CHAPTER 22: The Captain Who Closed the Doors
Mark handed Grace to me.
“Lock yourselves in the bathroom.”
Rourke raised a gun.
“Don’t.”
The red-gloved man entered behind him and closed the damaged door.
Detective Ortiz stood near the kitchen with her weapon aimed at Rourke’s chest.
“No one needs to die,” she said.
Rourke smiled.
“That sentence usually means someone already has.”
“What happened to the officers downstairs?”
“Sleeping.”
“You poisoned them?”
“They’ll wake up.”
The man in red gloves moved toward Lena.
Mark stepped sideways, blocking the hallway.
“Who is he?” Mark asked.
Rourke’s eyes remained on him.
“Derek Walsh.”
Alex’s supervisor.
The man who had confirmed the missing badge.
The man who claimed Alex refused to report it.
Walsh removed his safety glasses.
His face matched the fake inspector from the daycare footage.
Without the cap, he looked less like Alex.
But the same height, haircut, beard, soap, and clothing had been enough to confuse a frightened child.
“You took Grace into the utility room,” I said.
Walsh looked toward her.
“She was never harmed.”
“You terrified her.”
“She won’t remember.”
“She remembers you.”
“She remembers her father.”
Grace pressed her face against my neck.
I felt her shaking.
Mark took a slow step forward.
Rourke pointed the gun at him.
“I said don’t.”
“Why did you forge my signature?”
“To protect you.”
“Try again.”
“You entered that shaft against a direct order. If you had died, your family would have sued the department.”
“I don’t have a family.”
Rourke glanced toward me.
“You built one afterward.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“You rerouted my unit.”
“Yes.”
“You told us the brake was stable.”
“Yes.”
“You knew it wasn’t.”
Rourke’s expression remained calm.
“I knew there were risks.”
“A pregnant woman was inside.”
“A symbol was inside.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Sloane needed public fear. Nothing creates policy faster than a photograph people cannot forget.”
“The photograph of my body?”
“The photograph of your husband standing beside his mistress while firefighters recovered his dead wife.”
The cruelty in his voice did not feel personal.
That made it worse.
To him, I had never been a person.
I had been a headline.
Grace had been an unborn detail that increased emotional impact.
“You were supposed to wait seven minutes,” Rourke told Mark. “The second drop would have finished it.”
“But I opened the doors.”
“Yes.”
A strange pride entered Mark’s face.
“You’ve spent a year punishing me because I saved her.”
“I spent a year containing the consequences of your impulse.”
Lena shifted closer to the kitchen counter.
Walsh noticed.
He raised his weapon toward her.
“Hands where I can see them.”
She obeyed.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“The recording device from the necklace,” Rourke said.
“It’s with the police.”
“No.”
His eyes moved toward Lena.
“Detective Ortiz never placed it into evidence.”
I looked at her.
She did not react.
Rourke continued.
“She copied the files and kept the original because she suspected the department leak.”
Lena’s expression told me he was right.
“Where is it?” Walsh asked.
“I destroyed it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Rourke smiled.
“You’re too careful.”
Mark glanced at Lena.
“Give it to them.”
She looked at him.
“Mark—”
“They came for the device. Let them take it and leave.”
“You think Victor leaves witnesses?”
Rourke’s smile disappeared.
Mark moved without warning.
He struck Rourke’s gun hand upward as Lena fired toward Walsh.
The first shot hit the ceiling.
The second shattered the kitchen light.
I carried Grace into the bathroom and slammed the door.
There was no lock.
I pressed my back against it.
Grace screamed as furniture crashed in the living room.
A bullet entered the bathroom wall above the sink.
I lowered her into the bathtub.
“Stay down.”
“Mommy!”
“I’m right here.”
The door moved against my back.
Someone pushed from the other side.
I braced both feet against the floor.
The wood scraped across my shoulder.
A red glove appeared around the edge.
I grabbed the ceramic soap dispenser and struck the hand.
Walsh shouted.
The pressure stopped.
Another gunshot sounded.
Then silence.
“Mark?” I called.
No answer.
“Lena?”
A body hit the floor outside.
Grace cried into her hands.
I opened the bathroom window.
The apartment stood on the third floor. A metal fire escape ran beneath the window.
I lifted Grace through first.
Cold air entered the room.
“Hold the railing.”
“No.”
“You have to.”
“Mommy come.”
“I’m coming.”
I climbed onto the fire escape and pulled the window nearly closed behind me.
We descended one level.
Above us, the bathroom door burst open.
Walsh leaned through the window.
Blood ran down one side of his face.
He aimed his weapon.
I pushed Grace beneath the metal stairs.
A shot struck the railing.
The sound exploded around us.
Then Mark appeared behind Walsh and dragged him backward.
The gun fell through the window and landed on the fire escape beside me.
I grabbed it.
I had never held a weapon before.
My hands shook violently.
Mark and Walsh struggled inside.
I climbed back through the window.
Walsh had Mark pinned against the wall.
I aimed at Walsh.
“Get away from him.”
He turned.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then he smiled.
“You won’t shoot.”
He was right.
I did not know how.
But I knew how to pull a fire alarm.
The red handle was mounted beside the bathroom door.
I struck it with the gun.
Sirens erupted throughout the building.
Walsh looked toward the hallway.
That gave Mark enough time to drive his shoulder into Walsh’s chest.
They crashed through the damaged apartment door.
Lena stood near the kitchen, blood covering one sleeve.
Rourke lay beside the couch.
His gun was several feet away.
I ran to Grace and lifted her from the fire escape.
Within minutes, firefighters and police filled the building.
Walsh escaped through the rear stairwell.
Rourke survived a gunshot wound to the abdomen.
At the hospital, he refused to speak until Lena placed the original listening device on the table beside his bed.
“You were right,” she said. “I kept it.”
Rourke stared at the black disc.
“Victor will kill you.”
“He already tried.”
“He’ll kill everyone you move close to.”
“Then help us stop him.”
Rourke looked toward Mark, who stood near the door with his bruised face and torn shirt.
“You should have waited seven minutes.”
Mark stepped closer.
“And you should have remembered why firefighters open doors.”
Rourke’s eyes closed.
For several minutes, he said nothing.
Then he asked for immunity.
Lena refused.
He asked for protection.
She promised to request it.
Finally, Rourke spoke.
“There are twelve Sentinel installations still active.”
“Where?” Lena asked.
“I don’t know every location.”
“Who does?”
“Victor.”
“What is on level forty-one of Atlas Tower?”
“The central archive.”
“What archive?”
“Every override command. Every test. Every victim selected for a demonstration.”
My stomach turned.
“Selected?”
Rourke looked at me.
“You were not the first.”
Before he could say more, a hospital monitor alarm sounded.
Rourke’s body arched.
A nurse rushed inside.
His IV bag had turned cloudy.
Someone had accessed the line.
Lena removed the tubing, but Rourke’s heart rate collapsed.
Doctors pushed us into the hallway.
Through the glass, I watched them attempt to revive him.
Mark stood motionless beside me.
Rourke died six minutes later.
A nurse approached carrying his personal belongings.
Inside his wallet was a city parking receipt.
The timestamp showed it had been issued two hours before the attack on our safe apartment.
The location was City Hall.
May you like
Written on the back were four words.
THE MAYOR’S OFFICE CHOSE HER.
