Every Second. Rick Mofina

She rejected any idea of tampering with them. She wasn’t going to gamble with her son’s life.

      “Mom?” Billy whispered.

      “Shh, honey.”

      “Maybe we should yell and scream for help?”

      Lori considered it as she shifted next to him.

      “That could bring the men right back to us.” Lori brushed his hair.

      “Mom, I couldn’t see Sam. What happened to Sam?”

      “Shh. I bet he got out through his door. I think I forgot to lock it. You know he’s a big baby around strangers, so he probably ran over to Ward and Violet’s house.”

      “Do you think Dad’s going to bring help?”

      “We can pray he does. Don’t worry, sweetie. Someone will help us, or we’ll help ourselves. We’ll think of something.”

      But what?

      A new wave of panic began rippling in the pit of Lori’s stomach. As her eyes swept the van’s interior, she thought of the man named Thorne and what he’d spat at her.

      “You deserve what’s going to happen.”

      Lori didn’t understand what he’d meant. She hadn’t recognized any of their voices, their mannerisms, their body types. Nothing. So who were they, and why did they talk as if they knew her?

      They seemed young, and she wondered if they were military types—experts in explosives, maybe?

      But why us?

      There were plenty of other, bigger banks in the city they could have chosen. What made them choose Dan’s? The thought of Dan had her stomach roiling again—shouldn’t he have gotten them their money by now? Lori held back her tears, remembering how they’d been arguing for the past few days. All because she’d had a glass of wine at the Coopers’ party because she thought she could handle it.

      Dan hadn’t said anything; it was just a look that he’d given her. One that had told her she’d let him down. She’d been hurt by it and lashed back at him when they were alone.

      “Get off my back! I don’t need you to babysit me anymore!”

      But the truth of it was, she knew he was watching out for her, taking care of her. After all she’d put him through, after Tim, after everything. Dan always stood by her. Always had her back.

      The last thing he’d said to her before they’d been separated: “Lori, did they hurt you?”

      Oh, God, Dan, I’m so sorry. What if I never see you again, never have the chance to tell you that I love you?

      Lori searched the ceiling, trying not to lose control in front of her son.

      What did they do with you, Dan?

      Lori brushed Billy’s hair, thinking back to having been driven around in the night. They’d been on the road for hours—it must have been hundreds of miles—but how would she know if they’d only gone in circles to confuse her?

      She tried to remember if she heard the hum of expressways, the rhythmic clicking of a bridge or the echoing of a tunnel. But it was useless. She had no idea where they might be.

      Holding Billy next to her, Lori watched the red lights blinking on the bomb vests. She’d seen videos on news reports of suicide bombers—“We caution you, the images you are about to see are graphic and disturbing”—she’d seen how they obliterated a human being, and those images pushed her back through time to when she was...sitting in the street covered with Tim’s blood, helpless to do anything...

      The memory of that night anguished her.

      Lori wanted to pray, but Thorne’s words loomed over her.

      “You deserve what’s going to happen to you.”

      Billy lifted his head.

      “Mom?”

      “Yes, sweetie?”

      “Listen!”

      The sound of someone approaching the van grew louder.

       16

      Roseoak Park, New York

      Like a band of protective angels, the group had encircled two distraught women.

      Kate Page counted seven women dressed in jackets, skirt suits and blazers, hugging their two troubled friends and looking around worriedly, as if searching for answers to what had befallen Branch 487 of SkyNational Trust Banking.

      Some of them were smoking. It must’ve been the reason they were now outside, gathered at one end of the parking lot, deep in the corral of emergency vehicles.

      Kate heard Gabe’s camera clicking as he shot frame after frame.

      They’d come directly from the Fulton house to the branch. Kate had to find out what exactly had taken place in the bank this morning.

      How does an upstanding man like Dan Fulton come to rob his own branch with bombs strapped to him and his family? What’s the driving force behind this?

      Kate deduced that the women clustered at the far side of the lot were bank employees. The two upset women they were consoling had to be staff members who’d been present when Fulton took the money.

      Little chance I can talk to anybody in that group.

      Given their defensive posture and the fact they were enclosed in a fortress of patrol cars and surrounded by an array of police, Kate considered her options as Gabe left her to scout better positions.

      Searching the area for any news competitors, Kate saw two TV news trucks at one end of the lot; a car from one of New York’s all-news radio stations was next to it, along with cars from the New York Daily News and the Queens Chronicle.

      This isn’t going to be easy.

      At the front of the bank, customers were trickling up to the sign posted at the door that informed them the branch was closed. After reading it and taking a few minutes to scope out the police presence, they left.

      But one man didn’t.

      He headed down the lot toward the group of distraught women. One staff member broke from the cluster, met him near some parked cars, hugged him and talked for a few moments before returning to her friends. As the man came back through the lot, Kate moved quickly toward him, using the cars to shield her so she wouldn’t be seen by the other reporters.

      “Sir, excuse me, sir!”

      The man went to her.

      “I’m Kate Page with Newslead. I understand there was a robbery—do you know much about it?”

      The man gave her question some thought. He appeared to be in his sixties. He had a sturdy frame, a handsome, craggy face and white hair with sideburns.

      “My daughter called me not too long ago,” he said. “I just came down to see that she’s all right. She was one of the two tellers on duty when it happened.”

      “Is she okay, sir?”

      “Thank heaven, yes. She’s shook-up, though. It’s quite a jarring thing.”

      “Could I get your name?”

      “Ernest Beeson.”

      “Could you spell that for me?”

      The man did and Kate asked for his daughter’s name.

      “Jolleen Ballinger, but she goes by Jo.”

      Beeson spelled out her name.

      “Did she tell you what happened?”

      “I guess the manager came in and just walked out with a lot of cash.”