“I want more teams in there,” ordered Shaver, turning to his men. “Right now he’s got a hostage near the back of the store.” His gaze fell on Mason. “Maybe Ava can get herself out like this guy did.”
“I want to go in.”
“Hell no.”
Ava knew it was time for action. He would kill that hostage without thinking twice. He’d already murdered over a dozen people; one more didn’t matter to him. But for some reason she seemed to matter to him.
She could hear the girl begging and the shuffling of their feet. It sounded as if they were at the end of the next aisle over.
Run. Just leave. He’s too busy to notice you.
She couldn’t leave the girl behind.
“Aaaaaay-vaaaaaah,” he called again.
She tiptoed toward the back of the store and peeked around the end of her aisle, expecting to see him huddled near the end of the next aisle over.
He wasn’t there. She glanced behind her and to her left. All clear. She tentatively stepped into the aisle that ran along the back of the store, wondering where he’d suddenly hidden. She was just passing the bathrooms when she heard his hostage start to scream again—very close—and she darted into the bathroom alcove. He swore at the girl, calling her filthy names as they came closer. After a few moments, his voice volume stayed constant, and Ava realized he’d stopped at the end of the aisle closest to the bathrooms—directly across from her hiding place. Ava pressed her body against the wall, knowing that if he stood in the right place in the aisle, he’d have a clear view of her. She couldn’t dash into the restrooms—the doors were in his clear sights.
She’d trapped herself.
She tried to think. One positive was that he’d already checked the bathrooms, and so he shouldn’t do it again.
Shouldn’t.
“Put down your weapon and come out. We are sending more police into the store. There is no exit unless you put down your weapon.” The bullhorn was louder, sounding as if it was inside the store.
Shaver’s good ol’ boy voice made Ava’s spine relax a degree, and she hoped it did the same for the shooter.
“Fuck you! I’ve got a hostage, and I’m going to blow her head off unless I can talk to Ava McLane!”
Tension shot up her back. Why me?
“Release your hostage and put down your weapon. No harm’s been done to the hostage. Let’s keep it that way.”
Ava bit her lip, wondering when Shaver would hand off the bullhorn to a trained negotiator. Surely one was here by now.
“I don’t want to see your teams again! If I see another cop, I’m shooting her in the leg!” the gunman yelled.
“I’ll keep them on the perimeter for now, but any sign that you’re hurting your hostage and I’ll move them closer, agreed?”
“Fuck you! Where’s McLane?”
A small part of her brain noticed he never used her title. He knew what she did—he’d called her “federal agent lady” earlier. She was the last person to insist on her title, but she always used it with witnesses, convicts, and arrestees. It was a marker of respect. One this guy seemed determined not to use. She tucked that bit of information away, wondering what it meant about his mind-set.
“Special Agent McLane is not available.”
“Ha! Fucking cop bitch. Hiding in a hole somewhere!” He lowered his tone, speaking to his hostage. “See? We’ll get her to come out. This whole situation is her fault.”
What?
“She thinks she can do a man’s job. Women weren’t meant to carry weapons and lord them over men. There’s a natural order.”
Ava tipped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. Zander and Mason had been right. He’d targeted those women in law enforcement and then hidden their executions within the mass shootings. The shootings hadn’t been random; he’d had a target. And then managed to add a final victim to each shooting to take the blame.
A risky game.
Which she had figured out.
And now she was his target.
Her hands went numb. She couldn’t feel the wooden handle, and cold sweat formed on her stomach. Her rational brain checked off what she knew about the killer twenty feet away. Loaded gun. Hostage. Driven. Suicidal?
That he’d created elaborate hoaxes so victims would take blame for his crimes indicated this man didn’t plan on dying. But now he was surrounded by a police presence with no way out. A man who wanted to live would surrender.
Possibly suicidal. A person with nothing to live for but a goal of making one last splash.
A new voice sounded on the bullhorn. “This is Graham Stevens with the Washington County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like to help you get out of here safely. Since you haven’t harmed your hostage, you can walk out of here with minimal charges.”
Ava nodded. She knew the game. Remind the hostage taker that things can always be worse and that cooperating makes it better. Make him think he has control over what happens next.
“Christ. Do they think I’m stupid?” she heard him mutter. “Minimal charges? I’ve probably killed almost half your age in victims, honey.”
The hostage gasped. “Don’t hurt me,” she begged in hoarse tones.
“Not up to me,” he said conversationally. “It depends on what happens next.”
Inside the store Mason stood next to the man who’d taken over communications with the shooter. Shaver swore Graham Stevens was a top hostage negotiator, but Mason didn’t care. He wanted Ava out of the store. Radio communications with the sixteen officers currently tightening the perimeter inside the store had reported no sign of her. That was good. Maybe she wasn’t even in the store?