Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (2 page)

2

Ava held her breath. Misty heard the steps and bit her lower lip, her hand squeezing Ava’s in a death grip. The steps stopped, and the teen closed her eyes.

The steps started again, jogging, the pounding of heavy boots, not the flip-flops that everyone wore in August. Ava knew it wasn’t the police; there would have been multiple pairs of feet.

Something moved far down the branch off the main aisle to her left, and she spotted a gray-haired man step cautiously out of one of the storefronts. He saw her and Misty and moved in their direction. Ava waved him back into the safety of his store.

Get in and lock the door!

Active shooter protocol for public places: lock doors, hide inside, wait for police.

The man stuck close to the walls of the mall as if he could blend in with the paint. He froze, looking beyond Ava’s hiding spot, and abruptly raised his arms in front of his face.

He collapsed in a volley of shots, blood splattering the wall behind him. Unaware of the gray-haired man’s presence, Misty cried out at the sounds while Ava stared in horror at his still form on the concrete next to a planter of petunias.

The shooter is close behind us.

Boots sounded and shifted direction behind her. He moved into Ava’s line of sight, his back toward her as he paced past the wounded man, his rifle trained before him. Ava put her finger to her lips, holding Misty’s teary gaze. The teen was flat on her back, unable to see the shooter or his victim. The shooter ignored the wounded man, and Ava watched his rifle track to the right and left as he moved down the short aisle.

Don’t turn around.

It was a dead-end branch of the mall with bathrooms and a few silent storefronts. He stopped and moved his arm, making Ava believe he was checking his watch again.

Is he counting minutes?

Her heart did a double beat as the thought of explosives entered her brain.
Is he expecting something to go off?
The shooter shook the handles of the doors of the last two storefronts and then turned around.

Ava met his gaze.

He was too far away for Ava to see his eye color, but she had an impression of deep-set dark eyes.

It’s just the mask.

He raised his rifle in her direction, paused, and looked at his watch. He looked at Ava again and then spun around, jogging toward the men’s bathroom. He yanked open the door and disappeared.

Ava exhaled noisily, her limbs limp, wanting to lie down beside Misty.
Why didn’t he shoot?

Shouts and shots sounded from the bathroom.

A man carrying a boy raced out of the restroom. He sprinted in Ava’s direction, slowing as he spotted the bloody man on the ground. The father turned the boy’s face from the still man as they raced past. His steps slowed near the sunglasses kiosk as he spotted Ava and Misty. “Do you need help?”

Ava took in the size of the large child. The man couldn’t carry him and help her get Misty out. “Get your son out of here. Tell the police where we’re at.”

Inner turmoil flashed on his face. He hesitated.

“Go,” Ava ordered. “Don’t risk your boy. Are there more people in the bathroom?”

“Yes,” he panted.

“Tell the police.
Now
!”

He ran, his hand over the boy’s head in a protective gesture.

Ava pulled out her phone to dial 911 again and froze as she saw three missed calls from Mason.

Later
.
She hit the three digits.

The wait to get an operator felt like forever. She relayed the shooter’s location and that more people were still in the restroom. The operator questioned her safety, asking if she could move to a better location. Ava studied the girl beside her.

She couldn’t move Misty. And she wasn’t leaving her behind.

She ended the call.

“Are they coming?” Misty whispered. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus.

“Soon,” Ava promised. “Very soon.”

“Back off!” the Washington County deputy barked at Mason from behind the yellow tape. “This area is for staging only.”

“My wife’s in there!” Mason Callahan shot back, flashing his Oregon State Police badge. Ava wasn’t his wife, but she was the closest damned thing he had to one.

“Everyone knows someone in there! Let us focus on getting them out!”

Mason turned away. He knew he was wasting his and the deputy’s time. He needed to speak to someone with more authority. He scanned the growing crowd of law enforcement and firefighters inside the staging area in the north parking lot of the mall. All responding law enforcement were to report to staging to be logged and assigned a role. He knew Cedar Edge’s small police force had responded first, sent in contact teams to locate the shooter, and cordoned off the mall. Then Washington County had swooped in with reinforcements and its tactical negotiations team. More teams would be sent in to help the injured and sweep every square inch of the mall, reporting back to the incident commander. Shoppers were being methodically evacuated store by store and the injured were being triaged. Mason had heard that three people had died from gunshots inside the mall.

No one could tell him the sex of the victims.

Ava hadn’t answered her phone.

Hot anxiety washed over him, making him dizzy in the sun’s heat.
Déjà vu
.
He’d been in this same helpless position last spring when Ava had vanished, grabbed by a serial killer on a crazed mission. He bit his lip, welcoming the distracting pain.

Who can get me some answers?

The Oregon State Police patrol units in the area had responded and were assisting with rescue and recovery. The mall’s perimeter swarmed with a mix of different uniforms. He took off his cowboy hat and fanned his face. As a Major Crimes detective for OSP, he didn’t wear a uniform, and he was thankful he’d put on a cool short-sleeved shirt with his jeans that morning. The cops in the navy blue uniforms were sweating like marathon runners in the direct sun.

Mason spotted a familiar face and jogged to intercept Sergeant Shawn Shaver, head of Washington County’s Violent Crimes Unit, as he headed toward the staging area.

“Hey, Callahan,” Shaver acknowledged him, his hand over the speaker on his cell phone. “Hang on.” He wrapped up his call. “Holy shit. What a nightmare.” The tall man had a bushy mustache and sounded like the actor Sam Elliott. Once he’d had a few beers, he’d voice Dodge Ram truck commercials to whoever would listen.

“What’s going on, Shaver?” Mason tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

Shaver glanced around and leaned close, lowering his tone. “So far we’re getting reports of a single shooter. And the last report had him in a restroom in a dead end of the mall.”

“Any word on the sex of the victims?” He held his breath.

Brown eyes scrutinized him. “Someone in there?”

“Ava’s in there. She’s not returning my texts or calls.”

“Ah.” Shaver’s brows lowered. “I heard one of the victims was a woman. The other two were men. Don’t know ages or descriptions. And there could be more victims that we haven’t come across yet. Sorry, I don’t know more.”

Mason wanted to vomit. He glanced at his cell phone screen again. Nothing.
Dammit, Ava, where are you?

“Wait, Ava’s FBI, right?”

Mason nodded.

“Some of the intel coming through 911 is from a female witness inside who identified herself as an FBI agent.”

Relief and anger swept through him.
Why didn’t she get out?

“The agent is with a wounded woman and won’t leave. How much you want to bet that’s Ava?”

Oxygen flowed into Mason’s lungs. His knees vibrated oddly, and he wondered if he should sit down. He bent over and rested his hands on his thighs as a large chunk of his stress evaporated. “Why am I not surprised? God damn,” he muttered, breathing deep through his nose. He was close to losing his breakfast.

“I heard about her close call last spring. She’s got guts,” said Shaver.

“Damn right she does. But I don’t know if I have enough.”

Shaver’s mustache twitched. “Love’s a bitch, isn’t she? And she’s definitely got your pair in her grip.”

“You try dating someone in our line of work.”

“Hell no. I like to sleep at night. My wife works in a nice safe office from eight to five.”

Mason glanced at the mall in front of them. “No such thing as a safe place anymore.”

“Ain’t that the truth. I need to get back at it. You might as well stick around. We’ve asked OSP for investigative assistance. We’re stretched too thin, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a call from your boss within the hour.”

“I’m not leaving until Ava comes out.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. She knows how to look out for herself.” Shaver hustled back to work as Mason scanned the groups of shoppers being methodically escorted out by the Cedar Edge police and divided into small groups to give their information and statements. If Ava was a witness, she’d have a debriefing. But when? There were hundreds of eyewitnesses to interview.

What if the female agent isn’t Ava?

Anxiety started to crawl under his skin again.

Deep breaths.

His phone rang. Ray Lusco. “Callahan.”

“Hear about the shooter at Rivertown Mall?” his partner asked.

“Yep. I’m standing outside the staging area.”

“Good. Because Washington County has reached out for investigative support and Schefte assigned it to us,” said his partner. “What are you doing there?”

“Got a text from Ava. She was inside when it started.”

“Holy shit! She okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear from her. She’s not answering my calls, but I was just told a female agent who’s sticking with an injured victim has been relaying intel.”

Ray was silent for a full five seconds. “Seriously? Think that’s her?”

“Who else could it be?”

Ray ended the call, promising to be there in half an hour. Mason rubbed his neck, knowing they had a long day ahead of them. He checked in with the staging coordinator and headed toward the biggest hub of cops, knowing he’d find the incident commander. Now he had an official assignment to be on the inside, but every cell in his body wanted to dash through the mall and find her instead of interviewing witnesses.

Eight months.

Ava McLane had radically changed his life since they’d met eight months ago. In that time he’d realized he was the luckiest bastard in the world.

Now she was trapped with a shooter, and his world was spiraling out of control.

3

Looking in the direction of the parking garage, Ava saw two groups of police steadily moving in her direction. Two teams of four, wearing helmets and carrying shields, progressed simultaneously along the edges of the mall’s main aisle. The front man carried his rifle up and forward; the three men directly in line behind him kept theirs down. The men looked in all directions, scanning for anything. Up, from side to side, in the windows. The last man in each group constantly checked their six o’clock.

The contact teams.

Their goal was to find and stop the shooter. Medical assistance would be in the second wave of teams.

“The police are here,” she whispered to the girl. “They’ll move past us to corner the shooter. The next round of police behind them will get us out.”

The girl nodded, her eyes closed.

Hang on, Misty.

Ava figured the perimeter of the mall was nearly established. No one was getting in or out without being spotted by the police officers forming the perimeter. The steadily advancing teams ordered people inside the stores to stay put.

The teams edged closer to Ava and Misty. Ava raised her hands and identified herself. “I watched the shooter enter the men’s room at the end of this branch of the mall. I heard shots. A man who left after the shots said there’re more people in there. He carried an AR-15, is dressed head to toe in black, and is wearing a mask. I don’t know what other weapons he could have.”

One of the team leaders nodded as he eyed Misty. “Medical will be in soon. Sit tight.” Determination and anger covered their faces; they had an objective. They’d looked at Misty with sympathy, but Ava understood their primary mission was to stop the shooter before he hurt more people. The two teams turned into the dead-end artery of the mall and continued their thorough progression. One team paused at the shot man lying on the right side of the aisle. A member rapidly checked for a pulse as a team member covered him. The man shook his head and they moved on.

Oh, no.

Ava blew out a breath, her fears confirmed. The man hadn’t moved since being shot.

The team leader spoke into his shoulder-mic, but Ava couldn’t make out his words. They passed the last storefront and stopped, sticking tight to the walls of the aisle. Their weapons trained on the door to the men’s room thirty feet away.

“This is the Cedar Edge Police Department,” the leader shouted toward the restrooms. “Put down your weapon and exit backwards out of the bathrooms with your hands above your head.”

Shots sounded inside the restroom and an older man stumbled out the door with his hands raised. The teams shouted for him to stop and get down. Ava recognized the man from her yoga class. He froze and slowly lowered himself to the ground in the awkward way Ava had noticed in class. Arthritis had claimed many of his joints.

“He’s still in there!” he yelled to the teams.

He was rapidly frisked by two of the team members as others covered them and the rest kept their attention on the bathrooms.

“Are there any other people in there?” Ava heard a team member ask.

“Yes. At least one other guy! Maybe more!”

The older man was deemed unarmed. The leader asked him questions about the layout of the bathroom and then instructed him to leave the area but to keep his hands on top of his head as he moved toward the perimeter. He stopped as he reached Ava and Misty, recognition in his eyes. “Do you need a hand?”

Ava recalled his pain-ridden movements. “No, but thanks. Her bleeding has nearly stopped. Someone will be here soon.” She shooed him away. “We’ll be okay.” He reluctantly moved on, limping.

“That was kind,” Misty murmured sleepily.

Ava shook her. “Stay awake!” Her blood pounded in her ears. She checked the ligature around Misty’s thigh and pulled it tighter, making the teen sob. Red and swollen flesh bulged above the purse strap. Ava caught her breath at the sight of the large dark puddle beneath the leg.

When did that get so big?

“This is the Cedar Edge police! Please send out the rest of—”

A single shot interrupted his request.

A man in a cap dashed out of the bathroom a moment later. “He’s down! He shot himself!”

The team put him through the same on-the-ground search routine as the previous man. “Is there anyone else in there?” someone asked.

“No.” The man hesitated. “Unless someone is in the stalls—I don’t know.”

They sent him on his way with the same orders to keep his hands on his head.

Ava saw his face was wet with tears as he approached the two of them.

“He shot himself?” she asked.

He wiped at his face and studied Misty. “Yes. Do you need help?”

Is it over?
Cautious relief swept over Ava. “No. Unless you’re a doctor.”

He shook his head, regret in his eyes. “I can help you carry her out.”

Her immediate impulse was to accept his help. They could probably get Misty upright between them. She glanced at Misty’s leg, hoping her latest tightening of the strap had stopped the bleeding. “If the shooter is down, the medical teams should be here soon. Hopefully with a board of some sort. I’m afraid we’ll make the bleeding start up again if we try to move her.”

She regretfully waved him on, tired of passing up the offers of help.
Where’s the REAL help?

She leaned back against the kiosk, keeping her fingertips on Misty’s pulse, calmed by its steady rhythm, and kept an eye on the teams, knowing they wouldn’t rush the bathroom. The hostage had said the shooter was down, but even injured, someone could still pull a trigger as the police entered. A team leader made two more announcements, asking the shooter to exit the bathrooms. Time ticked by, and she started to worry that she’d made the wrong decision about turning down the last man’s help. She checked the bleeding for the umpteenth time; it still appeared in control. The leaders had updated the police outside the perimeter through their walkie-talkies but Ava hadn’t been able to hear the words. They put their heads together for a discussion. Ava imagined the options they were considering for entering the bathroom.
Flash-bang? Canine unit? Tear gas?
She put her money on the tear gas. She saw the men occasionally glance her way and knew they’d requested help for Misty.

But how many others are injured in different parts of the mall?

Looking down the main artery of the mall, she saw a team with a stretcher cautiously headed in her direction. Relief swept through her.

Thank you, Lord.

“They’re coming for you now, Misty.”

“Good,” muttered the teen. “Leg fucking hurts.”

The leader announced they were launching tear gas into the bathroom, gave a final command to exit, and waited.

No reply.

He gave a signal and three of the team smoothly opened the door, covered each other, tossed the canister, and moved away from the door as if they’d practiced it a hundred times. They probably had.

The bathroom was silent.

“Hey, ladies, how’s it going?” A four-member team in protective gear knelt next to Misty. With economy of movement, they assessed her condition and moved her onto the stretcher. An impossibly young-looking EMT with red hair studied the blood spray and messy trail where Ava had dragged the girl. “You got her out of sight?” he asked. She nodded, suddenly exhausted. “Her blood loss isn’t as bad as it looks,” he reassured Ava. “You probably saved her life by putting the tourniquet on her leg.”

Shouts sounded near the bathroom, and Ava turned in time to see the teams rush in. Shouts of
Clear, clear, clear
reached her ears.

No shots.

One officer stepped back outside and hollered at the medical team. “We’re gonna need medical!”

“He can wait,” muttered the red-haired medic.

Ava agreed.