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Sloane bided her time. Then, when Luke was looking up at the sky, she grasped her cell phone and tossed it into the row of hedges just beside her.
Done. Now it was up to Lady Luck.
Second Avenue, New York City
May 2, 12:30 A.M.
Derek hadn’t shut an eye. In fact, he’d barely sat down.
He didn’t plan on slowing his efforts. Nor did he plan on giving up or considering the worst. He was best when he was active, doing things to bring about resolution.
Feeling helpless was not his forte.
Goddammit, he was going crazy.
From its spot on the night table, his cell phone gave a short beep. He snatched it up and glanced at the display. The text message indicator was on. He flipped open the phone, which informed him that he had a new text message, and inquired if he’d like to read it.
He punched in yes.
His heart began pounding as he read the abbreviated words.
luke. 12–24 hr 2 live. mtns. c wash monmnt 2 e. BOMB.
Sloane was alive. She’d managed to use her cell phone. And she was trying to give him the information he needed to find her.
Derek didn’t waste time, and he didn’t go through channels.
He called his ADIC—the head of the entire New York field office—at home. Frankly, Derek didn’t care what time it was, or what protocol he was violating. Sloane had sent the message at seven-thirty. That was five hours ago. Anything could have happened since then. He was down to the wire. And he wasn’t about to let Sloane, or any of those other women, die.
He relayed the situation and the contents of the text message to the assistant director in charge.
“What do you need?” was his response.
“For starters, a SWAT team and a bomb squad. I’ll also need topology experts from New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.” Derek wasn’t screwing around. “Also, specialists from Parks and Recreation. Former Special Agent Burbank is telling us that she’s in the mountains and that she sees something resembling the Washington Monument to her east.”
“At one A.M? That’s not going to be easy.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t care how hard it is. I don’t care if we have to wake up the governors of all three states. This is a serial sexual killer who’s brutally raped and carved up half a dozen victims. Right now he’s got seven kidnapped women, all of whom could still be alive, but with only a few hours left to live. Among those seven women is one of our own.”
“I’ll make the calls.”
Date: May 2
Time: Dawn
Sloane had lain awake all night, jumping every time she heard the slightest sound, in the hopes that it was SWAT breaking down the doors and initiating a rescue.
But weak sunlight was starting to filter into her room, telling Sloane that another day was beginning in which she was on her own.
Worse, she’d heard Luke going in and out of Lillian’s room all night. His step had been urgent, and the frequency of the visits was increasing. Which could only mean that Lillian was nearing the end.
If a rescue team didn’t arrive soon, Sloane would be combating Luke’s psychotic group sacrifice alone and unarmed.
She sat up at the sound of Luke’s racing feet. He was headed downstairs. She wished she knew for what.
Just to be on the safe side, she went to the bathroom, used the toilet and brushed her teeth, then filled the tub up enough so she could kneel in it and wash herself. There was a method to her madness, because instinct told her
that Luke was coming unglued. And that meant that she had to be ready on a dime.
