Sam hated hospitals. Maybe it was the strange smell, or the odd way things were lit, or even all of the strange equipment that rattled through the hallways. Perhaps it was just because they always tended to have a cold, unfeeling air about them.
The guard at a help desk informed her that Carter was still in the ER. She was refusing to be checked in. Sam took that as a good sign. The detective was conscious and yelling at people. She must not be too badly hurt.
Sam made her way to the emergency room and found Carter, sitting up on a bed, pulling her jacket on with one arm. The other was in a bandage and a small sling, holding it in place.
The detective, like mostly everyone else, believed Sam to be dead. Sam would have preferred to keep it that way. But there are some things you just can't help.
Sam reached over and helped Carter with her jacket, pulling it over her shoulder. She straightened it out for her as Carter looked up. Her eyes grew wide, and then narrowed as she went through the realization of seeing the supposedly dead person standing in front of her.
"I don't believe in ghosts," Carter said. "And you seem pretty solid to me, Sam."
Sam smiled sheepishly. "There was a big mix up with paperwork and, you know, toe tags…"
"It's good to see you're okay," Carter admitted with a shrug that made her wince. "But I should arrest you just for standing there." Carter looked Sam over for a moment before she continued. "You're still helping them, aren't you?"
"I already got myself in too deep to get out again. I had to protect the people I love who are still left. Dying seemed like the best option at the time."
Carter shook her head and smiled wryly. "And that's the only reason you're going to give me?"
Sam's eyes flicked around then went back to Carter. "Um, for now, yes."
"Well," Carter got to her feet slowly. Sam held onto her good arm to steady her. "I won't tell you how dangerous it is, what you're doing and why you're doing it. You should know that by now."
"I appreciate that," Sam said. "I came to check on you. We heard that you were taken by surprise?"
"One shooter. Her face was covered."
"It was a her?"
"Definitely," Carter began to walk steadily out of the ER. No one seemed to try to stop her, so Sam followed.
"I had my vest on, and that took some hits, but she got me right on the edge, on my shoulder. It was a lucky shot, if I'm any judge of how she was handling that gun. It makes me wonder if this was their Plan B, or if there's something else we're going to run into," Carter said thoughtfully. "Because Plan A is already on its way back to Centennial."
"What about Alina?"
"She got away – that's what I hope anyway. I told her to run."
"John's trying to find her now."
"I sure hope he can before that woman does."
"Me too."
Sam walked out of the hospital, putting her earpiece in.
"How's Carter?" Finch asked right away.
"She'll be fine. She's a little pissed, but I don't blame her," Sam explained. "Has John found anything yet?"
"The police have set up a perimeter, but I think Alina's gone beyond that now," John's voice came through the earpiece in reply. "She's alone and she's scared."
"Carter says that the shooter isn't a professional, like the two that were sent before. And it's a woman. She didn't see her face."
"Sister, or mother?" John asked.
"Flip a coin," Finch added.
"Still could be an aunt or a cousin too. Do you think that one of them would have come all the way out here?" Sam walked across the hospital parking lot, and through the garage. She pretended not to notice the strange looks she was getting as she spoke.
"Their alibi would be shot to hell," John thought out loud.
"There are always enough friends and family to fabricate alibis, especially when it concerns the wealthy," Finch explained.
"That's true. Sad, but true," Sam admitted with a sigh. "Alina is a loaner. She doesn't have any friends that we know of that she could stay with. She wouldn't try hiding on the street, like in a shelter or anywhere."
"Why do you think that?" Finch asked.
"Because she's too classy. She practically oozed it when I was with her last night. She has her own set of standards, Finch."
"She's right," John agreed. "Alina would go somewhere she feels safe."
Sam checked the time on her phone. It was already coming close to evening. She must have slept longer than she realized. Then again, when did she finally go to sleep last night? Sam gave up on trying to remember anything clearly from the night before – although, she would have liked to remember sexually harassing John second by second, from beginning to end rather than in the fragments she actually had.
"So, where would she feel safe?" Finch asked generally, interrupting Sam's train of thought.
She thought on the question. Alina couldn't go home, they'd find her there. Sam tried to think like Alina did. Where would she go? Somewhere closed off; somewhere that didn't allow just anybody to wander in –
"Oh jeez!" Sam said as it dawned on her.
"I'm on my way to Chic," John said.
"I'll race you," Sam ran across the street and hailed a cab.
It was a Friday evening – happy hour. Alina couldn't possibly still be thinking about doing her show after all that happened. That would put her out in the open for one thing.
Sam threw some cash at the cab driver and leaped out of the taxi. She checked to make sure her gun was still in place. There were people already queuing up in front of the doors to Chic. Even thought it was still early, the place was probably packed with some of the most uniquely dressed people Sam would ever see.
Sam, being dressed normally and wearing barely any makeup, figured she wouldn't immediately get in the front doors like she did the night before. She bypassed the main doors and went around the club, looking for an alternate entrance.
On one side of the club was a bakery that shared the same building. The other side was on the corner of the street. Sam tried that side and went all the way around to the back. She reached the emergency exit where she and Alina had bailed out last night. It was locked from the inside.
Sam blew her hair out of her face in frustration and continued around the building.
John was fiddling with a side door, jimmying the lock as Sam rounded the corner.
"That doesn't go into the club, John."
John looked up, acknowledging her presence. "Yes, I know that. But, there usually is shared doorway somewhere in these places."
The lock clicked and John opened the door. Sam pulled her hair back with her hands, attempting to keep it out of her face.
They stepped into the bakery's kitchen. Someone was there, manning an enormous, industrial bread mixer. The sound of it was loud enough that they didn't hear the door open and kept their eyes on the dough. Sam's stomach grumbled, responding to the aromas in the room. It just occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in a while.
John led the way across the kitchen and into a dry storage area. Empty racks stood along the walls, ready for fresh bread and rolls.
"See," John pointed to one of the walls. There, indeed, was a door that didn't appear to be used very often.
John jimmied the lock on the door and they stepped into a familiar looking corridor.
"We're back stage," Sam said, taking the lead. "Alina's dressing room is on the other side."
"Let's start there," John muttered as Sam led the way down the corridor.
She reached the stage and peered onto it. It very was dark, and she saw the line of light along the floor created by the drawn curtain. Heavy bass music blasted from the main room along with excited, slightly drunken chatter from the club's occupants.
Sam nodded to John. They stepped up onto the stage, skirted around the piano after Sam ran into it, and down the other side. Back in an identical corridor, Sam headed down the adjoining hallway to Alina's dressing room. She tried the doorknob. It was locked.
"Someone's already forced their way in here," John said, noting the scratches on the door jam.
Sam knocked. "Alina?" she asked. "It's Sam. I heard what happened with Carter today. I'm sorry."
The pair of them waited for a response. When one didn't come right away, John pulled out his lock picking gear, but Sam put her hand over his. They waited a moment longer.
"Go away," said a soft, miserable voice from inside the room. "Why can't people just go away?"
Sam sighed out of relief. They'd found her.
"I'm so sorry, Alina," Sam said sincerely. "We didn't know there would be someone else besides those men."
"I know who it was," Alina's voice sounded closer. "Is that police woman all right?"
"Yes, she's fine," Sam spoke with hope in her voice. "Who was it, Alina?"
The lock on the door clicked and it opened, revealing a lovely and exhausted looking woman wearing a simple pair of jeans and a bedazzled t-shirt. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were puffy. Sam's heart broke for her. She took her hand, but Alina moved further and wrapped her arms around Sam, holding her close.
"I didn't believe you," she muttered into Sam's shoulder. "Even after those men last night, I thought it was a mistake."
Sam looked up at John, who didn't return her gaze. His eyes scanned the corridor, keeping constant watch.
"Come on," Sam said and gently moved Alina back into the dressing room. John shut the door behind them as Sam sat Alina down on a chair in front of a dressing table. Sam sat up on the table top.
"Believe it or not, I actually do know how you feel," Alina still held onto Sam's hand. Sam looked at the table, there was a variety of makeup and hair pins and clips. Sam grabbed a hair tie that looked like a miniature feather boa. "May I borrow this?"
"Sure, I guess," Alina said. She looked up at Sam. "You've had someone try to kill you before?" she asked, her voice squeaking.
"Besides last night, yes," Sam smiled, pulling her hair back and putting it in a bun at the crown of her head. "Alina, we need to know who came after you today."
"It was Cora," Alina said.
"Your sister?" John asked. He still stood by the door, the ever vigilant watch dog.
Alina nodded and started to cry again.
"Alina, your uncle died a short time ago," Sam said. "We think that's why Cora is after you – "
"She always hated me," Alina said bitterly. "I never got why. I never did anything - "
"Your uncle left everything to you," John continued. He was running his fingers carefully over the door jam and didn't wait for Alina to process the news. "Has anyone else been in here? Has anyone tried to break in?"
Alina shook her head. "I've been here for the past few hours and I haven't heard anything."
"Sam, start looking," John said. His intensity was growing. Sam knew that was a bad sign, because it meant that something unfortunate was going to happen soon.
"Looking for what?"
"Someone was in here earlier when Alina wasn't here." John said as he began checking under furniture and feeling along the walls. "Is there anything missing?"
Alina looked around quickly and shook her head. "Not that I can see."
Sam jumped down from the table as Alina stood. She checked under the dressing table, and along the floor. She reached a small closet door and opened it. Different sparkly, feathered outfits were hung neatly on a rack. Sam checked in between each garment and along the floor of the closet. She stood on tip toe, looking at the shelf over the rack of clothes and let out a sharp gasp and covered her mouth.
John was there in less than a second, standing next to her. Alina peered over Sam's shoulder and gaped.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked.
"Bomb! Bomb! It's a bomb!" Sam said, leaping out of her skin.
"Shut up, Sam," John said as he reached toward it.
Sam slapped at his hands. "Are you out of your mind?" She asked sharply. "Carter was right. This must be Plan B."
"Take out everything to make sure you've hit your target," John muttered.
"That's a little excessive, isn't it?" Alina asked desperately.
The three of them stared at the device. Wires were connected to what looked like a cheap phone, the trigger, which was then connected to a few blocks of explosives. Sam had never seen any explosives up close, except when John took an unused grenade out of his pocket once. But she'd seen enough movies to have a general idea of what they looked like. And this contraption was unmistakable.
The face of the phone was dark, lying in wait.
"Finch," John said quietly. "I'm going to give you a phone number. I want you to trace the signal, and any other signals the phone may be receiving."
"Got it," Finch said in their ears. "The phone is the trigger, isn't it? I couldn't help but overhear Sam's exclamations."
"That's what it looks like."
"Who is he talking to?" Alina asked Sam.
Sam tapped her ear once. "We have a friend on the outside."
"Who are you people?"
"The receiver phone would only need one signal to set off the explosion. But it will be nearly impossible to trace until the signal reaches the trigger phone."
"So we have to let this thing go off?" Sam felt panic rise from her stomach into her chest.
"I'm hoping that won't be the case," John said, reaching for the phone again. The screen lit up. "I'm going to try and disconnect it." John unlocked the phone and went through the recent calls list. There was only one number listed.
"Try this number, Finch." John read off the number.
"That's a dead end, Mr. Reese. They must have used a test phone for the first trial run," Finch explained.
"Clever," John said. He found the number of the trigger phone itself and gave it to Finch.
"I'll receive any signals to and from that phone," Finch said.
"Good," John's long fingers went over the wires one by one, getting a feel for what he was looking at.
"Have you ever done this before?" Sam asked.
"A couple of times, when I was in a tight spot. But those were different setups," John said lightly.
Sam's fingers were in her hair and her eyelids disappeared behind her eyeballs. "Different setups?" she breathed.
John turned to her. "You might want to get everyone out of the building," he said in a way that kept Sam from arguing.
Against her better judgment, she took Alina by the hand left John in the dressing room. The thudding bass from the music reached them in the corridor.
"How can we get their attention?" asked.
"I have an idea." Alina dragged Sam down to the end of the corridor and pulled the fire alarm.
They ran to the stage and Sam picked her way in front of the curtain. As expected the crowd was glancing around the room in mild confusion. Sam waved from the stage. The music was turned off once she had their attention.
"Hi! Hello, yes, um, everyone please move in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit and head across the street to safety. This is not a drill. The authorities have been notified. Please don't panic – "
"The building's on fire!" Someone shrieked.
As one, the entire crowd moved as a great, panicky beast, screaming and shrieking. Fake feathers flew, sequins fell to the floor as chairs scraped, and feet in very large stilettos clattered haphazardly towards the front door.
"That sounds efficient," Finch said.
"At least they're leaving." Sam went back behind the curtain where Alina waited.
They ran off the stage and back to Alina's dressing room, where John stood in the closet doorway, fiddling with the trigger.
"Get Alina out of here, Sam," he said without turning to her.
"But John – "
"This was meant for her," he said. "Get her out."
"I'll be there in a few minutes. We can get her to safety," Finch said in their ears.
"John, if you blow yourself up, I will murder you," Sam said, leading the way out of the room.
The women headed down the corridor, past the costumes, and out the same emergency exit from the night before.
"I'm getting a signal, Mr. Reese," Finch said.
Sam had a second to react. She grabbed Alina's arm and ran around to a dumpster that sat against the outside wall of the club. The girls crouched down in front of the dumpster, holding onto each other as the bomb went off.