IAN HAD MADE HIS WAY DOWN FROM THE TOP FLOOR, USING the handrails just as Malone had done. He found the bottom of the stairs and, to his right, saw a man holding a gun to Miss Mary.
The sight of her in danger frightened him.
She was the only person in the world who’d ever showed him real kindness. Never asking or expecting anything, she simply cared. Her suggestion that he sleep in her store and keep an eye on things was just her way of making sure he was out of the cold. Neither one of them ever voiced the truth, but they were both aware. Earlier, he’d returned to the mews for the plastic bag because the two books were a link to her. Seeing them reminded him of this store, her soft voice, her gentle ways. If he was to ever have a mother, he hoped she would be like Miss Mary.
He heard Malone’s voice, then Miss Mary’s, both discussing the drive in a metal box.
He smiled.
She was good.
He watched as the man with the gun told Malone to toss it, then used the moment when the man caught the drive to slip a book from the nearest shelf.
If he could catch the man off guard, Malone could act.
He gripped the book, cocked his arm, and said, “Hey, you bugger.”
MALONE HEARD IAN’S VOICE AND SAW A BOOK FLY THROUGH the air. The man with the gun raised an arm to deflect it. Malone seized the moment to re-level his weapon, but before he could fire, his target lunged left.
“Get down,” he yelled.
Miss Mary dropped to the floor.
Malone fired into the books, toward where the man had fled, careful with his aim.
Where was Ian?
He found the end of the first row of shelves and tried to spot any movement through the books toward the store’s far side. He spotted a shadow two rows over. He darted down the aisle, between the rows and the front windows, using the solid wooden ends for cover.
“Stay down,” he yelled again to Miss Mary and Ian.
At least he had the front door covered.
Then he remembered.
The stairs.
He heard footfalls pounding upward and dashed down an aisle toward the doorway that led to the upper floors. He approached with caution, keeping to one side. A quick glance past the jamb and he saw the man on the landing.
Two rounds pinged off the concrete floor a foot away.
Behind him, Miss Mary had retreated to the counter, seeking cover with Ian. Knowing they were okay, he made his move, firing a shot to clear the way, then rushing up the stairs.
He found the landing and hugged the wall beside the doorway leading into the second floor. The room beyond was empty, but a window at the far side was open. He spotted a fire escape, rushed over and glanced down, spotting the man fleeing down an dark alley behind the building.
He heard shots.
From below.
In the bookstore.
And glass shattering.
Then more gunfire.
KATHLEEN STARED INTO ANY OLD BOOKS THROUGH ONE OF ITS plate-glass windows, spotting an older woman and a young boy near the counter. To their right, amid the shelves, she saw a man coming to his feet. He bent down and lifted one pant leg to reveal a gun strapped to his leg. She reached beneath her coat for the weapon Mathews had given her and, at the same time, tried the knob to the front door.
Locked.
She kicked its wooden half, but the door held.
The man was now standing, gun in hand, advancing forward to the end of the shelves.
The woman and the boy were unaware.
She stepped back and braced her weapon.
The man saw her.
He hit the floor and she fired through the door’s glass half.
Shards crashed down.
People on the sidewalk scattered.
A woman screamed.
She searched for the man with the gun.
Gone.
Then he appeared, to her right, in another row of shelves, farther from the woman and the boy, but with a clear shot of her. She shifted left and fired again, through the opening her first round had made in the glass. The man was using the end of the shelving for cover, which seemed solid wood. His gun appeared and, as he fired, she dove to the sidewalk yelling, “Everyone get down.”
Most people had fled, some out into the street.
A few lay on the chilly pavement.
Three rounds came their way.
Others were approaching the store from behind her, seeing the commotion but unaware of what was happening.
A new surge of people crowded the sidewalk.
Somebody was going to get hurt.
Her attention returned to the store and she saw the man rushing out the door, into the crowd ahead of her.
She came to her feet and aimed.
But too many people were in the way.
MALONE DASHED BACK TO THE STAIRS AND RUSHED DOWN, stopping at the bottom. “Ian. Miss Mary.”
He heard people outside and realized that the glass in the door was gone.
“We’re here,” Miss Mary called out.
He darted toward the counter and saw that both were okay.
A new face stood ten feet away. A woman. She was maybe mid-thirties, short auburn hair, thin, attractive, wearing a beige overcoat. Her right hand held a gun, its barrel pointed to the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“Kathleen Richards. SOCA agent. Here on official business.”
He’d worked with the Serious Organized Crime Agency while with Justice.
“Why are you here?”
“Actually, Mr. Malone, I was hoping you could answer that question.”
Thirty
GARY WAS STILL STUNNED BY BLAKE ANTRIM’S REVELATIONS. All of the doubt that had filled him ever since his mother told him the truth had been replaced with a strange anxiety. He hadn’t had a chance to prepare himself. Instead, reality just found him.
He and Antrim were back inside the office.
“Do you want to take the DNA test?” Antrim asked him.
“I think so.”
“It’ll tell us with certainty.”
Antrim produced a sealed plastic bag that contained two vials, a swab in each. He opened the bag and swirled one of the swabs inside his cheek, then sealed it into one of the vials.
“Open up.”
Gary stood while Antrim did the same to his mouth.