Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(78)

We were lucky. At least, so far. Grand Central was quiet. Well, as quiet as can be for a place that had thousands of rush-hour commuters funneling through it at that very moment.

Pritchard now had everyone in place. Within twenty minutes of getting the call from Foxx, and after a mad scramble from Penn Station to Grand Central, it was now a waiting game. Those in uniform, mainly snipers, were in the ceiling and other hidden positions. Everyone undercover blended in throughout both concourses.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” asked Foxx after he pulled up next to a hydrant at 42nd and Madison, a block west of Grand Central. I was halfway out to the curb before he’d even cut the engine.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Only I knew exactly what he meant. The Mudir knew what I looked like. At this point, my image was probably seared into his brain. We couldn’t risk having him see me. It could blow everything.

“Unless you’ve got a fake mustache and a wig stuffed in your pocket, you’re staying right here,” said Foxx.

“I can at least get closer.”

“To do what?”

Good point. Even more so after he pointed to his scanner. At least I’d be able to hear everything by staying in the car.

“You win,” I said, though I probably shouldn’t have, at least not so quickly. Since when did I ever acquiesce to Foxx?

“I’m serious, Reinhart,” he said, swinging his legs out to the street. He turned back to look me square in the eyes before shutting the door behind him. “Stay in the damn car.”

I pointed to the scanner. “I’ve got the play-by-play right here,” I said. “No reason to go anywhere.”

Foxx took off down 42nd Street, heading over to Grand Central. For the next ten minutes I sat twiddling my thumbs. It felt like an eternity. Pritchard had called for radio silence as everyone waited to see what the Mudir had planned. There was nothing to listen to. Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.





CHAPTER 111


“SHOTS FIRED!”

It wasn’t Pritchard’s voice, and by the sound of the actual shots, they weren’t anywhere near him either. But they were definitely coming from somewhere inside the terminal. I could hear the echo.

“Move!”

That was Pritchard’s voice for sure, and the second he said it, the echo gave way to a firestorm of shooting and screaming. People were literally running for their lives.

There was no way I was staying put.

I bolted out of my seat and sprinted toward the station without any game plan except getting there. Easier said than done.

Before I could even spot the doors to the station along 42nd Street, I could feel the rumbling beneath my feet. It was like an earthquake, the sidewalk shifting and sliding from the mass exodus. Faster, I told myself. Run faster!

Reaching the corner across from the station, I saw the pandemonium spilling out into the street. Every face had the same look. The wide eyes, the open mouths. Sheer terror. There was still gunfire behind them. Nothing was over.

Like a salmon with a death wish, I made my way against the current. There was no clear path; people were coming at me in droves.

Finally I reached the doors to the station, immediately cutting sideways to hug the wall. I was still fifty yards from the main concourse, but I could move quicker, free of the stampede. Amid the pounding of feet and continued screams, I didn’t realize right away that the shooting had actually stopped.

The main concourse was up ahead and to the right, along with the ramp to the lower level. I hadn’t seen any casualties, no lifeless bodies among the crowd, but I couldn’t help the awful thought that everything was about to change when I made the turn. It was all I could see in my mind.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t spot him at first, even as he walked right past me only twenty feet away.

That should’ve been the first red flag. Everyone around him was running. He was walking.

And his face. There was no terror. Instead, an almost eerie calmness.

Still, to anyone else who might have noticed, he was surely just another commuter. He was wearing a suit and tie. Wing tips. He’d been on his way to work, like everyone else, when suddenly all hell broke loose.

But he was no commuter. He was the mastermind behind all this.

“Freeze!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

The Mudir stopped. Everyone around him stopped. All heads turned. Then, just as fast, they all saw my gun and ran again, scrambling for cover. Everyone except the Mudir. He simply stared at me. And smiled.

“Back from the dead. I should’ve known,” he said. “Never trust a woman.”

I came off the wall, my Glock leading the way. He began to reach inside his suit jacket, his hand sliding across his chest and dipping beneath the lapel.

“Don’t even think about it!” I barked.

His hand stopped, his fingers still tucked inside the jacket. He remained smiling, and all I wanted to do was wipe that grin off his face by slamming him headfirst to the ground.

“Take your hand off the gun and let me see both hands in the air,” I said.

But there was something he wanted me to see first.

Something I didn’t see coming.





CHAPTER 112


THE MUDIR shifted his dark eyes, his gaze moving behind me. He knew I wouldn’t turn to look, so he did the next best thing to let me know what I was missing. What he was missing.