“Yellow, do you have a shot?”
“Negative.”
“Green?”
“No line of sight.”
“Red?”
“Nothing clean.”
“Blue?”
Ty squeezed one eye closed, looking down the scope at the bank robber. Looking at the mans trigger finger in his scope. It was resting on the trigger guard. He brought the scope up, checking line of sight to the targets head.
“Affirmative,” he murmured in answer.
“Take the shot.”
Ty breathed out carefully, taking a moment to ask for forgiveness. Then he squeezed the trigger. The hooded mans body snapped backward as the bullet struck the shoulder of his gun arm. There was no danger of him squeezing off a shot with his finger on the guard, and they wanted him taken alive. A gruesome spray of blood painted the glass doors behind him, and the bullet impacted the glass, sending tendrils of splintered bulletproof glass outward. The man let out a high-pitched shriek as he bounced on the concrete. The hostage yanked free and ran, leaving the cops and agents with clear shots. If the hooded man raised that gun so much as a millimeter, Ty would take his head off.
But the gun clattered to the ground as the man rolled around on his back, still howling and clutching at his shoulder. Ty raised his head and watched as agents and police officers surrounded the man. The cop beside Ty gave his shoulder a pat. “Nice shot, brother.”
Ty nodded at him, standing to watch as the man was dragged toward the police line to be questioned and unmasked. A call was put in to the bank and was answered immediately. There was no one else in there, they were told. Only one bank robber had been there.
Surely all this wasnt the work of one man? There had been reports of two to three in each robbery, and with the bomb spotter, they had the group pegged for up to four. Ty moved closer to the ambulance, his gun over his shoulder as people parted to let him through. The man was on a stretcher, crying out in pain, a scream so feminine that it sounded almost like a child. The mask was ripped off to reveal his face, and Ty stared in shock.
It was a woman. No, a girl, a goddamn kid, eighteen if she was a day. And she wasnt taking the injury well, sobbing and red-faced, saying over and over that it hurt, calling for her mother.
“Get this,” a city cop said, stopping next to Ty. He had the girls weapon in hand. “Its not even loaded.”
“What the hell was she thinking?” the first cop said in disgusted wonder. Ty shook his head, speechless. Shooting a teenage girl through a snipers scope had not been on his bucket list. His stomach curled, threatening to send his lunch back up.
“Its a clean shot,” the EMT announced. “Shell be fine, but we need to get her moving.” They lifted the would-be bank robber up and headed for the ambulance, two cops alongside for the ride.
“Hey,” the assistant SAIC said as he stopped at Tys side. “It was a good shot. Saved her life.” Ty nodded, but he still had to swallow against being sick. He took a step after the stretcher. “Hey,” he called to the paramedics. They stopped, looking at him expectantly. The assistant SAIC nodded for them to let him closer. He stepped up to the stretcher and looked down at the girl. Her face was streaked with tears, her blonde hair mussed and bloody from the spray after the high-velocity round hitting her.
“Youre that guy from TV,” she stuttered at him, still sobbing. “No. Im the guy who just shot you,” Ty told her, voice hard with anger.
“You arent supposed to be here,” she sobbed hysterically. “Youre supposed to be at the other place!” The paramedics ended the interview before Ty could ask her anything, citing her vitals as too dangerous to continue with the stress. They carted her off as Ty frowned after them, trying to decide what other place shed meant.
“THEY got Hannah,” Graham told Pierce and Ross as soon as the two boys walked through the door. “They shot her, man.”
“Good,” Pierce responded succinctly.
“What?”
“She was a dead weight, man. Why do you think I sent her alone?”
Graham stared at his former friend, not believing it. “What about the agents?” he asked, heart in his throat.
Pierce just shook his head, not intending to explain what had happened. “Pierce! What about your white whale?”
“I said forget him. Hes not worth it.”
“You said he was Moby Dick.”
“Yeah, well, now hes just a dick, and Im done with him.” “Why?” Graham needled.
“Dude, just drop it,” Ross grunted, irritated.
Pierce whirled on him. “We didnt go after those douchebags. We were watching at the bank, okay? Moby Dick is the one who shot Hannah.”
Graham frowned as Pierce stormed out. He didnt understand. Pierce had wanted Hannah dead, but he was upset because Agent Grady had been the one to shoot her?
He looked at Ross for some sort of explanation.
“Pierce is scared of him,” Ross muttered. “He thinks he had it wrong and hes not Captain Ahab after all.” Graham looked back at the door where Pierce had disappeared. “I think he had it right the first time.”
TY PACED through Zanes living room, making figure eights around the coffee table and couch as he kept up a constant undertone of muttering and cursing.
Zane was gone. Just gone. Ty had gone home first. There had been no signs of struggle, which had made Ty feel a little better. But also no note, no phone call, nothing to let Ty know where Zane had gone, who he was with, or if he was okay. So Ty had come over here on the off chance Zane had tried to walk it or gotten someone to drive him by for clothes or something. And again, nothing. Ty was scared and angry. He didnt like worrying like this. He didnt like the abject terror that came with knowing Zane was practically helpless without his sight. And he definitely didnt like knowing that these kids, these stupid, spoiled psychopathic teenagers who were killing people left and right, had it out for him and Zane.
Standing there in the bank lot, Ty had mulled over the girls words, trying to decide what shed meant when shed said “the other place.” He would have suspected she was just rambling, referring to the diversionary bomb. But where were the other three? What had they used her as a diversion for?
It had struck him that they might have intended to come for him, for him or Zane. He had called, but Zane hadnt answered. On the torturous drive in a Bureau sedan to his row house, hed tried to tell himself Zane might be in the shower again. It hadnt eased the vise around his chest or the guilt he felt every time the girls blue eyes flashed through his mind.