But there was something inside of Kat that was alive, thinking, planning, knowing that it wasn’t over and it wasn’t okay—that there were codes to her world and her life and anyone who would pick up an automatic weapon and take a hundred hostages wasn’t going to live by them.
Whoever these men were, they were not members of the family, and that more than anything made Kat yell through the darkness, “Abby!” The woman turned, studying her, as Kat said, “There’s something else that I can do.”
Chapter 6
“STOP PACING,” Hale said in the manner of someone who was used to giving orders. Sadly, Macey wasn’t used to taking them.
“No thank you,” she said, and kept on walking. Too bad there was no real place to walk to. The storage closet they’d found was small and crowded with dirty laundry and old housekeeping carts. But it was also private and far away from the eyes and ears of the men in the masks.
“Macey, calm down. We don’t know why they brought the C4,” Hale said.
“Well, we do know that there is a gas line running behind the Calloway safe. The bad guys with the big explosives don’t seem to care that there’s a gas line. Let me do the math for you. Gas plus explosions equals boom!”
“Don’t look at me. I would be more than happy to offer a short course on How to Conduct a Proper Apartment Heist, but I doubt these guys are going to take my advice.”
“Abby,” Macey said, trying her earbud again. “Abby, do you hear me? How’s it going trying to cut the gas to the building? Did you do it? Is it done?”
“And what about the gas that’s already in the lines?” Hale asked. “Never mind.” He shook his head. There was no doubt he already knew the answer.
“Guys.” Abby’s voice came through their earbuds. “Just sit tight. We’re working on a Plan B.”
“What kind of Plan B?” Hale asked.
He was almost holding his breath when a voice answered, “My kind.”
Macey tried to read the look on his face then, but it was gone in a flash. It had been a simple moment of peace and joy and pure happiness. That voice made Hale happy. It kept him calm. It was his backup and his conscience. Macey couldn’t help herself; she envied him.
Then Macey asked, “Okay, Abby. What do you have in mind?”
When the plan was set and the mission in motion, Macey had to admit she felt slightly better about the situation.
There are few problems a Gallagher Girl can face that cannot be improved by a job. A task. A target. So there was a new spring in Macey McHenry’s steps as she led the way back down the corridor that lined the ballroom. The carts were still abandoned. Trays of shrimp still lay carelessly tossed aside and they were starting to smell.
Macey walked through it all, feeling in her bones that it was over. She turned and looked at Hale. “Smile, thief boy. It’s a—”
But before Macey could finish she felt something—someone—run around the corner and into her side, knocking her against an ice machine and sending her spinning around.
The man in the Clinton mask seemed completely shocked to find he wasn’t alone. But shock quickly faded as Hale rushed forward, and the man shifted his weight and sent the slightly lighter boy flying too hard into the wall. Then the man turned his sights on Macey.
“Abby,” Macey whispered to her teacher, “I think we might need a Plan C now.”
And then she picked up one of the heavy platters of shrimp.
And swung.
Chapter 7
THE LIGHTS WERE OFF INSIDE THE BALLROOM. So Macey stumbled inside through the glow of the candles that still burned on the tables. At first there was a hiss and then a whisper. It was like the people on the floor didn’t know if she was shadow or ghost as she hobbled on a bruised leg and broken heel, slowly making her way through the flickering light.
“Macey?” a voice cried through the room.
“Daddy?” Macey called, but the man in the Clinton mask yelled, “Stop right there!”
And for maybe the first time in her life, Macey did as she was told.
She thought of the masked man’s gun and the rapid burst of bullets.
She thought of Hale lying on the floor.
She thought of the mission she hadn’t had the time to finish.
And Macey yelled louder, “Daddy?” Her voice cracked. Macey saw the senator moving her way, through the ballroom.
“What was that shooting?” the senator demanded. “What have you done to my daughter?”
The masked man whirled and sent the beam of his flashlight across the crowd until it shone on the tall man in the back of the room.
But Clinton just pointed his gun at Macey’s head and said, “Stay where you are.”
The man in the Bush mask was coming toward them. “Reagan needs you in the other room,” Bush said, but Clinton shook his head.
“Found this one out in the hall,” Clinton told Bush. “Her and her little friend. I handled them, though. Didn’t I, sweetheart?” He ran a finger down the side of Macey’s cheek and she shivered but didn’t fight.
It wasn’t the time, Macey told herself. It wasn’t the place. She’d have her chance later, but right then all Macey wanted to do was run into her father’s arms. She tried to push past Bush, clawed against his arms and his sides, but he held her in place, not moving.
“Please,” she said. “Please. I won’t try to sneak out again. I promise.”
“No,” Clinton snapped, and pulled Macey away. “You think we’re gonna trust you?” His drawl was obviously fake and sickly sweet. He didn’t sound like a former president. He sounded like a psychopath.
“You think we’re gonna let you go back to your daddy after what you did?” The man fingered the side of his neck—a place that was still bleeding from an earlier blow.
“Please,” Macey said, but Clinton just grabbed her arm.
“Come here.”
“No!” the senator shouted.
“Bill,” Bush said, “Reagan needs you in the other room.”
“She’s coming with me,” Clinton yelled over his shoulder.
He marched Macey to the farthest, darkest corner of the room, where he made a great show of tying her to a chair, and the man in the Bush mask went back to walking slowly among the hostages and holding his weapon.
If he had felt the hand that reached into the messenger bag he kept strapped across his chest, he didn’t show it.