Mo looked at the pregnant woman who was struggling with her toddler. “Why don’t you go first?”
“Are you sure?” she asked, trying to soothe him with a pacifier.
“Absolutely.”
“That’s very kind. Thank you so much!” She gave Mo a grateful smile and followed Christine into Dr. Nasmo’s room.
“How long will they be?” asked Mo, when Christine returned to her desk.
“About twenty minutes.”
“I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.”
The door shut behind Mo, as she stepped out. John Lazaro was up on the podium. Flanking the platform, on all sides, were lines of security guards. Their uniforms were different from those of the mall guards, and they were heavily armed.
Blimey, thought Mo, as she walked past the gathering. He’s not pissing around.
She scanned the fast food restaurants in the food court and decided to get her coffee from the café upstairs. John Lazaro’s words were blaring over the amplifier, mingled with the chatter of unaffected shoppers and mall music. She preferred her coffee a little less noisy.
Mo took the elevator upstairs and passed a balloon vendor. He whistled at her and inflated a long, pink balloon in her honor. Mo had that effect on men. She was used to it. Maybe it was the colorful clothes she wore, or the flirty skirts, or the big, fun pieces of jewelry that jangled as she walked. But there were exceptions to the rule. Men who remained unaffected. Like Gabriel Lucas.
Mo mulled it over as she sat at one of the tables inside the small café and drank her coffee. Gabriel was different. He was intense and broody—an enigma she hadn’t been able to solve. She had first noticed him at the nightclub that all the volunteers from Nima House frequented. It wasn’t just his good looks that set him apart. He wasn’t like any of the other locals. He didn’t talk. He didn’t dance. He just sat there and got rip-roaring drunk.
Eventually, she learned that he had a daughter and sister in Rutema. There was no work for him there, so he took odd jobs in Amosha. He never said what he did, but he traveled a lot. When he told her that he was going to Dar es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania, Mo had begged to tag along. She wanted to stroll along Oyster Bay, and spend money she didn’t have at the shopping center. It was on that trip Mo learned about Scholastica and the situation with albinos. A friendship developed between the two, and when Gabriel proposed a plan that would work for them both, Mo had agreed.
Mo finished the rest of her coffee and glanced at her watch.
Perfect timing.
She stepped out of the café just as a tall, striking dish of a man, holding a bouquet of bright yellow balloons walked by her.
Hello. Mo did a double take. She caught a brief glimpse of his profile—square jaw, strong nose, thick, dirty blond hair. Rugged and handsome, with powerful shoulders that bracketed a lean, athletic physique. She couldn’t help but get sucked into the wake of his trail. It wasn’t just the flurry of balloons rustling behind him; it was the whole massive presence of him. The air swirled in his aftermath.
Damn. Mo inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, as he exited through the main doors. I should hang out at the mall more. She made a mental note to tell Ro about him. He looked like he’d stepped right out of one of her books. Mo wasn’t sure what kind of books Ro was reading these days, but she was certain her sister would have stopped long enough to stare.
Mo took the elevator to the lower level. The doors opened and closed like they were waiting for an entire busload of seniors to get on and off.
So slow, thought Mo, as she got in. But still better than that packed escalator.
She hummed as a piano solo piped through the speakers.
When the doors opened again, it was to an entirely different set of sounds.
Gunshots. Screaming. Chaos. Panic.
All hell had broken loose while she was in the elevator, and Mo found herself smack dab in the middle of it. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it was bad. She made her way to Dr. Nasmo’s office, but one side of the door was shattered, and she couldn’t see anyone inside. Gunfire rattled through the air, first to the right of her, and then to the left. It was coming from all around.
Mo dropped to her knees, deafened and disoriented. There was no time to think. She crawled under a table in the food court and covered her ears. Fear, like she’d never known, welled up in her throat, but she swallowed the screams. She jumped as a bullet grazed one of the chairs next to her. She was too open, too exposed.
Her eyes darted around—past the flurry of feet that were running by her: white trainers, leather sandals, manicured toes, little pink shoes. There was a room beyond the food court, off to the side. No one was coming in or out of it. Mo wasn’t sure if heading there was a good idea, but she knew she had to get as far away from the sound of gunfire as she could.
She made a dash for it, half rolling, half crawling, until she got to it. It was empty—rows of folding chairs, some toppled over, arranged before a stage. The shuddering sound of her breath echoed around her. She leaned back against the wall, hugging her knees.
“Over here,” someone said. “Get in here.”
She looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. Then she spotted a slit in the fabric at the base of the stage. It was an elevated stage, with a skirted bottom to hide the scaffolding. The perfect place to hide.
“Hello?” Mo crawled inside. It was so dark her eyes took a while to adjust.
“Shhh,” said a figure sitting on the other side. “Don’t be afraid. My dad will be here soon. He’ll make everything okay. He always does.” It was a little girl, with her hair tied up in a ponytail.