wrong.
“Are you married, Stark?”
“Yes. I have a husband and three kids. You don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“Exactly. Which is why you’re the one who’s going to check the fuse.”
Alex exits the vehicle and walks around to Stark’s door. One hand opens it. The other points the Sig.
“Check if the fuse died, or any other problem you can find.”
“I don’t know anything about explosives.”
“It’s easy. If you see a spark, run. And make sure you run this way, or I’ll shoot you.”
Stark pulls herself out of the backseat—not the easiest of tasks with cuffs on—and stands before Alex.
Alex extends her empty hand. Stark flinches, but Alex brings the gun up under her jaw to keep her still. She pushes a stray auburn bang out of Stark’s face, tucks it behind her ear.
“Don’t be afraid,” Alex says. “Things happen beyond our control. We can’t do anything to stop them. But we do have control over how we react. How we respond. Being afraid is a choice.”
The speech seems to have the opposite effect on Stark, who begins to tremble. Alex rolls her eyes.
“Just get over there, ’fraidy cat.”
Stark moves like a robot, joints stiff, head down, scanning the road. Alex waits behind the open door of the cruiser, one hand aiming the Sig, the other aiming the Maglite.
The closer Stark gets to the Honda, the slower she becomes. At this rate, the sun will be up before the car explodes.
“Let’s pick up the pace, Officer Stark. I’m hoping to get laid to night. You find the fuse?”
Stark mumbles something, the words lost in the night.
“Crouch lower,” Alex says. “It’s a skinny pink fuse.”
Another mumble. Alex aims, fires a round over Stark’s head, close enough for her to feel the wind. The cop drops to the ground.
“That’s what I mean. Keep looking.”
Another minute passes, along with three rubberneckers. One slows down enough to maybe see that things aren’t right. The radio squawks again.
“Five Victor Seven, what’s your twenty? Over.”
Alex doesn’t know radio call signals. And she can’t trust Officer Stark to give her the correct response. She chooses to ignore it, hoping to get out of there shortly.
“See the fuse?” Alex calls to Stark, who is now on all fours next to the Honda, shaking so bad she looks like a wet dog.
“No.”
“Check underneath, by the gas tank.”
Stark doesn’t budge. Alex shoots out the tire Stark is crouching next to, the pop almost as loud as the gunfire.
“I hate repeating myself, Val.”
“Five Victor Seven, status.”
Goddamn radio. Alex opens the front door, grabs the hand mike.
“Just finishing up here, Central. Computer problems.”
She tosses the mike back inside, and notices Officer Stark is under the car. But there’s a faint blue light under there with her.
The bitch has a cell phone. Probably one of those ultra-thin models for Alex to have missed it in the pat down.
“Five Victor Seven, do you have a 10-86? Over.”
Dammit. Alex figures she said something wrong, which means another patrol car will cruise by any minute. She needs to get out of here, pronto.
“Throw away the phone, Val!”
Alex fires two rounds into the trunk of the car. The cop can’t drop the phone fast enough, and it skitters across the pavement.
“Now grab the plastic explosive I put on the gas tank!”
Val cowers, hands covering her head, as if that will protect her from a forty-five-caliber bullet.
Alex takes a deep, calming breath, then exits the vehicle.
“I’m going to count to three. If I don’t see the plastic in your hand, your children will grow up without a mother. One…two…”
Officer Stark holds up the PENO.
“Good. Now run back here. Move it, double time.”
Stark half jogs/half stumbles to the squad car. Her face is wet.
“Gimme the plastic, and get in the backseat. Close the door behind you.”
The cop follows orders. Alex studies the PENO. The fuse has fallen out. Alex frowns with half of
“Are you married, Stark?”
“Yes. I have a husband and three kids. You don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“Exactly. Which is why you’re the one who’s going to check the fuse.”
Alex exits the vehicle and walks around to Stark’s door. One hand opens it. The other points the Sig.
“Check if the fuse died, or any other problem you can find.”
“I don’t know anything about explosives.”
“It’s easy. If you see a spark, run. And make sure you run this way, or I’ll shoot you.”
Stark pulls herself out of the backseat—not the easiest of tasks with cuffs on—and stands before Alex.
Alex extends her empty hand. Stark flinches, but Alex brings the gun up under her jaw to keep her still. She pushes a stray auburn bang out of Stark’s face, tucks it behind her ear.
“Don’t be afraid,” Alex says. “Things happen beyond our control. We can’t do anything to stop them. But we do have control over how we react. How we respond. Being afraid is a choice.”
The speech seems to have the opposite effect on Stark, who begins to tremble. Alex rolls her eyes.
“Just get over there, ’fraidy cat.”
Stark moves like a robot, joints stiff, head down, scanning the road. Alex waits behind the open door of the cruiser, one hand aiming the Sig, the other aiming the Maglite.
The closer Stark gets to the Honda, the slower she becomes. At this rate, the sun will be up before the car explodes.
“Let’s pick up the pace, Officer Stark. I’m hoping to get laid to night. You find the fuse?”
Stark mumbles something, the words lost in the night.
“Crouch lower,” Alex says. “It’s a skinny pink fuse.”
Another mumble. Alex aims, fires a round over Stark’s head, close enough for her to feel the wind. The cop drops to the ground.
“That’s what I mean. Keep looking.”
Another minute passes, along with three rubberneckers. One slows down enough to maybe see that things aren’t right. The radio squawks again.
“Five Victor Seven, what’s your twenty? Over.”
Alex doesn’t know radio call signals. And she can’t trust Officer Stark to give her the correct response. She chooses to ignore it, hoping to get out of there shortly.
“See the fuse?” Alex calls to Stark, who is now on all fours next to the Honda, shaking so bad she looks like a wet dog.
“No.”
“Check underneath, by the gas tank.”
Stark doesn’t budge. Alex shoots out the tire Stark is crouching next to, the pop almost as loud as the gunfire.
“I hate repeating myself, Val.”
“Five Victor Seven, status.”
Goddamn radio. Alex opens the front door, grabs the hand mike.
“Just finishing up here, Central. Computer problems.”
She tosses the mike back inside, and notices Officer Stark is under the car. But there’s a faint blue light under there with her.
The bitch has a cell phone. Probably one of those ultra-thin models for Alex to have missed it in the pat down.
“Five Victor Seven, do you have a 10-86? Over.”
Dammit. Alex figures she said something wrong, which means another patrol car will cruise by any minute. She needs to get out of here, pronto.
“Throw away the phone, Val!”
Alex fires two rounds into the trunk of the car. The cop can’t drop the phone fast enough, and it skitters across the pavement.
“Now grab the plastic explosive I put on the gas tank!”
Val cowers, hands covering her head, as if that will protect her from a forty-five-caliber bullet.
Alex takes a deep, calming breath, then exits the vehicle.
“I’m going to count to three. If I don’t see the plastic in your hand, your children will grow up without a mother. One…two…”
Officer Stark holds up the PENO.
“Good. Now run back here. Move it, double time.”
Stark half jogs/half stumbles to the squad car. Her face is wet.
“Gimme the plastic, and get in the backseat. Close the door behind you.”
The cop follows orders. Alex studies the PENO. The fuse has fallen out. Alex frowns with half of
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