Live to Tell (Detective D.D. Warren, #4)(111)

What were the odds?

Standing in the parking lot, peering up at the seven-story building with her hands clasped over her ears, D.D. couldn’t make out any sign of flames. Smoke, however, drifted up from rooftop vents. A fire in the walls? Electrical issues?

She turned to Alex. “Real or fake?” she asked him above the din.

“Smoke seems real enough.”

“And where there’s smoke …” Screw it, it felt wrong. D.D. went in search of a fireman.

First one she spotted was standing next to the fire engine, chattering on his walkie-talkie. He didn’t look happy to be interrupted by a civilian, but responded to her detective’s shield.

“What’s the situation?” she asked, shouting to be heard.

“Reports of smoke on the eighth floor. Seems to be coming from the ventilation system.”

“Fire?” she asked.

“No heat,” the fireman said with a frown. “Generally means we got a sleeper fire somewhere in the walls. Gotta watch how we vent, or we can create one helluva backdraft. Crew is climbing all over the building now, still can’t find the source.”

“Mechanical room?”

“Working on accessing.”

“Thanks. Keep us posted.”

D.D. turned away from the fireman, went back to Alex. “My Spidey-sense is tingly,” she muttered.

“Mine, too.”

“Cops do know woo-woo. Fucking Lightfoot. It’s about the psych ward. He rigged something, did something to force the evacuation. Question is, why, and did he get what he wanted?”

“Where are the kids?” Alex asked, peering around the crowded parking lot. Bedridden patients, standing patients, and wheelchair-bound patients. No kids.

A nurse raced by. D.D. grabbed the man’s arm, forcing him to pause.

“Hey, Boston PD!” she yelled. “I need to know: the kids on the eighth-floor assessment unit. Where do they exit for one of these drills?”

The nurse blinked at D.D., obviously caught between multiple tasks. Then he pointed to the side of the massive building, his words rushed as he bolted for his next patient. “They evacuate over there, the playground.” He raced off.

She and Alex hustled their way through the dense crowd to the other side of the building.

“It’s Lightfoot,” D.D. muttered, hands back over her ears. “I know it. But why him? And how?”

“We need his name,” Alex said. “That’s the problem. We don’t even know who the hell he is.”

“Someone does.”

“Gym Coach Greg,” Alex said.

“Actually, I was thinking Danielle.”



When D.D. and Alex made it around the building to a grassy clearing, they discovered fourteen huddled children and seven frayed adults. The noise from the fire alarms was quieter here. The noise from the howling children louder. D.D. headed for the nurse manager, Karen, but Greg got to them first.

“Where’s Danielle?” he demanded, his face tight.

“Funny, that’s what we were going to ask you.”

“Karen sent her to get Evan. I haven’t seen her since.”

They turned to Karen, who was already frowning. “But she got Evan. I checked them off; they headed down the stairwell right before me.”

“You saw them enter the stairwell?” D.D. clarified.

“Yes. I grabbed a last few things, then headed down. I could hear them in front of me. At least, I assumed it was them.”

“Danielle and a kid?”

“The Oliver boy. Evan. He was admitted earlier today—”

“Wait.” D.D. whirled back to Greg. “This is the Evan you know? You worked for his mom, who was stabbed this morning?”

Greg nodded.

“And Lightfoot knew them, too, right?”

“He paid me a finder’s fee.”

“Excuse me?” Karen spoke up. “You worked for a family? Finder’s fee?”

Greg winced, stuck his hands in his pockets. “Once things are calmer, I have some things I need to tell you.”

Karen opened her mouth as if to demand an explanation immediately, but D.D. was already waving her hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and confession’s good for the soul. But first things first: I want Danielle. I want Evan. And I want Lightfoot. Anyone got a clue where the hell they are?”

She glared at the nurse administrator, then Greg, then the staff as a whole.

One by one, they all shook their heads.

“She’s the target,” Alex murmured in D.D.’s ear. “Lightfoot did this to get to her. But why? And where?”

D.D. looked at him grimly. “And how much time does she have left?”





| CHAPTER

THIRTY-NINE





VICTORIA


I jerk awake with my mouth open as if to scream. For a second, I lie still, struggling to get my bearings. My heart’s racing. My side aches. I feel dazed, as if roused from a terrible dream.

By degrees, I register that I’m in my own bed. The windows are dark, my bedside clock glows four-fifteen. I start to relax, then realize I can’t feel my arms and legs.

In a fresh rush of panic, I try to sit up.

And immediately understand the problem. My arms are tied behind my back. My legs are tied at the ankles. I am trussed up, like a Thanksgiving turkey. But I’m in my own home, in my own bed….