Nick Morrelli followed his security escort as they made their way to the front entrance of the mall. He brushed the snow off his trench coat and raked a gloved hand over his hair.
In his rush to pack he'd forgotten boots. It hadn't been snowing in Omaha.
The escort, who had introduced himself to Nick at the airport as Jerry Yarden, insisted the snow was letting up. Made it sound like the five or six inches on the ground were no big deal to trudge through. This was Minnesota, after all.
'Should be stopping in about an hour,' he told Nick.
He followed alongside Yarden, straining to keep up. Nick was almost a head taller but the little man walked briskly through the mall parking lot. That's because Jerry had boots.
Finally Nick slowed and let Yarden go ahead of him to the next police barricade. This was their third one. While Yarden flipped open his ID Nick approached with caution. By now his leather loafers were caked with snow. He was afraid he'd slip and make an ass of himself. Nick waited his turn then without a word he showed his badge and security credentials to yet another police office at the door. This one had his own badge strapped to his thigh. A two-way radio was strapped to his shoulder. He wore a black stocking cap and Kevlar vest, both with POLICE in white letters across the fronts. He held a rifle in one hand and took Nick's ID in the other, lifting it to eye level so that his head never bowed, never lost track of everything going on around him.
He looked at Nick hard, not just comparing the photo to Nick's face but almost as if he wanted to see if he could make him crack, expose any weaknesses, any deceit before Nick made it past his station. Nick wanted to tell the officer he appreciated the tough scrutiny, but to say it would insinuate that he expected something less. Instead, Nick kept quiet, accepted his credentials back with only a nod. As soon as the police officer waved Nick and Yarden through, the man's eyes were somewhere else, ready for the next threat.
Although it was believed that all the bombs had gone off on the third floor, even the first floor showed signs of the explosion. Streamers of debris hung from a huge holiday wreath. The Christmas tree in the center of the atrium was littered with bits and pieces that Nick could tell didn't belong, some shiny, some ragged.
Down here the sprinklers had not been triggered but there was a damp chill. Enough that he caught himself reaching for the lapels of his trench coat and stopping himself before he turned them up.
Off to the side, strung out in front of Macy's, two units of rescue workers barked requests and orders as they handed out blankets and tended to injured shoppers. But Nick's eyes searched above, trying to look up at the four- story atrium. Snipers, dressed in black with Kevlar vests and helmets, were stationed at the tops of the stalled escalators, weapons shouldered and ready. The overpowering smell of smoke and sulfur permeated the air. Shouts echoed down.
'We don't need to go up there,' Yarden told him like he was doing Nick a favor.
Nick glanced down at the little man. Removing his stocking cap had released Yarden's large ears and sent his red hair straight up. That, and his ruddy cheeks, made him look almost like an elf. It only added to the bizarre scene.
'Our security office is down this way.' Yarden pointed. 'County police cordoned it off. Mr. Banoff convinced them to leave everything as is until you arrived.'
'No one's looked at the tapes yet?'
Yarden shook his head. 'They've had more important things to do.' He stopped suddenly, turning to Nick and looking around to see if anyone was watching them. 'Mr. Banoff convinced them that it's to their benefit if we sift through the tapes. It'll save time and we understand the equipment so we can pinpoint angles, views, etcetera.'
Then Yarden wiggled a long, skinny index finger for Nick to come closer. 'You do understand what Mr. Banoff means when he says
For the first time since he entered the mall Nick's stomach twisted a bit. He hated to think that his new employer was simply worried about covering his own liability at a time like this. Nick didn't answer Yarden. He simply nodded.
CHAPTER 20
'Keep her still. Can you do that?'
'Yes,' Patrick told the large, black woman in the too-tight blue uniform.
He couldn't take his eyes off her purple latex-gloved hands, quick and expert fingers working on the wound in Rebecca's arm.
No, he didn't think keeping Rebecca still would be a problem. If anything he thought Rebecca looked too still. He wished she would say something, anything. Open her eyes for longer than a series of unfocused blinks.
'We're gonna need some plasma over here,' the woman yelled over her shoulder, making Patrick jump. She noticed him jump, but pretended not to. He appreciated that small gesture. Instead she continued to give him instructions. 'And warm. You need to keep her warm,' she told him as she pointed with her chin at the blanket.
He immediately pulled it up and started tucking it in along the sides of Rebecca.
'You're doing good,' the woman told him. 'Real good.'
He knew she was giving him things to do to keep him from going into shock, too. He wanted to tell her he was a volunteer with a fire department back home in Connecticut and had some experience with this kind of thing but just as he thought of it, he quickly dismissed it. He realized he didn't have experience with anything at all like this. Not bombs going off. Not friends hurt and unconscious. It was different with Rebecca lying here.
He had barely caught up with her, squeezing and shoving his way through a swarm of people trying to exit the mall. Rebecca had been tapping frantically at Dixon's iPhone while being jostled about. One minute she was trying to tell him something, drowned out by the noise engulfing them and the next minute she was slipping down into the mob, like a swimmer being sucked up under a wave.
He had to pull her up. She was faint and feverish, her eyes rolling back into her head. She grabbed onto his arm and her hand was filled with blood. He had already noticed the wound in her arm. Glass impaled the skin, too deep for him to pluck it out. He knew it would bleed even more if he did that. Somehow he had managed to separate her from the mob and get her to sit down before she collapsed completely.
'You got that plasma?' the woman yelled again, startling Patrick again, but this time, at least, he didn't jump.
He watched her finish the last sutures.
'Is she gonna be okay?' He knew it was a lame question but he needed to ask it anyway.
'Of course she is.' But she didn't look up at him, concentrating instead on the rhythm of her fingers. Her right hand sutured while her left hand dabbed at the blood. 'Your girlfriend's gonna be just fine.'
Patrick opened his mouth to correct her but stopped himself. Rebecca wasn't his girlfriend. She would have been the first one to protest if she could. Not because they didn't like each other. It was an independence thing. At least that's what she called it. She connected independence with being totally on her own. He actually got that. Understood it completely. Or maybe recognized it since it was close to his own philosophy, his own creed.
That fierce independence was probably what connected them in the first place. Although Patrick didn't refer to it as independence so much as a lack of trust. When you grew up without anyone to count on you learned quickly to count on yourself. His mom had done her best but as a single mom she was gone a lot, working long hours. Patrick didn't blame her. It was what it was. Besides, he turned out just fine. Maybe grew up a bit sooner than his classmates. Nothing wrong with that.
He had never felt like he belonged with kids his own age anyway. They were always too immature. Like Dixon Lee, full of unrealistic ideals. Patrick didn't have the time or luxury to worry about and protest things like immigration when it took all his energy just to keep his own job and work full-time so he could pay for his rent and tuition. He didn't make time for guys like Dixon Lee. Didn't let them in. Didn't trust them. Or anyone, for that matter. It was part of the creed. You can only trust yourself. But then came Rebecca messing up his resolve.
