THE RAILING OVERLOOKING the atrium kept Morgan on her feet as the two blasts shook the building. The lights flickered but then steadied, alarms blared, and one of the large monitors crashed to the ground below.
She ignored it all as she continued across the now-empty food court toward the last place she’d seen Clint at the top of the steps. Her head throbbed, and her balance and hearing weren’t cooperating with each other, but she wasn’t about to let him get away. Not this time.
Clint appeared at the top of the stairs. Holding a gun on Andre. What the hell was Andre doing here? She didn’t have time to come up with an answer as she skidded to a stop and raised her pistol. “Andre, down!”
Then Clint showed her his other hand. The one with the dead man’s trigger and a suicide vest bristling with explosives. “Stop right there or he dies.”
“You mean you both die.”
“Fine with me, little girl. One more step, and I’ll kill us all.”
Morgan stopped. She was about fifteen feet away, only three tables between her and Andre. The blare of the alarms continued, but it was as if her hearing and vision had narrowed to a focused cone; she had no problem hearing Clint.
“Let him go,” she yelled across the empty space.
“Why should I?” Clint answered amicably. As if they had all the time in the world.
She hoped that meant that he and Gibson had no more bombs ready to go off. She risked a glance over the railing to her left, wasn’t all that surprised to see Jenna standing in the atrium, holding a weapon on Gibson.
“Tell you what,” Clint continued, mistaking her hesitation for weakness. “You come join us, and I’ll keep him alive. We’ll all leave together.”
Andre shook his head despite Clint jamming the pistol into his cheek. She remembered what Pete had said back in the cabin before she tore his face apart. He’d said she’d kill a hostage before she let them be used against her.
She moved her aim from Clint to Andre, surprised her pistol wasn’t shaking. The rest of her felt as if it was, shaking so hard she had to blink back tears. Then she lowered the gun, her arm dropping uselessly to her side. “Take me instead.”
Clint’s laughter was as wicked as she remembered. “Interesting. You’d leave all these people to die, just to save one man?”
Jenna could handle Gibson. No one else would die here. Not tonight. But Clint didn’t need to know that.
“Let him go. Take me instead.” She set her pistol on the table beside her, raised her hands.
“Why would you do that?” He sounded genuinely interested. “You know what I’m going to do to you, the price of betrayal.”
“I know. But he’s family.”
The look of confusion and resentment that twisted Clint’s face was worth all the diamonds she’d prevented him from stealing. Even more priceless was the smile Andre gave her. A smile that stopped her shaking and helped thaw the icy fist that gripped her. No one had ever looked at her that way before, not even Micah. More than grateful or thankful. Proud. Loving. As if her treacherous, bloody, deceitful life was actually worth something.
That smile was everything.
Clint considered. “Only if you wear the vest.” He handed the vest to Andre and nudged him forward. “Take it to her. She puts it on, you’re free to go. Any funny business, and I blow you both up.”
Andre slowly walked toward her, his expression turning thoughtful as he measured his steps. She knew what he was thinking: how far would Clint’s detonator reach? Could they dump the vest and run fast enough to escape the explosion? Maybe if he threw it over the side into the courtyard below…his gaze angled that way and a frown filled his face. Too many people, including Jenna.
In the end, he stopped halfway between them and slid the vest on, snapping the padlock that secured it shut.
“Andre, no!” Vest or no vest, she rushed to him.
“Only way.” His voice was low, for her ears alone. “Tell Jenna—”
“She knows.” Lock picks, she needed lock picks. Damn it. She’d lost her barrettes, her sunglasses, anything useful. “Why—”
“You know why. I’m sorry no one’s told you before now. It shouldn’t be this way. You deserve better, Morgan.”
She blinked hard against tears. She didn’t cry, she reminded herself. She never cried. “I don’t understand.”
He was backing away, almost to Clint. “Because you’re family. And you’re worth it.” Clint grabbed him by the arm. “Never forget that, Morgan Ames.”
Clint pulled him to the stairs. Morgan reached for her gun, but who was she going to shoot? Not Clint or he’d use the dead man’s switch to kill them all.
Andre? It would be the humane thing to do, spare him whatever Clint had planned. She squeezed one eye shut, trying to lock in her aim, but her hand was trembling. Once again, she lowered the weapon in defeat. God help her, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take the shot.
They vanished down the stairs, and the world returned in a rush of noise so furious she staggered against the railing, fighting to remain upright. She watched Clint push Andre before him toward the exit.