Ty scooted down in his seat and put his sunglasses on so that no one would notice if he went to sleep sitting there. His stomach was unsettled, his head still pounded, and he felt… floaty. He was sure there was another word for it, but that was about as close as he could get to describing the feeling. It was entirely unpleasant. He probably should have called in and just stayed at home. On the plus side, his ribs didnt feel like they were about to snap anymore, so he might be able to flush the rest of those pills when he got home. And Michelle Clancy had taken one look at his finger that morning, grabbed his hand, and yanked the offending digit into place before he could scream for help. It had hurt like a son of a bitch, but now the pain had subsided to a dull throb, and he thought it might be okay.
He watched as Zane walked into the shopping complex with a mixed group of agents and cops, following the bomb-sniffing dogs, and then looked up at the face of the glass-walled building, trying to decide which part they were heading for and wondering why they were going up with the bomb techs at all. Protection detail, maybe? Backup for continued evac? If he remembered correctly, there was shopping on the second and third floors. Hed been in the food court a couple of times.
Ty groaned at the thought of food and shut his eyes. He should have just taken the Tylenol and bitched about being sore all day. If he started throwing up, his ribs would hurt again.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and slumped further in his seat, practically lying flat with his legs extended onto the drivers side dashboard. He watched the building idly, waiting for Zane to come back and drive him home, where he could wallow in misery for the rest of the day.
He zoned out for awhile, drifting in and out, but his eyes were open when all the windows on the far corner of the buildings third floor blew out in an explosion that sent flames licking out of the casements.
Ty was moving and out of the truck, feet pounding on the concrete, before he realized what he was doing. He and other agents whod been loitering around outside ran toward the building as the flames receded back into the windows and alarms began to blare. First through the doors, Ty took off toward the stairs with several others on his heels. He took the stairs two at a time, the other agents falling behind by the time he reached the third-story fire exit.
When Ty pushed through the door, it was face-first into a fine mist the sprinklers spit and sprayed over him, the water working to put out the flames. Smoke choked the shattered concourse; smoldering and dripping debris littered the once-shining marbled floors, and scorch marks blackened the walls.
“Garrett!” Ty called out as he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and moved into the cluttered space.
“Fire and rescues on the way,” an agent told him breathlessly as he came through the door behind Ty.
“How many we got up here?” Ty demanded. “Ten, at least,” the man answered, “not counting BPD.” Ty began picking his way down the ruined hall, staying low and watching the ceiling for falling tiles. He heard a dog whining and followed the sound.
“Garrett!” he called out again before coughing. Thick, ugly smoke billowed through the once-clear hall, drawn by shattered windows acting like a flue, making his eyes sting. Whole walls had been blown out of several ritzy boutiques, sending merchandise flying like the building was an ashy snow globe turned over and shaken violently. The blast pattern fanned so far out—all the way to the exterior walls in places—that it was impossible to tell where their people could have been. Then Ty found two agents in windbreakers leaning on each other, one limping heavily, struggling through the mess.
Ty grabbed one by the shoulder, looking them both over for obvious injuries. He could see a broken arm on one; the other appeared merely bruised and battered. “You okay?” he asked, raising his voice in anticipation of both men being nearly deaf from the concussion of the blast.
One glanced up and nodded, although he grimaced. “Two storefronts that way,” he said hoarsely as he pointed. “Some of our guys are down.”
Ty took off the way the agent had pointed, moving over the debris with less care than he should have. He clambered over a grisly burnt and melted mannequin and half a wall of shredded clothes blown out of one of the stores. At the sound of a sharp crack, he looked down to see a now-crunched pair of aviator sunglasses. More glass from the storefronts covered the floor like scattered diamonds glinting in the rain still coming down from what sprinklers were intact. Getting around a collapsed metal gate took precious seconds he didnt have, and then he stumbled upon a group of agents with various injuries, some worse than others. A dog hunched over its master, whining mournfully and periodically pacing away as if trying to decide whether to go for help or stay.
An agent turned and waved Ty over. “We need EMTs,” the man said, his voice overloud. He pointed down at the woman in an FBI windbreaker. She grimaced, the soot streaks on her face emphasizing how she was white with pain, holding onto her broken leg while another agent tried to splint it to hold it still.
Ty took out his phone, though he was certain paramedics had already been called and were right behind him. He moved toward them as he made the call anyway. Why hadnt he done that first? Or at least told someone else to do it? He wasnt thinking clearly.
“How many?” Ty asked the man, who seemed unharmed. “Four down here, two unaccounted for. They were in the store, checking the back rooms.” The man pointed to a couple of agents frantically laboring to push aside burning debris where some interior walls had collapsed in. “They were closer to it,” he said, dread clear in his voice.
Ty moved to help and ended up ordering one of them to head toward the exit because his head was split open and bleeding. His training was kicking in, so he wasnt panicking about Zane just yet. He knew that later, when the adrenaline wore off, he would be sick no matter what happened.
They moved chunks of plaster and torn wood, tossing them to the side as they dug around. “Garrett!” Ty called again as soon as theyd made a dent in it. Later, he wouldnt remember how much time had passed.
Some of the plasterboard on the floor shifted further in, and the other guy digging yanked it off to reveal an unconscious agent with terrible burns on her face and hands. He knelt down and checked her neck and back, then swung her into his arms before nodding at Ty to keep going, then heading out of the ruined storefront.
Ty stuck his head into the hole theyd made, but there was nothing else in there but more plaster and cement block. “Fuck,” Ty breathed as he pulled back out and looked around a little wildly. Out in the concourse, the way he had come, he could see two firemen in their bulky yellow suits working their way toward him. It had been at least six minutes, then, counting on standard response time. It seemed like it had been so much longer. A lifetime longer. Ty turned and looked deeper into the store filled with dull smoke and shifting shadows.