Chapter Thirty Five

Higgs slumped at the interview desk, hand cramping as he wrote another page of his statement. His handwriting was neat, but basic, block capitals that slanted a little to the left. He paused, reading back over the lines he'd just written, checking every word carefully before crossing a line out and rewriting it at the bottom of the page.

Guilt and relief wound around each other in his chest. The churning emotions made him feel exhausted, washed out. He read over the pages again, a grim smile coming to his face as he thought about what they had the power to do.

Finally satisfied, he signed his name at the bottom of each page and then pushed the thick stack across the table towards Tim.

The deputy marshal had one arm in a sling, a bulky bandage covering his wound. "This everything?" he asked shortly, picking the pages up.

Higgs nodded. "Everything that I know." His eyes dropped to the sling. "How's your arm?"

Tim flexed his fingers gingerly, feeling the dressing pull across his upper arm. "Just a flesh wound. Nothing to worry about."

Higgs chewed his bottom lip. "Why the sling?" he pressed, the let his eyes drop to the table, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "You my nurse now?" he asked.

The other man shook his head, holding his hands up. "No. Sorry... I was just asking, okay?" he muttered and looked away, playing with a scrap of paper on the scarred table.

"It's so the bandages don't move too much. They couldn't suture it. Not enough skin over the wound," Tim said after a few second's silence. "Any more questions, or can I go and do my job now?"

Higgs shook his head. "I'm glad you're okay. Mr. Hart can't be thinking straight. He's never done anything like this before. Never."

Tim shouldered the door open, nodding to the guard on the other side. "Yeah, me too," he muttered.

The fresher air of the hallway felt like a crisp sea breeze as Tim hurried back to his desk, eager to start the ball rolling on the warrants.

A young blonde girl stood outside of the office doors, gazing doubtfully inside. She carried a small cardboard box.

Tim stopped next to her. "Hi. You're Hope, right?" he asked and smiled. "Looking for someone?"

Misery filled her eyes. "He sent me here with this." She turned her back on the security cameras. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I had no choice."

Tim stared at her. "Hope, what's in that box?"

A wave of tears raced down her cheeks. "I think it's a bomb."

Shock roared through Tim, turning the world soundless for a long beat. His pulse jack hammered under his breastbone, heart racing. He snapped his mouth closed and pulled out his gun, using the handle to smash the closest fire alarm.

Sirens wailed, filling the building with noise and rushing people. Someone jostled Hope. Her eyes widened as the box shook.

Tim eased his injured arm from his sling, dropping it to the floor, and drew her aside, into an empty office.

"How is it triggered?" he asked, forcing eye contact with her.

She didn't answer him, lost in her own little world of misery. He grabbed her arms, wanting to shake her, then thought better of it, taking hold of her chin instead. The contact made her eyes track slowly to his face.

"Hope. How is the bomb triggered?" he asked again, voice laced with urgency.

More tears raced down her cheeks. "I don't know!"

Tim nodded once, tensely. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, wincing as the movement chaffed his wound. The pain vanished under the haze of adrenaline as he glanced at the box again. He jammed his thumb down on a speed dial button.

The phone rang three times before Art answered. "We have a situation here, boss." Tim said and glanced at Hope. "Hope's here. Says she was forced to bring a box into the building. She thinks there's a bomb inside of it."

Art sucked in a breath. "Where are you now?" His voice turned distant as he spoke to someone in the background. "Phone the bomb squad. Send them to our building. Tim thinks there's a bomb."

Tim slid the bolt home on the door, stopping anyone from coming in. "Little office just down the hallway from ours. The building is being evacuated. I hit the fire alarm."

Hope sniffed hard, getting her emotions back under control. "Do you think I can put it down?" She glanced down at the box. "It's getting kind of heavy."

Tim shook his head. "No, Hope. The trigger might be in the base."

"Okay." She nodded, but he could see that she wasn't going to be able to hold on for much longer. Her arms had started to shake under the strain.

He switched the phone onto loudspeaker and laid it on the table, angled into the room.

"Any news on the bomb squad, Art?" Tim asked.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since he laid eyes on the box, yet a glance at his watch told him it had been bare minutes. His shirt clung to his back as perspiration dampened his skin. The room was cold, and it made him shudder.

"They're on their way to you now. Be with you in about twenty minutes," Art said. "They want to know if you can see any wires or lights through the box."

Tim studied it carefully, crouching to look at the base. The light was too dim for him to make out any details, so he reached across, taking the lamp from the table. Metal shone on the base of the box.

"There's something on the base. Looks like a metal spike," Tim said, "I can't see any wires or lights though. The box is taped shut."

Art relayed the information. "Okay Tim. Just stay calm, both of you. They think that the bomb is supposed to be triggered when it's set down. It should be stable as long as you don't put it down or turn it."

A car door slammed in the background. The engine fired, sounding loud even over the open phone line.

Tim gritted his teeth and laid his hands over Hope's. He could feel her shaking as he took some of the box's weight. Her skin felt cold, clammy with perspiration. Her chest rose and fell in quick, short breaths. He could practically feel the fear rolling from her.

Up close, her eyes looked huge and bloodshot. Faint, old bruises dotted her pale skin. The split in her lip looked raw, like it had been broken open again just before it healed. She blinked, chasing the tears from her eyes.

"What do we do now?" Hope asked, bleak despair in her eyes.

Tim tightened his hands, just a little. "Now we wait."