“The man who fell from the steps tried to leave, but this officer was outside and shot through the glass.”
“He had a gun strapped to his leg,” Richards added. “I decided not to wait around and see what happened.”
“The bloke started firing,” Ian said. “People were scattering everywhere. She”—Ian pointed at Richards—“hit the pavement. Then he darted away.”
“I couldn’t get a clean shot at him,” Richards said, “because of the crowd.”
“And no one was hit?”
Richards shook her head. “Everyone is okay.”
Sirens could be heard, growing louder.
“The Met,” Richards said to him. “Let me handle them.”
“Gladly. We’re leaving.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Mr. Malone. I must speak with you. Can you hang around a bit, just until I’ve dealt with the police? A few minutes is all I need.”
He considered her request. Why not?
Besides, he had a few questions of his own.
“Upstairs,” Miss Mary said. “In the apartment. Wait there until they’re gone. I’ll help this young lady. I can say it was a robbery attempt gone wrong. She interrupted the thieves and scared them off.”
Worked for him.
“Okay. Ian and I will be upstairs.”
KATHLEEN HAD MADE A FAST SUMMATION OF COTTON MALONE. Intense. Focused. And gutsy. He’d challenged her without a hint of concern.
She’d had no choice but to fire at the man in the store. He’d returned fire and she’d been concerned about people on the sidewalk. But either the man was the worst shot she’d ever seen, or he’d aimed high, intentionally not placing anyone in danger. Because of what she’d learned during the past few hours she gravitated to the latter conclusion, which only added to her mounting confusion.
The sirens grew loud and two Metropolitan Police cars stopped on the street, their lights flashing. Four uniformed officers emerged and rushed to the store. She already held her SOCA identification, which the lead officer seemed not to care about.
“Hand over your weapon.”
Had she heard him right? “Why do I have to do that?”
“Someone tried to rob my store,” the older lady said. “He had a gun. This woman stopped that.”
Two officers guarded the front door. The other two seemed unconcerned about the possibility that any crime had occurred.
“The weapon,” the officer said again.
She handed him the gun.
“Take her.”
The other officer grabbed her arms and twisted both behind her back.
She whirled, reversed his grip, and slammed her knee into his stomach. He doubled forward and she kicked him hard, turning to deal with the other policeman.
“Down on the floor,” the officer ordered, the gun now aimed at her.
She held her ground. “Why are you doing this?”
“Now.”
The two other officers fled their position at the front door and appeared to her right. She debated challenging them, then decided three-to-one odds were not good.
“Hands in the air,” the first officer said. “And down to the floor.”
She complied and they secured her wrists behind her back with a plastic binding that dug into her flesh.
Then they wrestled her up and led her from the store.
MALONE FACED IAN AND ASKED, “WHERE’S THE FLASH DRIVE?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think you were fooled by what Miss Mary did.”
She’d been far too eager to direct him to that metal box—and the color of the drive was not the same from earlier.
Ian stuffed a hand into his pant pocket and removed a drive, which he tossed over.
“Miss Mary is pretty smart, isn’t she?” Ian asked.
That she was. And bold, too. With a gun to her head she’d managed to play out the bluff. “I imagine those men might be a little agitated when they realize they were fooled.”
“That could be a bother. Can you look after Miss Mary?”
“You can count on it.”
He studied the drive, recalling all that he’d read. And the password-protected file—that had to be the prize.
“Why did you run at the café?” he asked Ian, not having received an answer when he inquired earlier.
“I don’t like strangers. Especially those who look like police.”
“I’m a stranger.”
“You’re different.”
“What spooked you in the car that night, after you stole this drive?”
Ian’s face froze as he considered the question. “Who said I was scared?”
“You were.”
“Those two men would have killed me. I could see it on the old guy’s face before I pepper-sprayed him. He wanted the drive, then he was going to kill me. I never faced that before.” The boy paused. “You’re right. It scared me.”
He realized how hard that admission must have been, especially for someone who trusted no one and nothing.
“It’s why I ran from you at the café. I saw men in coats with a look in their eye. I don’t like that look. I never had anyone wanting me dead before.”
“Is that why you left for the United States?”
Ian nodded. “I stumbled onto the bloke one day. He offered me a trip to the States and I thought it the best place to go. I could see he was trouble. But it was better than here. I just wanted to get away.”
Downstairs was silent.
Malone found his phone and punched in the number provided to him earlier.
“I have Ian and the drive,” he told Antrim. “But there’s a problem.” And he reported what had happened, including the appearance of a SOCA agent, name unknown.
“I don’t like that the authorities are there,” Antrim said. “Can you get out?”
“That’s the plan. How’s Gary?”
“Doing great. All quiet here.”
“And where’s here?”
“Not on this open phone. When you’re ready to leave, call me back and I’ll provide a meet point. And, Malone, the sooner the better.”
“You got that right.”
He clicked off the phone and wondered what was happening below.
So he stepped over to the window for a look.