Page 19 of Anchor
She starts to open up the radio again and then she stops. The pause draws my attention and I glance through the murky windowpane and find her eyes on me again.
“Please help,” she mouths. If I weren’t already determined to save her those words would have torn through any resistance.
With one last glance toward the stairwell, I enter the room. Her eyes widen when she realizes I’m almost a foot taller than her. Tension runs through her tight shoulders and pursed lips and I don’t want to frighten her more than she already is, so I hold my hands up in surrender.
“Don’t be afraid,” I say. “My name is Gabriel Rossi. Gabe. I’m here to do whatever I can to help you.”
At first I think she doesn’t hear me, so I repeat my name in a calm and even tone. I even take a step closer, keeping my hands visible. She doesn’t move and her expression is frozen. Worried she may be going into shock, I put a hand on hers, but she snatches back, life blazing into her cheeks with a pink flush.
“Help me?” she screeches. “Help me?” She wedges her fingers underneath the collar and gives it a yank. “You call thishelpingme?”
I frown, but ignore her scathing statement and scan the room. “How long do we have until he comes back?”
“I don’t know, I’m not his secretary.” Then she pinches her nose between her fingers. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it. I’m just,” she heaves a sigh and waves around her free arm, “under a lot of stress.”
I put a big hand on her shoulder and try to ignore the warmth of her skin. Her arm drops to her sides and she hides a tremulous smile.
“Now,” I say, my mouth firming into a line, my eyes narrowing into slits, “did he say when he will be back?”
“He didn’t say,” the woman tells me, her eyes flickering back and forth between me and the stairwell.
“Okay, it’s okay,” I tell her. “What’s your name?”
“Chloe,” she says. “Chloe McKinney.”
I take her shaking hands in mine to steady them. I keep my eyes on hers, try to exude a manner of calm so I don’t agitate her even more. “Nice to meet you, Chloe,” I say. “The little girl you saved was my daughter, Emily. She and her mother wanted me to tell you thanks for saving her.”
Chloe does a double take. “She’s your daughter?”
“She was on her way to see me.”
“Is she okay? Her mom?”
I squeeze her arms. “They’re both fine, just fine. Thanks to you.”
She struggles to find the right words, then says, “Good…good. I’m glad they made it out safely. You have a beautiful little girl.”
“Thank you.” She looks away and I tip her head back with a hand. “I’m gonna get you out of this.”
Her head drops forward and then she looks back up. “I sure hope so.”
When I feel she’s steady, I back off, giving her some space, and get back to business. I do a cursory check of the room to make sure there aren’t any surprises. I don’t expect him to have another wad of explosives here—I haven’t ruled out the possibility elsewhere—but I anticipate finding at least a cache of weapons. Men who pull off maneuvers like this are always well prepared.
I check behind the dash, in crevices, under seat cushions and strike gold in the mini refrigerator, of all places. There I find an MP-5 9mm submachine gun and a slew of handguns crammed into the interior. The contents, including the shelving, had been removed to make room.
I don’t move the guns, don’t want to risk tipping him off to my location before I’m ready. The fridge makes the slightest creaking sound as I close the door.
“So what’s the plan?” she asks, her husky voice a whisper.
“Don’t get dead,” I tell her.
On top of the fridge I find a box filled with the bomb collars and miscellaneous parts. I find additional locks, but no key.
If he’s smart, and I suspect he is, he’ll keep the only copy of the key to unlock the collars on his person at all times.
“What are you doing?” she asks from behind me.
I replace the pieces back in their original spots with care. “Making sure there aren’t any surprises.”