Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Kip peers through the dark night at the restaurant on the top of the hill. Though the air is cool, his forehead pricks with sweat, his hand shaking as he tries to keep his service pistol—a Glock 22 that he’s only ever fired at a practice gun range—trained on the front door.
The last fifteen minutes unfolded so quickly. Zimmerman arrived with every acronym force on the LAPD: SWAT, the HRT, and the EOD—and, upon hearing it was Otto St. Clair likely being held hostage, immediately ordered the EOD to sweep the hill and clear a path to get SWAT in position as close to the restaurant as possible.
As they crested the hill, a swarm of civilians (including Otto St. Clair! Kip recognized him immediately on account of his eyebrows and got almost as big a thrill as when he met Emilio Estevez) came flying toward them as if their hair was on fire.
“Whoa!” Zimmerman said, trying to stem the chaos. His men managed to corral everyone into a circle a hundred feet from the restaurant door and peppered them with questions to try to determine as quickly as possible what was happening—to which he got a variety of responses.
It was unclear if this was everyone or if other civilians were still in the restaurant—it could be two or five or none. Same with the number of hostage takers: Ten? Six? Some said they planned to come right out the front door, which Kip thought was unlikely. Not just because it was a bold move, but since eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable.
The only thing they all agree on? The bomb.
That there is one, inside the restaurant, and it is absolutely going to detonate.
They don’t agree on when. Ten minutes? Two? Or not at all, according to Otto, who thought it was fake—a scare tactic. Kip frowns, disliking the man almost instantly. At least Emilio had been humble; kind, even. Otto has an air of superiority about him, demanding the police immediately charge the restaurant. “He stole nine million dollars from me and he’s right there! Inside the door. Go arrest him!”
But the truth is, all they can do is wait. (Behind the perimeter set by the bomb squad—which, though it’s a full football field, still feels uncomfortably too close to Kip.) For Brick to answer the phone. For the restaurant to explode. For more people to be released. Hopefully not in that order. Or for the hostage takers to actually come out the front door (which seems doubtful to Kip).
The front door opens and Kip’s heart jumps to his throat.
“Hold!” Zimmerman, the incident commander, directs his fellow officers.
Two figures—a man in a white button-up that looks stained with blood and a woman in a dark dress—step out the front door, and they’re off like a shot, running from the restaurant like they’re being chased by a wild pack of dogs. Hand to God, Kip would swear they were faster than Usain Bolt running the hundred-yard dash. Briefly, it occurs to him how much faster Olympians could be were they running from an explosive device. Running for their lives . The Olympics would certainly be more entertaining, anyway.
Abruptly the man stops, but the woman doesn’t notice right away.
He puts his hand in his pocket, causing Zimmerman to shout through his bullhorn: “Hands up where we can see them!”
The woman throws her hands in the air and swivels her head to the right. Realizing she’s alone, she stops and turns all the way to look at the man she unwittingly left behind. She yells something to him.
Kip can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but he hears the screech and the panic of her voice—a tone Kip, though only with his ex-wife for a total of seventeen months, is all too familiar with. It’s the unmistakable sound of a woman confounded by her husband’s actions. And that’s when Kip realizes they’re married.
The man shouts a reply and then cuts right, toward the cars in the small gravel parking lot.
Where is he going? What could be more important than getting away from the restaurant?
The woman stares at the man in disbelief, as if she is wondering the same question.
Zimmerman is shouting into the bullhorn, but they’re ignoring him, and Kip can’t just stand there and watch. They’re in danger! Kip takes a step forward to add his own voice to the cacophony, to tell them to run, to move faster —he even briefly thinks he might dash out and grab the woman. He could be a hero!—but before his foot can connect to the ground, before his voice enters the night air, he’s thrown as though someone has swept both his legs, and then the CRACK-BOOM of the explosion reaches his ears.