The Last Widow

Dash cleared his throat. He rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “Carter, has it occurred to you that we’re in a stolen, traceable vehicle with a GPS system?”

Carter was focused on tying the lanyard. “We didn’t have a lot of options. We had to get out of there. Right, Vale?”

Vale mumbled a non-answer. His index finger was still deep in the hole in his side. His other hand gripped the grab bar. Sara studied the revolver trapped underneath the seat belt. Carter’s hands were busy tying down the knife. Dash’s reflexes were compromised. She could—

“Miss.” Dash put his hand on Sara’s shoulder. He said, “Follow that van, please.”

A white van was turning into a strip club off of Moreland. The sign outside showed a scantily clad woman beside the words Club Shady Lady. Work trucks filled the parking spaces. The white van braked, then took a right turn behind the building. There was a Lay’s Potato Chip logo on the side.

Dash said, “Ah, that’s lucky. Keep following.”

Sara drove slowly into the narrow alley. She took another turn. The building was on the right, a thick stand of trees on the left. There was no way she could reach over, unlock the glove box and retrieve Will’s gun without being shot. She could open the door, roll out. Carter couldn’t chase her with the knife in his leg. Vale was too terrified to move. Dash was in no condition to pursue her.

Would Michelle help? Or would she just wait for the bad things to happen?

The white van was parked beside the service entrance. The delivery man got out. He gave them no more than a glance as he opened the van doors and started pulling out boxes.

“Stop here,” Dash ordered.

Sara put the gear in park. The music from the strip club was so loud that she could feel it in her chest.

She looked at the glove box again.

“Vale,” Dash said. “I wonder if you can fetch me whatever is in that glove compartment our friend seems so interested in.”

Sara looked out the window at the trees. She could hear the lock click open. Vale’s gasp of shock when he saw Will’s service weapon.

Dash took it from him, saying, “Thank you, sir.”

Sara closed her eyes. She thought about the BMW’s safety features. The doors locked automatically when the speedometer hit fifteen miles per hour. The handle required two pulls to open. Could she do it fast enough to escape?

Dash seemed to realize something. “Where are Hurley and Monroe?”

“Dead,” Carter answered. “We had to leave them. Fucking guy came out of nowhere. It was like punching a sack of rocks.”

Sara looked at him in the mirror. His head was down. He was still tying the knot.

Dash asked Sara, “What’s going on with our friend in the front seat?”

“I don’t have the correct diagnostic equipment,” she said, implying it was necessary. “My best guess is his lung is collapsing.”

Dash asked, “Pardon me again, but can’t you put in something hollow, bring air back into the lungs that way?”

Sara didn’t know if he was testing her. Saran Wrap would’ve probably helped make a seal around the wound, and she had an IV needle in her medical bag that could deflate the tension.

She decided to answer the question with a question: “Would you put a hollow tube in a flat tire to re-inflate it?”

Vale sucked in a shallow breath of air. He was trying to follow along. He still had his finger uselessly sticking into the hole in his side. She wanted to tell him to stick it in farther. If the shock didn’t kill him, the infection would.

“We should get to know each other,” Dash said. “What should I call you?”

“Sara.” She watched the driver of the white van. He was doing his job, stacking boxes onto a dolly, checking the order on his tablet.

“Last name?”

Sara hesitated. He wasn’t asking to be sociable. He could look her up online. Sara was listed on the GBI’s website as a special agent attached to the medical examiner’s office. There was a big difference between kidnapping a pediatrician and kidnapping a government agent.

“Earnshaw,” she said, giving them her mother’s maiden name.

Dash nodded. She could tell he knew she was lying. “You got any children?”

“Two.”

“All right, Dr. Sara Earnshaw. I know you don’t wanna be here, but lend us your chauffeur services for a little bit longer and we’ll get you back to that husband and kids of yours.”

Sara bit her lip. She nodded. She could tell he was lying, too.

Dash opened the car door. The thumping bass of the club music shook her eardrums.

He held up his hand to block the sunlight. He called behind him, “Michelle, I’ll need you to join me.”

Michelle robotically picked her way over the back seat. She flinched away from Carter. She avoided Sara’s questioning look. Her pants were still hanging open when she jumped out of the car. The gravel must’ve been sharp on her bare feet, but she gave no reaction.

What had they done to break her so irrevocably?

“Let’s go.” Dash indicated that Michelle should walk toward the van. He’d tucked his hand into the opening between his shirt buttons, fashioning a sort of sling. The bullet had missed his humerus. There was muscle damage that would make it hurt when he moved, but he could still move.

Carter mumbled, “What’s he doing?”

Sara knew what he was doing, even as she silently prayed that it would not happen.

The delivery man came out of the building. His dolly was empty. He had his back to them as he closed the service door. Dash reached into his holster and pulled out Will’s gun. The delivery man turned around, and that was the last movement his body voluntarily made.

Dash shot him twice in the face.

Sara watched the closed door at the rear of the building. No one came out. They hadn’t heard the gunshots over the music. Or they’d heard them, but this was the type of neighborhood where gunfire was not unusual.

Carter said, “If you tell him what happened back there, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Sara looked into the mirror. “That you abandoned Hurley? Or that your bro Hurley tried to kill you?”

Carter’s eyes slid toward the front. He silently watched Dash and Michelle load the dead delivery man’s body into the van.

Carter said, “I figure it’ll take less than ten minutes for me to fuck that bad attitude out of your mouth.”

Sara felt her throat constrict. She looked at her fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. She had transferred blood from Dash’s shoulder wound onto the leather. Merle’s blood had to be mixed in there, too; Sara had touched his head wound at the crash site. Carter’s leg had probably bled in the back seat of her car. Vale had provided his own DNA in the front.

She told Carter, “Enjoy that burning sensation you’re feeling in your balls.” She locked eyes with him in the mirror. “Once that knife is out, that’s the last time you’ll feel your scrotum.”

Vale gave a sharp wheeze as he inhaled. “Sh … shut up …” He pointed his revolver at Sara. His hand was steady. “Walk a-around … the front. The front … of the c-car.”

Sara reached for the door handle. She saw the time on her watch.

2:17 p.m.

She didn’t pull the handle.

Her Apple Watch.

The back door opened. Carter slid out of the car, careful not to bump the knife. He clicked the door shut. He stood outside the car, waiting.

Sara’s mind raced through the options as she slowly pulled twice on the handle. The watch had both cellular and GPS. She could make a phone call, but the speaker would play the caller’s voice. Sending a text was too cumbersome. There was a Walkie-Talkie app, but she would have to tap the icon, scroll to the right person, and hold the yellow button long enough to send a message through.

She got out of the car. She moved slowly, trying to buy herself some time.

“Go around the front of the car and help Vale.” Carter showed her the Glock, as if she’d forgotten about it. “Don’t fuck around or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Sara tried to stall. “You should leave him. He’s going to die anyway.”

“We don’t leave men behind.”

“Does Hurley know that?”

He punched her in the stomach. The pain was an explosion inside of her body. Sara doubled over. Dropped to her knees. Her head started to swim. She couldn’t breathe.

“Get up, bitch.”

Sara pressed her forehead to the ground. Saliva dripped from her mouth. Her hands had automatically gone to her stomach. The muscles spasmed. She blinked open her eyes. The watch screen was glowing. She tapped the Walkie-Talkie button. Faith was the first name on her list. She held the yellow circle down and said, “Carter, do you—do you really think the cops aren’t going to spot a white potato chip van on 285?”

“Not your problem.”

Gravel crunched under tires. The van had pulled up.

Sara raised her head. The world tilted sideways. She could barely make it to her feet. The pain in her belly forced her to walk doubled over. She tried not to think about Will experiencing the same agony, but worse. She had to steady herself on the car as she made her way around to the other side.

Vale had already opened the door. His lips looked bruised. His eyelids drooped. He was decompensating faster than she had hoped.

“Gimme,” Carter said, grabbing the revolver away from Vale.

Sara had no choice but to help the injured man from the car. Vale’s arm went around her shoulder. His other arm was still looped around his chest, his finger jammed inside the gunshot wound.

“Hurry up.” Carter waved the gun to get her moving.

Vale tried to push himself up with his legs. He was muscular, much heavier than he looked. Sara took a step away when he was expecting her to step forward. Instinctively, she tried to keep him from falling, but she could not move quickly enough.

Vale landed on his back. What little breath he had left was knocked out of him. He gasped for air. His eyes were wild.

Sara went to her knees. She didn’t give a shit about Vale. She didn’t want to be punched again. She pretended to examine him—looking at his pupils, pressing her ear to his heart. His shirt was raised. Blood dribbled in a steady stream from the gunshot wound. Bright red, not venal blood but arterial. The bullet had entered through the axilla, where all the nerves and arteries were bundled.

Dash was out of the van. He helped Vale sit up. He told Sara, “A hand with my friend, if you don’t mind?”

There was something weirdly commanding about his polite, calm tone. He wasn’t helplessly panicked like Vale or blinded by anger like Carter. Dash struck Sara as the type of person who could wield his moods like a sword. She didn’t want to ever find herself on the sharp end.

Along with Dash, Sara used her shoulder to raise Vale to standing. They got him to the van. He was able to crawl on his own into the back.

Sara felt Dash’s hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s take that off, please, ma’am.”

He had noticed the watch.

Sara turned the face down as she undid the strap. Instead of handing it to Dash, she threw it into the woods.

“Thank you,” he said, as if this was exactly what he’d wanted to happen. He motioned for Michelle. He didn’t have to give her instruction. She silently helped move the delivery man out of the van and into the BMW.

Why was she so compliant?

“Gonna fuck you up,” Carter whispered to Sara. He edged into the van on his ass, dragging his stiff leg across the floor.

The driver’s side door shut. Michelle put on her seat belt. She turned on the ignition. She put both hands on the wheel. She stared straight ahead, waiting to be told what to do next.

Why?

“I just need another coupla three seconds.” Dash had managed to open the fuel door to the BMW. He pulled an emergency road flare out of his pocket. He struck the top, which was like a giant match head. Burning white sparks shot out like a sparkler.

He told Sara, “You might want to hurry.”

Sara got into the back of the van. The last thing she saw before she closed the sliding door was Dash jamming the burning flare into the mouth of the gas tank.

He jumped into the front seat. “Go.”

Michelle hit the gas. The van lurched. They took a sharp turn around the building.

Gasoline burned, but only the fumes could cause an explosion. Dash had timed it right. They were fifty yards away when the shock of the blast reached the van.

If the police found the BMW, all the forensics would be burned away.

The blood on the steering wheel. The blood on the seats. The delivery man’s body.

All gone.

“Shit,” Carter muttered. “Shit-shit-shit.” The knife had shifted despite his best efforts. He was cupping his groin. He glanced over at Sara, a helpless look in his eyes.

She looked away.

Dash called, “We good, brothers?”

“Yeah,” Vale mumbled.

“Hell, yeah,” Carter said, though his voice was hoarse.

Sara listened to the steady drone of the wheels on the road. She reached into her empty pocket. She used her thumb to methodically clean beneath her fingernails.

She had scratched Vale’s back when he fell down, gouging out rows of his skin.

At the site of the car accident, she had touched Merle’s head wound and rubbed her fingers clean on her shorts. She had run her palm across Dash’s wounded shoulder. She had transferred Hurley’s blood from the back seat of the Malibu. She would put her hand in the pool of blood seeping out of Carter’s leg when they eventually dragged her out of the van.

Sara knew the statistics. They were taking her to a second location. Statistically, her chances of survival had been cut to roughly 12 percent.

She was not going to end up like Michelle Spivey—alive, but not alive.

Whatever it took, she was going to make these men kill her. Her only job between now and then was to take a piece of them down with her.

Sara wanted her family to have closure. She wanted Will to get vengeance.

Her own sweat was on her shorts by virtue of the fact that she was wearing them. Vale’s skin cells were in the pocket. Merle’s blood would transfer from her hand. Dash’s blood. Eventually Carter’s.

Their DNA would conclusively link all four men to Sara when her body was found.

5

Sunday, August 4, 2:01 p.m.

“Where are they taking her?” Will grabbed Hank by the shirt and gave him a violent shake. “Tell me where, God dammit!”

Hank stared up from the bloody pulp of his face. His teeth were broken. His nose was bent to the side. His jaw was crooked.

Will scooped up the revolver from the sidewalk. He cocked the hammer. He took aim.

“Don’t shoot him!” Cathy screamed.

Will felt the same jolt of recognition. Sara’s voice, but not her voice.

“She’s gone!” Cathy gripped the shotgun with both hands, shaking with grief. “You let them steal my daughter!”

His eyes started to water. He had to squint against the sunlight.

“You did this!” Cathy stared straight at him. Straight into him. “My son-in-law would’ve never let this happen.”

Will felt her words harder than any blow he’d ever taken. He uncocked the hammer on the gun. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He forced the part of his brain that understood Cathy was right to shut down.

A siren whooped. An Atlanta police cruiser screeched to a stop ten yards away.

Will tossed the revolver onto the sidewalk. His hands went into the air. He told Cathy, “Put down the—”

“Put it down!” the cop screamed. He rested his gun on the open door of his cruiser. “Now!”

Slowly, Cathy placed the shotgun at her feet.

She raised her hands.

“I’m GBI.” Will worked to keep his tone even. “This is one of the bombers. He had a team. They abducted a wo—”

“Where’s your ID?”

“I don’t have my wallet. My badge number is 398. A woman was—” Will had to stop. Vomit had rushed up his throat. He spit it out. “A woman was abducted. Silver BMW. License plate—” Will couldn’t remember the number. His brain felt like a balloon that was trying to float away. “BMW X5 hybrid. There are four more men. Three.”

Fuck.

Will had to close his eyes to stop the world from spinning. Three men? Four? Merle’s dead body was between him and the cop. Hank had been beaten senseless.

Will said, “Three men. Call it in. BMW X5. A wo— two women abducted.”

“The radios are jammed.” The cop hesitated. He wanted to believe Will. “Phones are down. I can’t—”

Will didn’t have time for this shit.

He picked up Hank and threw him against the hood of the cruiser. He wrenched together Hank’s wrists and pinned them together with one hand. He kicked out his legs. He patted down the man’s pockets. Android phone. Folded money. Some coins. Driver’s license and an insurance card.

Will matched the photo on the license to Hank’s face. He watched the tiny letters of the name jump like fleas across the white background. He handed over both to the cop. “I don’t have my glasses.”

“Hurley,” the cop read. “Robert Jacob Hurley.”

“Hurley.” Will saw the bullet hole in the back of his leg. He wanted to jam a pencil into it. “He’s going to bleed out. We have to get him to the hospital.”

Will grabbed Hurley up by the collar. He stumbled, the road tilted like a funhouse.

The cop tried, “Are you—”

“Let’s go.” Will shoved Hurley into the back of the cruiser and slammed the door so hard that the car rocked.

Will braced his hands on the roof. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his equilibrium. He was suddenly aware of all of the pain in his body. The skin on his knuckles was broken open. Rivulets of blood were streaming down his neck. There were no words to describe what was going on inside his belly. Every single organ felt like it was strapped tight with a thousand rubber bands. His ribs had turned into straight razors.

Will walked around the car. The front door was at the wrong end of a telescope. He blinked his eyes. He fumbled for the handle.

The minute he was inside, the car lurched forward.

Will didn’t look at Cathy as they pulled away.

She called his name.

Will.

Sara’s voice, but not her voice.

The cop said, “I’m getting something.” He had his phone to his ear. “It’s ringing.”

“A woman was—” Will felt his stomach clench. He leaned over and threw up into the floorboard. The splatter went everywhere. He had to wipe it off of his face. “Sorry.”

The cop rolled down the front windows.

Will’s eyes started to close. He could feel his body wanting to give up. He told the cop, “Silver BMW. Michelle Spivey was with them.”

“Mi—” the cop’s mouth dropped open.

“They were a team. Cops. Military.”

“Shit. Phone stopped ringing.” the cop hung up and dialed again. The cruiser cut into the empty lane. Coasted through Emory Village. There were people on the sidewalk running toward the hospital. Druid Hills was filled with doctors and medical support staff and people from the CDC. They were all doing what Will and Sara had tried to do—reach the site of the disaster as quickly as possible.

Will’s vision fought him as he tried to look at his watch. It took all of his focus to make the numbers sharpen.

2:06 p.m.

“Thank fuck,” the cop mumbled. “This is 3-2-9-9-4.”

Will felt the anvil lift off of his chest. The call had finally gone through.

“I need the commander. I’ve got one of the bombing suspects in custody. I have details on—”

“S-shilver BMW X5.” Will heard his words slur. “Three sushpects. They abducted two wahh—” He couldn’t get the information to come out. His head didn’t want to stay upright. “Amanda Wagner. You need to fah … tell … tell her they took Sara. Tell her …”. He had to close his eyes against the sunlight. “Tell her I fucked up.”

Will’s eyelids peeled open like wet cotton. Thumb tacks were drilling into his pupils. Tears leaked out as he struggled to maintain consciousness. There wasn’t a moment of disorientation or forgetfulness. He remembered exactly what had happened and knew exactly where he was.

He swung his legs over the side of the hospital gurney. He nearly fell to the floor.

“Steady.” Nate, the cop from the cruiser, was still with him. “You passed out. You’re in the ER.”

Will strained to hear him over the loud noises. “Did they find Sara?”

“Not yet.”

“The car?” Will pressed. “They can’t find the car?”

“There’s a full-on manhunt. They’ll find her.”

Will didn’t just want them to find her. He wanted—needed—them to find her alive.

The cop said, “Maybe you should lay down, buddy.”

Will rubbed his eyes to clear them. The fluorescent lights were like sewing needles. He realized that he was sitting on one of dozens of gurneys that were parked on each side of the hallway. Patients were bleeding, moaning, crying. Debris covered their faces in gray dust. The atmosphere was eerily calm. No one was shouting. Nurses and doctors walked briskly back and forth with tablets tucked under their arms. The hospital staff were prepared for this. The real panic would be out in the streets.

Will asked Nate, “How many people are dead?”

“There’s no official count. Maybe as few as twenty, maybe as many as fifty.”

Will’s brain couldn’t comprehend the number. He had heard the bombs go off. He had run to help the survivors. He had been mentally prepared to do whatever it took to save as many people as possible.

Now, his only concern was Sara.

Nate said, “They’re clearing each building in teams. Looking for more—”

Will slid off the bed. He waited for the nausea and dizziness to return. Neither made a repeat appearance, but his head throbbed with each beat of his heart.

He closed his eyes, tried to breathe. “What about the BMW?”

“It’s in the system, but the system—”

“What time is it?”

“Two thirty-eight.”

Which meant that Sara had been gone for over half an hour. Will’s head dropped to his chest. His stomach was still grinding inside of his belly. His hands were bleeding from punching Hurley while Sara was taken right out from under him.

My son-in-law would’ve never let this happen.

Her son-in-law.

Sara’s husband.

The chief of their town.

Would not have let this happen.

“Hey,” Nate said. “You want some water or something?”

Will rubbed his jaw with his fingers. He could still smell Sara on his hands.

“Will!” Faith was running down the hallway. Amanda walked behind her. She was talking into a satellite phone.

Will’s throat felt so raw that he could barely get out the question. “Did you find Sara?”

“The entire state is looking for her.” Faith pressed her hand to his forehead the same way she did when she was worried that Emma had a fever. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I let them steal her.”

Faith put her hand back to his head.

“We stopped to help them.” Will bullet-pointed the details of the car accident. “They drove up The By Way. That’s the last I saw of her. I don’t—” He stopped to cough. It felt like another punch to his gut. “I don’t know why she went with them.”

Amanda asked, “Why are you slumped over like a hobo?”

Before he could answer, she raised his shirt. Red and purple splotches showed the broken blood vessels under his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” Faith whispered.

Amanda told Nate, “You’re dismissed, Officer. Report to your squad. Faith, go find a doctor. Tell them he could be bleeding internally.”

Will tried, “I’m not—

“Shut up, Wilbur.” Amanda made him sit down on the gurney. “I’m not going to play that game where I order you to go home and you wander off like a wrecking ball. I’ll keep you with me. You’ll hear everything I hear. But you have to do exactly as I say.”