Endgame (Last Chance Series) (34 page)

"HERE'S TO MY GODDAUGHTER." Cullen Pulaski refilled Madison's glass with champagne, and she smiled up at him lovingly. He'd certainly made sure she had the very best. A private hospital room with a view of New York that rivaled the best apartments.

Harrison and Payton stood on one side of the bed, while her father and Cullen stood at the end. Gabriel sat on the opposite side, holding her as close as her cast would allow. The surgery on her arm had been a success, and with physical therapy and some TLC she'd soon be good as new.

"Here's to Last Chance, Inc." Madison held her glass high. "We might have been slow out of the gate, but you have to admit it was a hell of a finish."

"A bit too close for me," Gabriel said, pulling her closer, his breath teasing her hair.

Harrison raised his glass, echoing both sentiments. His gaze met Madison's, the relief there almost palpable. "I'm just glad you're here for the celebration."

"Me, too." Her whispered response brought a cluck of concern from her father. He'd flown back from Belgium as soon as he'd heard, and wouldn't have left her side for a minute if Gabriel hadn't insisted they be allowed at least a few minutes alone now and then.

"Well, it's all in the past now," Cullen said. "The summit is on,
the negotiations occurring even as we speak. If things continue going so well, I fully expect a signed agreement by the end of the week."

"So a winning situation all the way around." As usual there was a mocking edge to Payton's voice, but his smile was genuine.

"I still don't understand how Kingston was able to manage the variations in M.O.," Harrison said, reaching for the champagne to refill his glass.

"That one's actually pretty easy," Payton said. "Turns out Kingston did two tours in 'Nam. One as a sharpshooter, and the other in medevac. So his skills covered the gamut. And especially in the beginning, he had the element of surprise. The victims trusted him."

"Well, it's over now," Madison's father said, with a wave of his glass. "That's all that really matters."

"Yeah, time to get back to our real jobs," Harrison concurred. "I don't know about you guys, but I've got a pile of work waiting for me."

"Not us," Gabriel said, shooting her a wicked smile. "We're set for a little R & R. Right after I get her to the justice of the peace. I'm thinking Hawaii, or maybe a deserted island in the Pacific somewhere."

"As long as there aren't any cell phones," Madison agreed, laughing, her heart soaring at the thought of spending the rest of her life with Gabriel.

"I'm still miffed I won't be here for the wedding," Payton frowned playfully.

"It's not our fault you got called off to the wilds of South America," Gabriel said, his expression turning serious. South America was all Payton had been willing to divulge of his next assignment, and they really weren't even certain he was telling that much truth, but Madison knew she had to be content with not knowing. Payton would always have secrets, but he would also always have a place in her heart
.

"I don't know that any of you should be making those kinds of plans just yet."

Almost in unison the four of them frowned at Cullen, suspicion raising its ugly head.

Cullen took in their expressions, and answered with a benign smile. "It's not my fault you a
ll did such a bang-up job. And it isn't my fault that the president called this morning to say that there's been a bit of a problem at the border. Something to do with a Mexican cartel. DEA's been on it for years with no success."

"Don't
tell me," Gabriel said dryly, his gaze meeting Madison's. "It's a 'last chance' situation, and no one else is equipped to handle it like we are."

Cullen
's smile broadened, his eyes twinkling with the success of a battle won. "Exactly."

Turn the page for an exciting

look at Dee Davis's next Last Chance adventure

Enigma!

Waleska, Georgia

ONE MORE JILTED LOVER pissed off at being dumped. At least that's the way it seemed to be playing out. Unfortunately, the jilter knew his way around bombs, and the jiltee was a preschool teacher.

Which meant a hell of a problem. And to make matters worse, Frank Ingram, the rejected suitor, had swallowed a bullet less than an hour ago. A neighbor had found the body and the note. That was about the only break they'd caught so far.

The device, located in a second floor classroom of the First Baptist Preschool, was attached to a motion detector. Too much vibration and it was all over. Which of course meant there could be no evacuation. And very little access to the bomb.

The only reason the thing hadn't already detonated was the fact that the classroom where it had been placed wasn't currently being used. A small quantity of mold had been found beneath an air-conditioning unit, and until the sample could be tested, the children had been removed from the room.

Which left Samantha Waters with two scenarios. Either the bomber hadn't been aware of the mold, or he wasn't really interested in killing anyone. Considering the alleged lethal nature of the device, and the fact that the room was normally occupied by the woman he'd wanted dead, Sam was opting for the former. And thanking her lucky stars. If not for the mold, she'd be picking through the body parts of toddlers instead of trying to figure out how to evacuate them.

The thought sent a bolt of anger coursing through her. She'd seen the aftermath of a day care blown to hell. It still haunted her dreams. And she'd be damned before she'd let the same thing happen here.

There were three other classrooms in use on the second floor, one across from the room with the bomb and two down the hall. The staircase was at the opposite end of the building, which meant there was no way to use it.

Because of the mold, the intended victim and her class had been working in a different room today, a twist of fate that probably saved her life, since the Cherokee County Fire Department had successfully evacuated everyone on that level. So Maggie Carmichael and the three-year-olds of Waleska were safe for the moment. But that left the rest of the children. And Sam didn't like their odds.

Normally she wouldn't have been involved with a local situation, but she'd been returning from another case when she'd heard the radio dispatch. And quite frankly, she wasn't a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of girl.

"We've evacuated everyone we can, and deployed the robot." The county bomb tech slid to a halt beside Sam, the fine glisten of sweat across his forehead a reflection of the slight tremor in his voice. Not that Sam blamed the man. He couldn't be more than about twenty, the fine stubble of his beard indication that he probably hadn't been shaving all that long.

Most men volunteered for the bomb squad out of some sort of misguided testosterone-cowboy need to physically stand down the enemy. Unfortunately, the rush was the kind that induced incontinence, and more often than not, the bad guys won the day, the carnage in places like the World Trade Center and the Murrah building silent testimony to the fact.

"There's a problem, though," the kid was saying, and Sam forced her attention back to the scene at hand. "In order to get the robot up there, it'll have to climb the stairs, and what with the age of the building and all, there's a good chance the clatter will set that sucker off before Max has a chance to make it halfway."

Max
was a TR2000 robot. The ten-wheeled apparatus weighed less than forty-five pounds and was designed to operate in tight spaces. Unfortunately, it wasn't known for its athletic grace. She sighed, eyeing the school building. It was an unusually warm spring day and all the windows were open— including the ones leading into the room with the bomb.

She lowered her binoculars, a rush of adrenaline ratcheting up her heart rate. Maybe there was a chance. "I think I've got an idea." She smiled at the young tech, and moved past him toward the cluster of emergency personnel standing in the parking lot of the building.

"Captain McBane," she called, waving at the fire chief, the ranking officer at the scene and therefore technically in charge. He turned with a frown, his expression clearly stating what he thought of women on the job, especially tiny little women who, soaking wet, weighed less than the bomb.

She'd heard it all before, and didn't really give a damn, except that it sometimes made getting her way a bit more difficult. She forced a smile and approached the little group. "I think I know a way we can get at the bomb."

Two other firemen, both pushing fifty, turned to face her, shooting sideways glances at their captain, waiting to follow his lead.

"Well now," he drawled, stopping just short of adding
little lady
. "I'm open to hearing anything you've got."

He probably wasn't, but at the moment Sam didn't care. "What I want you to do is move the fire engine closer to the building."

"Sure thing, and then we can all stand back and enjoy the show. There'll be body parts spread over three counties," McBane said.

One of the firemen contained a snicker, and the other spat, refusing to look her in the eye.

She bit back her frustration. "The playground's covered with recycled rubber, it's meant to absorb a fall. In fact it'll absorb most anything. Even the movement of the truck. And it's practically under the damn window. If you approach it slowly from the south—" she pointed at the open field that flanked the playground "—the bomb won't detonate."

McBane's posture was still combative, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes.

"If we load Max onto the extension arm," she continued, pressing the advantage, "I think we can lift it close enough for me to maneuver the robot into position for an X-ray. Once we have that, I can use the disrupter to shoot out the motion detector and our bomb won't be able to spray anything anywhere."

Silence followed as the three men digested the information. She waited, knowing already they'd have to capitulate. If they didn't follow the advice of an ATF EEO and things went south, there'd be hell to pay. And if she fucked things up, then they had an out. It was a win/win situation, but that didn't mean it had to sit easy.

"I guess it's worth a try." McBane's words were accompanied by a sigh meant to insult, but Sam was already halfway across the parking lot, motioning for the young tech to follow.

"What's your name?" she asked the kid.

"Jason Briggs."

"Well, Jason, you've been drafted to help me. Got a bomb suit?"

He nodded, his eyes widening as the meaning of her words sank in. "We're going in there?"

She laughed and shook her head, stopping at the back of her open Chevy Suburban. Her suit was state of the art. A Med-Eng EOD 7-B, it weighed in at around sixty pounds— over half her body weight. "We're sending Max up there." She pointed at the fire truck, already moving into place. "But it never hurts to cover your ass, you know?"

Jason nodded, his expression solemn. "You been doing this long?"

A fair question, considering he was about to trust her with his life. She stepped into the pants, adjusting the grounder straps. "For most of my professional life. Started out in a department a lot like yours."

"How long you been with the ATF?" He reached down for the ballistic inserts, automatically tucking them into place for her.

"Couple of years." Her voice was muffled as he helped her with the helmet.

"You're EEO?"

She nodded, standing patiently while he tested her air lines. An Explosives Enforcement Officer was a coveted job. There weren't many and you had to earn the position. Sam had been selected young, but then she'd had more experience than most.

"Wow."

The word stood on its own, and with a thumbs-up, she headed over to the fire truck, indicating that Jason should follow as soon as he was suited up. The fire truck was in place now, Max precariously balanced on the extension arm of the vehicle.

She slid into place beside a similarly clad fireman and checked Max's operating panel. The signal was clear, the digital picture showing them the side of the school building. "Let's do it."

The fireman nodded, and headed for the cab of the truck, ready to hoist the arm. Jason arrived and with a last pat for Max, Sam signaled the lift. The arm rose slowly, inching over as it went upward, the robot finally swinging into place near the open window.

It took a moment for her to acclimate herself to the video,

but once she had her bearings she realized the camera lens was showing her the room's door, and across the way she could see the other classroom. And the children inside. They were huddled near the far wall, eyes wide, motion held to a minimum—as much as anyone could keep a four-year-old still.

Sam sent a silent curse down to Frank Ingram and lowered the camera to search the room. Fortunately, Frank was into hiding things in plain sight, and she found the bomb almost immediately. As improvised explosive devices went, this one was pretty straightforward—two pipes with end caps, covered in construction paper and duct-taped together. There was also a battery, various wires, a wristwatch and a blinking green light.

The motion detector.

"Whatcha got?" Jason had arrived, suitably decked out in his bomb suit.

"Pipe bomb." She gestured to the screen. "Question now is how sensitive the trigger is."

"Hell of a question." The fireman was back.

She ignored him in favor of the little screen, her mind running through alternatives, each of them carrying significant risk. There was no way to remove the device. And no way to evacuate the kids. Which left her with one shot.

Disrupt the bomb. Sever the motion detector and the device would be rendered safe. It was a gamble. But at the moment it was the only one she had. "I'm going to shoot it with the disrupter." She reached down for Max's controls, adjusting the PAN-disrupter, a machine capable of firing a variety of projectiles at variable speeds, the idea being to hit the bomb with enough speed and force to knock out the motion detector without triggering an explosion.

The primary question however was still how sensitive the sucker actually was.

A cry filtered through the open window and Sam shifted the camera, eyes back on the monitor. A small child dashed to the door of the room across the way, obviously intent on making an escape. Sam held her breath, eyes glued to the screen. The preschooler began to step into the hallway, but before he could make the move, his teacher appeared, snagging him by the shirt, and jerking him back into the classroom.

Sam counted to ten and then sucked in a breath. At least she had an answer. Reaching down for the controls, she adjusted the speed of the water cartridge.

"You sure as hell better know what you're doing." The fireman was standing too close, and Sam glowered up at him. The man shrugged and backed away, leaving her to the machinery. Slowly she began to raise the disrupter, trying to line it up with the bomb.

A grating noise, followed by a pop, sent her heart racing.

"Something's wrong with Max." Jason's whisper held a note of fear—a healthy emotion for someone in their line of work. "The arm's not extending."

Sam swallowed a curse, and made some adjustments on the controls.

Nothing.

"I'm going to have to do it manually." Sam stood up, meeting the eyes of the older fireman. His expression held no trace of mockery now. He simply nodded, accepting that it was their only alternative, then stepped forward to pull Sam's visor into place.

"I'll lower the basket." He started toward the truck, but Sam reached out to grab his shoulder, motioning for him to move slowly.

He nodded, and headed for the cab. In a matter of minutes, the extension arm was brought back to the bed of the truck, and Sam clambered aboard, freeing the disrupter from the robot. She heard the truck's arm shift into gear as she began her ascent, but her attention was focused solely on the window, the disrupter armed and ready.

Once she was in place, she visualized the shot, and then using the laser sight, centered on the motion detector's blinking light.

One, Mississippi... She sucked in a breath and steadied herself.

Two Mississippi... She positioned the laser.

Three Mississippi... She shot.

Seconds turned to hours as she waited for success or failure. And then she noticed the quiet. Absolute complete silence.

The bomb was disarmed, the motion detector halfway across the room.

Cheers erupted below and Sam felt her knees begin to shake, the pressure finding physical release at last. Leaning over the edge of the basket she gave a thumbs-up, and watched as the firemen headed into the building, first to evacuate the children and then to dispose of the remains of the bomb.

Her job was done.

She sank down and pushed back the visor, grateful when she felt the basket sway as it was retracted. In just a few minutes she was down and, with Jason's help, removing her suit.

"That was really something," he said, his face red with excitement. "
Really
something."

She smiled and searched for something meaningful to say, but was saved from the exercise by the ring of her cell. Reaching into the Suburban, she grabbed the phone and flipped it open.