Offshored: Kinlaw Thriller, #1

Prologue

January 7, 1943

New York City

Lieutenant Jennings tensed with trepidation at the thought of slaying a legend—or a crackpot, depending on whom he asked. Attacking this old man under the blanket of night was nothing like the high-octane adrenaline rush of raiding Tokyo after Pearl Harbor, but it was too late for any regrets. For the sake of national security, he had to complete his mission, even if it meant killing a defenseless old man.

Jennings scrambled onto the roof of the empty subway station car stopped at Penn Station. He stood on the railcar’s rooftop and reached for the subway’s second floor ledge that led to the New Yorker Hotel’s elevator machine room. The car lurched underneath him. Inhaling grinding metal, he sprang off the subway car’s roof to the hotel’s second floor and clung to the ledge while the train rolled toward the tunnel.

After pulling himself up, Jennings launched himself into the machine room. He took the hotel’s service elevator to the first floor and then hurried to the stairwell. Thirty-two flights later, his chest heaved in large gulps of air as he entered the empty hallway. Certain no one had heard or seen him he slunk over to room 3327 and knocked.

When the door opened, a skeletal man held the knob with a clean handkerchief. File cabinets and shelves filled with ledgers and books were stacked against the wall closest to Jennings. Two suitcases sat next to the safe. It was a good sign Nikola Tesla’s research was still on American soil, though Jennings’s job would be easier if Tesla were already dead. He didn’t want to kill him. It didn’t feel right. Tesla hadn’t broken any laws.

After running up the stairs, Jennings’s mouth felt dry. Mr. Tesla, I know it’s late.

Come in. I’m glad you came. My nephew Sava will be here tomorrow.

Seeing Tesla in person didn’t make the lies come any easier. I apologize on behalf of the US War Department. Colonel Erskine didn’t realize who you were when you called two days ago. We’re interested in your weapon. If the wild stories were true, it could end the war or, in the wrong hands, prolong it. Preventing Tesla’s invention from leaving the country was why Jennings had been asked to return from active duty.

If you would have only come sooner, but I must go now with Sava to Yugoslavia. He’ll take care of me there. Tesla gestured to a small table and chairs. Please sit. Would you like some water? I’ve been so parched as of late.

Jennings licked his lips. No thanks, he said almost too quickly before sitting and wringing his hands. He shouldn’t be nervous, but he was. He knew what Tesla was really drinking.

Tesla returned, carrying a chart and a glass of water. After he took his seat, he guzzled it down.

Staring at the eighty-six-year-old man and the empty glass, Jennings shifted uneasily in his chair. How do you know your teleforce weapon works?

I tested my invention on June 30, 1908 at my Wardenclyffe laboratory. It caused the Tunguska explosion.

Jennings hid his disbelief at Tesla’s reference to the half-million acres destroyed in Siberia. No one believed the mad genius’s claims, yet scientists could only speculate what had caused the destruction, and no hard evidence had been found. There was a shadow of doubt in their minds because they could be wrong.

The old man rubbed his forehead three times with his handkerchief and then folded it the same number of times. I’m sorry, but I haven’t been feeling well.

Jennings had been briefed about Tesla’s obsession with the number three. Even his room number was divisible by three. Tesla was an odd bird.

Please tell me about your experiment, Jennings said. He needed to get as much intel as possible before killing him, but in reality, he was delaying the inevitable.

I was trying to contact my friend Robert Peary who was attempting the North Pole for the second time, and thankfully, the beam overshot him. Tesla laid out the chart that showed a trajectory starting in New York City that arced over the North Pole and ended in Siberia.

Tesla’s head wobbled like he’d been drinking hard liquor all night. Forgive me, but I must lie down. When he stood, his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor.

Though Jennings would have gladly served his country, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief because he would not have to carry out his orders. He knelt beside Tesla to check for a pulse, but there was none.

To complete the rest of his mission, Jennings crawled under the sink. He yanked out the false wall behind the plumbing trap. Using his Swiss Army knife, he removed the five-gallon tank. Though it was almost empty, he drained the remaining heavy water into the sink after reconnecting the waterline to the faucet. The deuterium oxide, more commonly known as heavy water, had done its job.

Jennings stepped over the body and hurried to the safe. Rotating the dial, he listened to the tumblers. Three heavy clicks and the safe opened. Jennings perused Tesla’s research. He snagged the teleforce weapon schematics and set them aside. The army couldn’t risk Sava taking them. Skimming through the rest, he stopped at on odd layout titled Electromechanical Oscillator. He grabbed it and stashed it with the other papers.

Jennings cleaned his prints with a towel and then left with the empty tank and the documents, closing the door on the man ahead of time.

Chapter 1

Present Day

North Carolina

Flecks of wet snow settled on the remains of the charred house where Special Agent Savannah Kinlaw had grown up. She pushed down the bombardment of emotions along with twenty-seven years’ worth of memories and dug through the rubble. She could process the scene but not her feelings. It was part of her disease.

Spotlights lit up the crime scene like Dulles Airport. The once-proud colonial was almost leveled to its foundation, gutted by fire. Cinders smoldered, and the acrid odor hung in the air like a dying forest fire, assaulting her nose. She fought off the tension knotting her muscles from sensory overload. She would get through this. She’d gotten through much worse.

A nondescript blue sedan pulled up to the curb, and one ATF and two FBI agents got out.

Damn. Her jaw tightened in the conditioned response to the venomous agent stepping from the car. At the FBI Academy, he had lit into her after she laid him out during self-defense. The federal training required physical contact and had taken all her willpower to do so. Touching unsettled her. As a child, it often sent her into a fit of uncontrollable rage.

Savannah had hoped to be gone by the time the cavalry arrived. She liked to work alone in silence. She stood from her crouched position. Her childhood friend Sheriff Billy, one of her few friends, would now have to supervise her while she sifted through the debris. She wanted to catch the bastards who did this to her mom and dad.

Cowards.

Billy strode toward the agents, extending his hand. Thanks for coming.

Ignoring Billy’s proffered hand, Agent Cyanide shed his reflective Oakleys. Day or night, this toxic man wore them.

It’s a hate crime, he surmised, glancing at the racial epithets sprayed on the detached garage. They seemed too convenient to Savannah.

We haven’t established that yet, Billy said, and I don’t like to jump to conclusions.

Billy always spoke his mind, and she liked his directness. It was easier for her to handle.

Agent Cyanide snorted. Kinlaw. He glanced quickly at her, a snarl twisting his lips to acknowledge his distaste for her.

Smirking, he spoke in a low voice to the other agents. I bet she’s never had sex.

She had had sex. Was his comment a joke at her expense? Her disability made her an easy target. Perhaps it wasn’t funny because the other two didn’t laugh.

What would her sister Jill do? Roll her eyes and brush off the aimed comment, so Savannah did that.

She turned toward the ATF agent. Do you have a portable hydrocarbon detector? It’s starting to rain, and we need to find the source before the crime scene turns to soup.

The ATF agent nodded, went to his car, and pulled one from the sedan.

Agent Cyanide stabbed his sunglasses at her. Aren’t you supposed to be elsewhere, Agent Kinlaw?

I’m working my way to DC. Savannah hoped the fed would forget her. When she had heard about the fire, she rerouted her original flight to DC through North Carolina. She was supposed to work on some national security assignment at TILAC Corporation. She was a chemical engineer and belonged in the lab away from people.

This is a conflict of interest, Kinlaw, the toxic agent said.

Not if I’m watching over her shoulder, Billy interjected, and she’s the best help I could ask for.

Behind the ATF agent, Savannah spotted round edges amongst the cooked splinters of wood.

Billy. She pointed at the punctured aerosol canister. Easily distinguishing between dissimilar objects was a residual effect from the disease.

In about ten percent of ASD cases—the acronym sounded better than autistic spectrum disorder—the disability provided savant capabilities. Hers was visual-spatial acuity—hardly a compensation for social awkwardness. Her autism was diagnosed as mild because her older, half-sister Jill had relayed Savannah’s odd behavior at an early age to their mom. Otherwise, Savannah would probably be in a home.

Using a gloved hand, Billy picked it up and bagged the evidence. Thanks, Savvy.

Peering out of prescription glasses, the other federal agent she’d met briefly at the FBI Academy cracked a smile at her. Unlike most of the male agents, he didn’t shy away from her deadpan personality. Most kids at school had avoided her, and they often called her autard.

Where should we start? the fed asked.

We haven’t searched the back of the house yet, Billy said.

The ATF agent followed the agent she liked to the opposite end of the house while the toxic agent flipped open his cell phone. From the pointed rent bartering, she surmised he was chatting to his landlord mom. He was a little old to live with Mommy.

A minivan pulled behind the sedan and then Jill got out.

Snapping his cell shut, the fed let his gaze roam over Jill’s lithe body. Miss, stay right there.

Keeping herself in check, Savannah walked over to her. It’s okay. Jill’s my sister. She knows to stay outside the tape. Savannah lifted it and ducked under.

The agent looked skeptically at Savannah and then Jill. Jill had inherited blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes from two white parents, while Savannah had toffee-colored skin that indicated mongrel. Only the devil knew what gene pool her unearthly phosphorescent-green eyes had surfaced from.

Donning his shades, the fed peeled his gaze away from Jill. Don’t let her go any farther, Kinlaw.

You could get hurt wearing sunglasses at night or step on evidence. Savannah wanted to add imbecile but bit her tongue.

Glowering at Savannah, he kept his sunglasses on. He gave Jill another once-over before striding toward the other two men actually working. He tripped, almost falling onto the jagged floorboards jutting out from the rubble.

Twit, Savannah mumbled.

Jill choked down a laugh before waving at Billy who was kneeling down to ferret through the ruins. She nodded in the direction of the other three men. Why are they here?

We suspect arson and a possible hate crime, and Billy doesn’t have the investigative equipment, Savannah said.

Jill read the graffiti on the garage left standing. ‘Boy, go home.’

It’s lame, Savannah said. She could’ve come up with better racial slurs.

Who would do such a thing?

The same people who burned a cross in our yard. The laundry list had grown quite long over the years.

That was a long time ago. Jill scanned the destruction. Why now?

Savannah shrugged, Jill’s question niggling at her. The community of Burnt Creek, North Carolina had resented her half-black, half-Cuban father marrying the prettiest white woman in town.

Tears cresting her eyes, Jill threw her hands up in the air. Jamal murdered, Dad losing his job, and now this.

Their younger brother had died several years ago, and his murder festered in their hearts and remained unsolved. It was doubtful the cold case would ever be solved.

Savannah’s parents didn’t deserve losing their home or the last year they’d struggled through. It was just one more straw. Thanks for taking Mom and Dad in. Savannah dug through her fanny pack and retrieved $500. That’s all the ATM would give me.

Jill cupped Savannah’s elbow. You really shouldn’t.

How are they doing? Savannah knew she should feel shame for not seeing them, but she only felt some muddled empathy, and she needed to catch her flight in another hour and a half. She was already late for her first assignment as an FBI agent, and mind-consuming work usually won over relationships.

The hospital’s running tests on Dad’s heart.

Savannah’s shoulders drooped. A few tests could run in the thousands, and their COBRA insurance had run out. I should be there for him. She understood what she was supposed to do. Her emotions didn’t seem to catch up to her.

Dad understands. Can I hug you? Jill asked.

Savannah nodded. Touching worked better when she was mentally prepared for it. When Jill hugged her tightly, Savannah stiffened at the initial contact and then loosened.

I just came by to say hi. Have a safe flight, Jill said before heading to her van.

Above Savannah, the sycamore branches crackled in the breeze. Its spiny fingers no longer scratched her second-story bedroom window—the same one she’d hit a home run through. She studied the tree and noticed much lighter coloring in the bark.

She fingered freshly cut grooves on the mottled bark. Pulling out a penlight, she scanned the hollowed-out trunk where she’d hidden many times as a child to get away from the noise and people.

Billy? she called over her shoulder.

He walked over, looked inside the trunk, and yanked out wires and a mini-cam pointed at the house.

Why would someone spy on my parents? she asked. This was feeling less and less like a hate crime.

The fed she liked strode toward them. May I? he asked, studying the recorder.

Billy handed it to him, and the fed examined it.

This puts a whole new spin on this investigation, the agent said. Any ideas, Kinlaw?

No. As soon as my dad’s released from the hospital, I’ll talk to him. She glanced at her watch. I have to get going.

The agent handed the evidence back to Billy. Good luck on your first assignment, Kinlaw.

Thanks, she said. She needed it.

Her cell phone chirped Beethoven’s Fur Elise. She saw the caller ID and panicked. With all the commotion in the past few hours, she’d forgotten to call her SAIC Cole Bainbridge, whom she would work for in DC.

I’ve been waiting on you at the airport for over an hour, Cole said. Where the hell are you?

Chapter 2

TILAC Corporation, Alexandria Virginia

Cold steel pressed against Luke Vittori’s mouth. Tasting metal, he stared down the barrel of the handgun. His breakfast burned in his throat. It had been a long time since he had a psychotic episode, and he couldn’t afford to have one right now.

The stench of the meaty gunman’s sweat reminded him of rancid meat and finding his father dead. Luke wasn’t sure if he felt shock or pain from the memories. They seemed to blur together.

Closing his eyes, Luke relaxed the spasms in his chest. Like his idol Nikola Tesla, Luke drew in three lucky breaths and tried his damnedest to remember the gunman’s name, but it wasn’t coming. Had he laid this guy off? There’d been so many.

The man tightened his grip on the gun and grabbed Luke’s collar. Where’s Capellas?

Luke snapped his head away from the alcohol reeking from the man’s breath. Thailand. The CEO had left them with cleaning up the shit storm he’d created.

The guy’s eyes narrowed. He can’t be. He released Luke and opened his trench coat.

An eight or nine-year-old boy suddenly appeared from behind the sequoia of a man. The kid shook and backed away. He was walnut-colored, but the gunman was white, catching Luke off-guard.

What is the kid doing…? Luke swallowed hard. Inside the man’s coat was a rifle strapped to one shoulder and a bandolier slung over the other. The guy looked like a homeless version of GI Joe. Plastic mounds bulged from his vest and were connected to wires leading to what Luke suspected was a detonating mechanism on his belt. Staring at the bomb, Luke tried desperately to catch his breath, and sweat soaked through his undershirt, staining his dress shirt.

The man spun Luke around by the arm and jabbed the gun into his shoulder. Move.

As they shuttled down the long hallway of appointed offices at TILAC Corporation, Luke prayed he’d walk away from this. He didn’t want to join his dad. He’d never wanted that for himself or his dad.

Why are you pointing a gun at me? Luke was too afraid to ask who the kid was and why he was here.

Don’t you remember? You handed me my notice. Hatred sparked the man’s words.

Luke only knew the supervisors working under him. It wasn’t my idea to offshore. Capellas pitched it to the board. I offered plenty of alternative solutions to reduce costs.

Too bad Capellas isn’t here. You’ll have to take his place.

Damn Capellas. This was his mess.

The gun prodded Luke forward and down Mahogany Row.

The man pointed at an office. Get him out.

Luke knocked on the door where the nameplate read Senior VP Wes Timberlake. He’d known him for over ten years and had recently gone to his wife’s birthday party.

Come in, Wes called.

Luke pushed the door open. Wes, I need you out here.

Wes covered the mouthpiece of his phone. In a minute.

Holding the gun at Luke’s temple, the man shoved him into the office. Get off your ass, Timberlake. Now.

Wes’s face turned white. His belly barely fit behind his oversized desk. I’ll call you later. He hung up the phone and stood, raising his hands. Now hold on, Wayne.

That was his name, Wayne Thompson. He was from software engineering and had worked on the geospatial database for the Department of Defense. Luke should’ve remembered him, but seeing Wayne’s arsenal had frazzled his brain.

No need to panic, Wes said, opening his desk drawer.

Wayne aimed the gun at Wes. What the hell are you doing?

Luke waved his hands in the air. It’s okay. It’s just his heart medicine.

Wes held up a prescription bottle, perspiration beading on his balding head. He patted it dry with a handkerchief.

Wayne slammed the gun into Luke’s skull. Shut up.

The impact rang in Luke’s ear and buckled his knees. He shook the dizziness away. He had to keep his wits. He didn’t want to die here.

With tears pooling in his eyes, the little boy gripped Wayne’s trench coat tighter as Wayne gestured them out of the office and into the hall. Get the rest.

With the kid clinging to his side, Wayne stepped into the CEO’s suite and grabbed the secretary by the arm. Kim shrieked. Normally, she would travel with the CEO, but he didn’t need her when he traveled to Thailand where there were plenty of willing young Thai girls.

What do you want? Wes asked.

Wayne hesitated. I want all the salaried who are left.

Where will we fit? Wes asked.

Wayne glared at him. There aren’t that many. Luke laid almost everyone off. He pressed the muzzle against Luke’s cheek and forced them into the hall.

Luke shook so hard his body ached. He peeked into Gary’s office at the end of the hall. The technical lead wasn’t in there. Lucky him. He wouldn’t die today.

In the finance area, two rows of identical cubicles faced them. The glass wall separated the area from the plant floor. At the end of the first row was the only other exit, which led out to manufacturing and to freedom.

Vittori, get everyone out and order them here.

Luke jumped at the bark of his name.

Wayne holstered the handgun and swung out the rifle. He pointed above the cubicles then at Wes. One false move and I’ll blow Wes’s head off. Wayne shook the gun at Luke. And then you’ll be next.

The boy sniffled, trembling and sticking like glue to Wayne. Luke couldn’t understand why Wayne involved the kid.

Wes clutched his chest and nodded to Luke. Hurry.

Wayne clenched his teeth. I give the orders here. Vittori, get them now. With the butt of his rifle, he shoved Wes into the open waiting area to keep an eye on them.

Luke jogged to the first cube. He circled the cubicles, assembling accountants, secretaries, and floor managers. Stopping at the last cube, he glanced at Wayne over the wall and at the exit in the corner of the room. He eyed the phone and then Wayne.

After dialing 911, Luke spoke into the speaker. He pretended to rush someone out of the empty office. You need to hurry. This guy has a bomb. In a low voice, he added, The VP needs medical attention.

Wayne aimed his rifle. Get him out.

Luke left the phone off the hook. We’re coming. He glanced at the exit just beyond the last cube. Should he make a run for it?

Wayne turned toward the people gathering in the waiting area. Luke saw his chance and dashed toward the exit. Gunshots ripped through the ceiling tiles. They exploded like popcorn, scattering to the floor and into Luke’s hair. Luke froze.

The little boy held his hands over his ears. No, Daddy!

Luke glanced at the boy. That was his kid?

Get back here, Wayne yelled. He backhanded the boy. Quit your sniveling.

An angry red welt blossomed on the boy’s cheek. He cowered and clamped onto Wayne’s trench coat.

Son of a bitch. Leave the boy alone, Luke shouted.

Wayne marched toward him and slammed the rifle butt into Luke’s chest, hurtling him onto the ground. Inhaling painful breaths, he slowly stood up and peered out through the glass separating finance from manufacturing.

The remaining technicians had scattered on the plant floor. A few stared through the glass, unable to move. A man hurrying toward the rear exit bulldozed over another man and sent him tumbling over a stool. Though they acted like crazed animals, Luke wished he was with them instead of stuck with the gunman.

Vittori, Wayne yelled.

Luke hustled back to the open area in front of Wayne. When Wayne reached the others, he pressed the rifle against Wes’s temple. Wes clawed at his chest, and sweat poured down his forehead.

Leave him alone, Luke yelled.

Wayne stomped over to Luke. You did nothing about the email I sent to you.

I forwarded it to your program manager and Capellas. Luke closed his eyes. He wished he hadn’t deleted the email from his system now. He’d screwed up, and it could cost him his life.

Wayne jammed the rifle into Luke’s chest. You die first.

Chapter 3

Alexandria Virginia

Savannah spotted Cole waiting at the bottom of the plane’s boarding stairs, standing as rigid as a statue with his hands clasped in front of him—his dishwater blond hair glinting in the morning sun.

He was pissed. She could see it in his clenched jaw. Her sister had taught her all the emotional cues, though Savannah sometimes confused them.

Cole intentionally exhibited the indifference she tried to hide. Jill had told her it was a defense mechanism for some.

She hesitantly descended, wondering what she had done wrong this time. Didn’t he think she could handle renting a car? I told you I’d get a car. Her voice was flat, which she didn’t mean to do.

Cole’s subzero-steel-blue eyes were hidden behind dark shades—typical culturally engrained feebie. We have a chopper waiting.

She should’ve stayed working with the cops. They laughed at feebie uptight, overbearing personalities, and she didn’t have to divulge her medical history to them since she was a consultant.

The chopper had caught her attention. Where’re we going? Pulling cash out of the feds’ funding was like—she wasn’t going there. Relax, she told herself. It was probably nothing. They wouldn’t hire a chopper to pink-slip her.

I’ll brief you en route, he said, his voice cold. It was as if he’d plugged himself into an ASD body like hers and turned off all the lights.

Do I have time to get my luggage?

No. There was hard grit in his tone. We’re already late.

Cole took off at a fast clip, and Savannah ran to catch up to him.

His head whipped around toward her. Next time, call me. His voice cracked. I thought something happened to you.

She grinned inwardly. Do you care? Unlike cops, most of the feds were a dead-serious lot, especially Cole, and she relished this slight indication of his humanity. She had worked hard for what little she had.

Cole’s deceptively innocent-looking face went blank. I thought I’d have to request another partner.

Was he kidding? Savannah couldn’t tell. She wondered what aliens had sucked all emotion from the man she’d once seen fussing over a homeless kitten. After a month of slogging through the swamp when she had consulted for the FBI months ago, she realized sentiment was rare for him. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She craved his approval. Acceptance was one of the few human needs she could associate easily with.

As they approached the hand-me-down Huey, Savannah’s stomach knotted. She had flown enough for one day. Turbulence had tossed her shuttle flight into DC around like a badminton birdie.

The helicopter blades whirred overhead as Savannah climbed into it. She strapped herself in and clutched the webbing on her seat. She hated the loud buzz in her ears. When she was little, she’d scream until her mom stopped vacuuming. To her, it sounded like a Civil War reenactment, and the helicopter reminded her of her inability to cope with loud, suffocating explosions of noise.

Cole slid in beside her and motioned the pilot to ascend. He handed her a headset, which helped. I thought you were only afraid of the dark. Was he teasing her? It was the hardest emotion for her to distinguish.

That’s my sister’s fault, Savannah said.

I like Jill.

Everyone did, especially Savannah. Jill had helped her. Even though Jill was only four at the time, she was the first one to notice something was different about Savannah.

Her thoughts went out to the family she had abandoned in North Carolina. When she got the chance, she’d call Jill to check on her parents and Billy for an update on their home.

Cole looked toward the Potomac stretching out to the ocean. Sorry for the loss of your home, Kinlaw.

Thanks, she said.

While belting himself, he accidentally touched her hand white-knuckling the seat. She flinched. The contact was brief, like a feather brushing and irritating her skin. It felt invasive, but he wasn’t trying to be.

The chopper dipped west away from the river. What’s the hurry? she asked.

A hostage situation at TILAC Corporation, Cole said. A tactical team from the sheriff’s office is already on scene.

That’s the company we’re investigating for security leaks? Was the security breach related to the hostage taking?

Yes, the microchip fabrication plant. A guy named Wayne Thompson was laid off, and apparently he’s unhappy about it.

TILAC let my dad go over a year ago. And thousands of others. Her dad didn’t deserve the treatment he’d received.

I didn’t know your dad worked for them.

He worked at their corporate headquarters in Raleigh, North Carolina. Aren’t we supposed to look into the government contract TILAC outsourced? Companies often outsourced, including big data that contained sensitive information such as credit card numbers, social security numbers, birthdates, and addresses. Her personal information had been hacked due to outsourcing. It was a huge pain in the ass to fix.

Yes, but that’s not why we’re going there today, and we won’t discuss the security leaks with the sheriff’s office.

The feds weren’t known for sharing. The hostage situation isn’t our jurisdiction, so why are we going? Savannah asked.

I’ll get to that. Thompson’s wife stated he’s been on medication for depression. When he couldn’t find a job, he went off the meds and started drinking instead.

What else? Still not a federal case.

Thompson roughed up his son, so the wife took the boy to Maryland where her family lives.

This wasn’t a federal case. Savannah wished he’d get to the point, but that wasn’t Cole’s style. He relished order and wanted to lay out the whole case. Why call us?

The wife filed for divorce and has temporary custody of their son, but Thompson snatched him. The boy’s a hostage. We’re handling the kidnapping across state lines.

How old is the boy?

Eight.

Savannah held her breath for a second. He was several years younger than her brother Jamal, but like him, he was another kid caught in the crosshairs. Why do you think he brought his son? She bit her lip in anticipation of an answer she probably didn’t want to hear. She missed her brother Jamal.

We can only hope Thompson doesn’t intend to hurt the hostages.

Are they sure the boy’s there? She hoped Cole was mistaken.

The sheriff believes he is.

Us being there will upset the cops. When she’d lived in Florida, Savannah had moonlighted with the Tampa PD enough to know they wouldn’t have called the feds by choice.

Yes, it will. We’ll let them handle the bomb—

A bomb? Savannah gulped down the word. She had no experience with bombs other than the FBI training she’d received.

Cole nodded. Plastics strapped to his chest.

Terrorism, hostage negotiating. Adrenaline pumped through her blood. She needed to prove herself, not only to Cole but also to the department. Who’s negotiating?

A deputy will be the primary negotiator.

The chopper started its descent, and Savannah’s excitement quickly dissipated. Her palms grew numb from the tight grip on the seat straps. As the wind whipped around them and shook the chopper, she tried to focus on the boy and the hostages. What’s Wayne armed with?

Possible Bushmaster and a handgun. Use his last name, Kinlaw.

She would have to work on that. Using last names dehumanized the person and provided a psychological defense since they would have to arrest Thompson. Autism already emotionally distanced her from the scene, but the abducted child was another deal. The hostage-taker was in the