! If I see another cop, I’m shooting her in the leg!” the gunman yelled.

“I’ll keep them on the perimeter for now, but any sign that you’re hurting your hostage and I’ll move them closer, agreed?”

“Fuck you! Where’s McLane?”

A small part of her brain noticed he never used her title. He knew what she did—he’d called her “federal agent lady” earlier. She was the last person to insist on her title, but she always used it with witnesses, convicts, and arrestees. It was a marker of respect. One this guy seemed determined not to use. She tucked that bit of information away, wondering what it meant about his mind-set.

“Special Agent McLane is not available.”

“Ha! Fucking cop bitch.
Hiding in a hole somewhere!
” He lowered his tone, speaking to his hostage. “See? We’ll get her to come out. This whole situation is her fault.”

What?

“She thinks she can do a man’s job. Women weren’t meant to carry weapons and lord them over men. There’s a natural order.”

Ava tipped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. Zander and Mason had been right. He’d targeted those women in law enforcement and then hidden their executions within the mass shootings. The shootings hadn’t been random; he’d had a target. And then managed to add a final victim to each shooting to take the blame.

A risky game.

Which she had figured out.

And now she was his target.

Her hands went numb. She couldn’t feel the wooden handle, and cold sweat formed on her stomach. Her rational brain checked off what she knew about the killer twenty feet away. Loaded gun. Hostage. Driven. Suicidal?

That he’d created elaborate hoaxes so victims would take blame for his crimes indicated this man didn’t plan on dying. But now he was surrounded by a police presence with no way out. A man who wanted to live would surrender.

Possibly suicidal. A person with nothing to live for but a goal of making one last splash.

A new voice sounded on the bullhorn.
“This is Graham Stevens with the Washington County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like to help you get out of here safely. Since you haven’t harmed your hostage, you can walk out of here with minimal charges.”

Ava nodded. She knew the game. Remind the hostage taker that things can always be worse and that cooperating makes it better. Make him think he has control over what happens next.

“Christ. Do they think I’m stupid?” she heard him mutter. “Minimal charges? I’ve probably killed almost half your age in victims, honey.”

The hostage gasped. “Don’t hurt me,” she begged in hoarse tones.

“Not up to me,” he said conversationally. “It depends on what happens next.”

Inside the store Mason stood next to the man who’d taken over communications with the shooter. Shaver swore Graham Stevens was a top hostage negotiator, but Mason didn’t care. He wanted Ava out of the store. Radio communications with the sixteen officers currently tightening the perimeter inside the store had reported no sign of her. That was good. Maybe she wasn’t even in the store?

Of course she is. She’d be standing beside you if she weren’t trapped somewhere.

“We’ve got video of her running down one of the aisles, before she takes a turn toward the rear of the store,” Ray stated, appearing beside him. “Clyde let us into the store’s security room, and we checked every camera angle. Neither Ava nor the shooter is in a current shot, but we backed up the main entry camera and it showed her heading toward the garden supply side of the store. Somehow she eludes all the cameras after that.”

“You can’t find either of their present positions?” Mason asked.

“We can tell he’s in front of the restrooms. We saw him haul Lizzy out of the women’s restroom, but he’s holding her out of camera view. The contact team placed him in aisle nineteen, but said he backed out of there when he saw them. He hasn’t moved out of the immediate area.”

“Ava must be in the same area, otherwise she would have risked coming out.”

“Why does he keep asking for her?” asked Ray. “And how the fuck does he know her by name?”

“I’d like to find that out myself. Other than when he stopped to offer help to her at the Rivertown Mall shooting, I’m not aware of any other contact.”

“Shit. Think he’s purposefully interacted with her, and she didn’t realize it was him?”

Acid flowed in Mason’s gut. “I hope not.”

“At least he didn’t shoot at her until tonight.”

Sometimes Ray had a way of offering comfort that completely backfired. “We just need to get her out.”