Authors: Barbara Phinney
Lucy moved more boxes and pressed the device into Dawna's other hand. Then she slipped the device back in its plain brown wrapper and set it down beside Dawna.
Still not speaking, Lucy proceeded to wipe the braces of the step ladder.
Removing her fingerprints
, Dawna thought through the pain. She turned her head toward the device, dread washing over her as she did.
No, it couldn't be
. Panic spiked. A bomb! Oh, no, a bomb! "Lucy! What are you doing?" She strained to raise her voice. "Why?"
Still wordless, Lucy returned to her purse and drew out a gun. Dawna couldn't make out the configuration in the dim light, but when Lucy pressed it, too, into her hands, she recognized it by feel alone.
Nine mil Glock. Here at the embassy, only the
escoltas
and Tay had Glocks. There were no
escoltas
in the building today.
The weapon must be Tay's.
Lucy removed the gun and tossed it -- really tossed it -- aside. Dawna wanted to scream at her. No way to treat a loaded weapon, especially one that had no safety.
No way to treat Tay, wherever he was
.
Dawna clamped shut her eyes, realizing what she was thinking. Tay would never hand over his weapon to Lucy. Dawna had to battle him just to get him to put it in the vault.
A vision of Tay lying hurt, or worse, wavered in front of Dawna's inner eye. A tight knot formed in her throat and she let out a short gasp. Tay.
Oh God, please save Tay
.
She opened her eyes. Lucy scooped up her purse and walked to the storeroom door.
Dawna mustered up the strength to twist around. Through gritted teeth, she managed to ask, "Why?"
"Your unit always wanted to blame you, Dawna. I'm just taking advantage of that." She pulled out a small black remote control. Her thumb lingered on the only button.
"Wait! Why me?"
"Because you're getting too close and I'm still not finished. Chayo is going to pay for his crimes and no one, not even you, Dawna, my friend, is going to stop me." She paused. Dawna blinked up at her, trying to snag her gaze.
"Dawna, this isn't personal. I've always admired you. It tears me apart, but I have to do this. I'm sorry." Looking away, Lucy quickly shut the store room door.
Eyes wide, Dawna stared at the small brown packet, but nothing happened.
What was she supposed to do now? She swallowed. Her dry throat ached. There was only one thing she could do. But she thought as she tried to flex her fingers, would she be strong enough to do it?
Tay scrambled to his feet in front of the
vigilante
. "Where's Lucy? Where's Dawna?"
The man stared at him. "
Señor
?"
Panting, he tried his French. "
Ou est Madame Porter?
"
The
vigilante
gaped at him, his mouth open. No doubt Andy had merely told him to open the vault, probably in halting Spanish, without an explanation. Of course, the
vigilante
was still shocked by Tay's appearance.
Tay shook the man. "Señora Porter? Sergeant Atkinson?"
"
¿
Quien
?" Understanding dawned on his face as he shrugged. "I do not know,
señor
. Sergeant Atkinson want me, but I not find her. Señora Porter?
No se
."
Tay gripped the vault door, his breathing still hard. He was free. Free to find Dawna.
No way would she purposely lure the
vigilante
away from his desk to take revenge on him. Considering what had just fallen into place in his head, it had to be Lucy.
"Find
Señora
Porter." He indicated the floor with fingers pointing down. "Señora Porter, here. Now!"
Then a muffled rumble shook the floor beneath them.
Chapter Twenty-three
Tay froze, grabbing the back of the
vigilante's
chair. What was that? An earthquake?
No, it was too quick. He'd felt several earthquakes in Ottawa, and this didn't feel like one.
A bomb?
Dread chilled him. A bomb beneath them, in the shelter in the basement?
The security panel lit up like a Christmas tree. Tay's heart tripped up. One of the closed circuit TV screens snowed over. Alarms, albeit masked, were going off all over the place.
One computer screen flashed a warning. The automatic dialer had been initiated. In another minute, the ambassador would call, or worse, drive down here.
Tay had to find Dawna. What had she said? She'd planned to eat a Cheez Whiz sandwich and read personnel files?
The basement
. She kept her Cheez Whiz in the basement shelter like it was something valuable. The rumbling had come from the basement.
Oh, Lord, no
.
"Evacuate the building!" Tay yelled out at the
vigilante
. He tore out of the security room and down the hall.
When he reached the bomb shelter, he skidded to a stop and threw open the door. "Dawna?"
No answer. He stepped through the first door into the shelter. One fluorescent light at the far end was flickering, shooting erratic beams into the dust-filled air. The rest of the lights were out. Dark and enclosed, the shelter was silent.
Think of Dawna. Think of Dawna
.
On the wall beside the door was an emergency kit and Tay grabbed the flashlight from it. Its light cut through the dust.
"Dawna?" his voice cracked.
A section of interior wall had caved in, but the exterior ones were still intact. Wires swayed in the aftermath of the explosion.
Only a small bomb, he noted, daring to feel hopeful.
"Answer me, Dawna. Now!"
He took a step through the doorway at the end of the short corridor and listened. To his right were the storage room and the kitchenette. On the table was a box of files, eerily undisturbed, despite the small explosion not more than ten feet away.
A faint scratching sound reached him. Damn it, where was it coming from?
For all he knew it was nothing more than a burning wire crackling, melting its insulation so it could reach another combustible material.
Dawna could be dead. The first bomb blast had been small enough to be delivered by letter. Ramos had been standing nearby and he hadn't even been hurt.
But this one?
"Dawna? Answer me!"
Waiting, listening for her, Tay understood who the first bomb had been for. Not Dawna. Not even the ambassador. Ramos. He'd only escaped by the skin of his teeth. The MOs of both these events were becoming all too clear.
Ramos was lucky. And twelve years ago he was also lucky. Hadn't he escaped by using diplomatic immunity to avoid prosecution?
The scraping sound hit him again. Tay snapped his head to the left. And a second storage room.
Find her before she dies.
"Dawna, do it again!"
Another scratching sound. Tay shut his eyes, allowing his ear and his intuition to direct him.
Ten o'clock. The noise was at ten o'clock.
He tore through the second doorway to skid to a stop. Every single shelf had toppled over. Boxes and papers and equipment were scattered about.
In horror, Tay watched a thin line of smoke snake upward. Any minute now, the papers around him would ignite.
Abruptly, the sprinkler above him clicked and sprayed out. The tendril of smoke hissed and died.
Thank God for small mercies.
Getting more and more drenched, Tay threw off the piles of debris.
And found Dawna. She lay underneath one of the toppled shelves, behind a box, her arm skewed at a sickening angle.
Blood pooled under her.
He threw off the box. Dropping to his knees, he reached out a shaky hand and touched the soft flesh covering her carotid artery.
Then he saw it. A deadly shard of twisted metal hovered over her throat. He forced his shaking hand to still and pressed his fingers into her throat.
A pulse!
She was alive! Her heartbeat was steady, but faint.
Her eyes flickered open. "Tay?"
"Yes. Don't speak. You're losing blood."
"It's Lucy."
"I know. Don't talk."
"I tried to crawl away from the bomb, but my arm is numb and my side-"
"It's okay. Don't speak."
Her breath was as shaky as his hands, but she kept talking. "Lucy bombed the embassy. And Martin-" She panted painfully.
"Shush. Yes, Martin is her son. I remember now. Manuel Chayo was involved in a snowmobile accident with Lucy Porter's husband. The police wanted to charge Chayo with reckless driving, but because of his diplomatic immunity, he was allowed to leave Canada." He stroked Dawna's hair, scanning for the best way to remove her from the debris.
"Ramos..." She was slipping into unconsciousness. "Ramos is...Chayo. Lucy knows it, too."
Tay wondered if Dawna had guessed this herself, or had Lucy admitted it to her?
But none of his questions mattered right now. He had to get her out, yet the metal shelf had twisted itself around her. Another, half-destroyed shelving unit leaned precariously over her head.
He tried to wrench the shelf away, but it wouldn't budge. One of the shards of razor-thin metal sliced through his palm, but he ignored it. He thought of pulling her out, but she was lodged tightly under the shelf.
Then he fully realized the situation. If he tried to move her, that jagged edge from the upper shelf would slice her throat like a guillotine.
He needed help.