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London was right—they were headed to the lookout. The van had to be dumped. It was a liability now and couldn’t be used. They had to dispose of it in a way that meant it couldn’t be traced back to them.
He looked at Berlin. “You gonna take us out, one by one. So you keep everything.” He twisted to Phoenix. “Or you. Is this your idea?”
Phoenix just smirked and kept staring out the window.
Miami pulled over, left the van in neutral, and didn’t put on the parking brake. The four of them got out, exchanging their body heat for the chill of night air. The dash clock read 01:13.
London stayed where he was, tears rolling down his face now.
The van started to move forward with the easy speed of being pushed. Their speed picked up, down the incline.
Until it sailed over the edge.
THIRTEEN
Clare juggled two grocery bags of delivery cartons and a rectangular box of baked goods through the door to what the sergeant on the front desk called “the cave.”
“Knock, knock. Can I come in?”
She had the odd urge to call out that there was a woman on the floor. As though this were some kind of single gender residence, not a police department. Maybe it was the smell of old coffee and stale pizza. Minus the beer it could be a college dorm.
“Hello?”
A young, uniformed SWAT officer stuck his head out of what looked like a kitchen over to the right. To the left was a vast room full of desks and file cabinets. Another room seemed to be a small gym. Between the doors the expanse of the room had a huge table, multiple screens on the walls—one of which displayed cable news with the volume down and terrible subtitles ticking away. Supplies had been piled in one corner along with boxes. Cabinets padlocked. More than one gun safe. And one of those boxing mannequins.
“Where should I put this?”
The young man set his coffee down and headed for her. “Why does that smell so good?”
More people came out of the room with desks, three guys and Gage. So five total. She hadn’t seen them all outside the bank. “I heard you guys had an early callout.” Clare handed over the box. “So I brought breakfast.”
The young officer took the box into the kitchen area.
Gage’s African American colleague took the bags with a grin. “Cool of you.”
Clare nodded. It wasn’t exactly athanks, so she didn’t say,You’re welcome.
The blond sergeant and a guy with a fancy watch headed after him, leaving her alone with Gage.
She had to start somewhere, so she said, “Rough call?”
All of them did look a bit rumpled, like they’d rolled in dirt or dust. One of the guys had a bruise on his cheek, but none seemed injured.
“Because you care about my team?” Gage scoffed.
Clare pressed her lips together.
Someone yelled from the kitchen, “Gage, there’s a maple bacon bar!”
He strode over, and she followed him to the door, where one of the guys slapped the blond’s hand. “No, that’s Gage’s. Pick another one.” He handed Gage the maple bacon donut.
“There are eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns in two containers. The other two are biscuits and gravy, and one is pancakes.” Clare shrugged. “I didn’t know what you guys liked.” But she had called Captain McCauley after Peter told her the SWAT team had gone out on a call at four this morning. He’d given her a solid list on what to order, and she’d worked from there. “You’ve all been up most of the night, right?”
The blond grinned. “Which means we’re all gonna be in food comas in about thirty minutes.” He wiped off his hands, a smudge of donut powder at the corner of his mouth, and stuck his hand out. “Sergeant Liam O’Connell.”
“Clare Juarez.”
The black guy said, “Blake Reed.”
