her with obvious admiration. Not only did she understand the three-second system but also the new state-of-the-art technology.
“We don’t have anything quite as sophisticated,” Yarden said, glancing over to Nick as if he was to blame, being the company’s highest authority on the premises.
“The company is considering updates,” Nick said almost too quickly.
Maggie heard a bit of defensiveness in Nick’s tone. She ignored it and focused instead on Yarden who was cueing up segments for her to view on monitor after monitor.
“This is one of them.” He pointed at the first screen.
Maggie leaned forward. Nick didn’t. Had he already seen these? Of course, he had. She wondered how long Morrelli and Yarden had been at it.
From the grainy quality of the video all Maggie could decipher was that the man was average height, clean-cut. He was wearing jeans, a jacket with maybe a logo on the shoulder, and tennis shoes. There was nothing extraordinary about him.
She felt the two men watching her, gauging her reaction, waiting.
Yarden added more views, cueing monitor after monitor until there was a line of grainy freeze-framed images of two different young men with the same backpack walking separately through the crowded mall. Only one instance showed the two of them together.
“I thought there were three?”
“Oh yeah, there were three all right.” Yarden’s fingers started poking the keys again. “The third one came in with a young woman and another man.” He brought up the segment. “We followed him to the food court. Then we…we sort of lost him. We don’t have many camera angles on that area and no cameras actually in the food court.”
“What about the woman and the other man? Were they involved?”
When Yarden didn’t answer Maggie sat back and glanced over at him. He and Nick were exchanging another look. Yarden’s ruddy complexion had gone pale. Nick started searching the monitors.
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“We think one of the bombs went off in the women’s restroom,” Nick told her as his eyes darted from screen to screen. “You may have just answered our question as to how that could have happened.”
CHAPTER
27
F or a few minutes Rebecca was back in the bedroom she grew up in, light filtering through yellow gauze curtains, the sound of windchimes outside her second floor window. She could smell fried bacon and imagined her parents down in the kitchen, her mom setting the Sunday breakfast table with bright-colored placemats and long-stem glasses for their orange juice. Her dad would be playing short-order cook, waiting for Rebecca before he started his performance of flipping the pancakes. Those Sunday mornings weren’t for show. Her parents really had been happy, the banter out of love not jealousy. She wanted to sink down and soothe herself in that moment, that feeling of calm and security. If only she could ignore the prick at her skin, the ache in her arm, that deep burning sensation.
Her eyes fluttered open. She willed them to stay closed. They wouldn’t listen. The blur around her swirled images and noise together. Before her eyes could focus she started to remember: holiday music, Dixon laughing, Patrick smiling. And then…backpacks exploding.
Rebecca didn’t realize that she had tried to sit up until she felt hands on her shoulders pushing her back down.
“It’s okay.”
She recognized the voice and searched for it. Patrick’s face bobbed in front of her, slowly coming into focus. There was no smile, only concern. And she tried to remember—how badly had she been hurt? The image of a severed arm lying next to her made her twist around to check both her own. One was wrapped. The other had a needle and tubes in it. But both were there, attached.
“You’re all right, sugar,” a woman’s voice said from someplace over Rebecca’s head. “Just relax and lie still a bit.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Patrick asked. She nodded. Her throat felt
“We don’t have anything quite as sophisticated,” Yarden said, glancing over to Nick as if he was to blame, being the company’s highest authority on the premises.
“The company is considering updates,” Nick said almost too quickly.
Maggie heard a bit of defensiveness in Nick’s tone. She ignored it and focused instead on Yarden who was cueing up segments for her to view on monitor after monitor.
“This is one of them.” He pointed at the first screen.
Maggie leaned forward. Nick didn’t. Had he already seen these? Of course, he had. She wondered how long Morrelli and Yarden had been at it.
From the grainy quality of the video all Maggie could decipher was that the man was average height, clean-cut. He was wearing jeans, a jacket with maybe a logo on the shoulder, and tennis shoes. There was nothing extraordinary about him.
She felt the two men watching her, gauging her reaction, waiting.
Yarden added more views, cueing monitor after monitor until there was a line of grainy freeze-framed images of two different young men with the same backpack walking separately through the crowded mall. Only one instance showed the two of them together.
“I thought there were three?”
“Oh yeah, there were three all right.” Yarden’s fingers started poking the keys again. “The third one came in with a young woman and another man.” He brought up the segment. “We followed him to the food court. Then we…we sort of lost him. We don’t have many camera angles on that area and no cameras actually in the food court.”
“What about the woman and the other man? Were they involved?”
When Yarden didn’t answer Maggie sat back and glanced over at him. He and Nick were exchanging another look. Yarden’s ruddy complexion had gone pale. Nick started searching the monitors.
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“We think one of the bombs went off in the women’s restroom,” Nick told her as his eyes darted from screen to screen. “You may have just answered our question as to how that could have happened.”
CHAPTER
27
F or a few minutes Rebecca was back in the bedroom she grew up in, light filtering through yellow gauze curtains, the sound of windchimes outside her second floor window. She could smell fried bacon and imagined her parents down in the kitchen, her mom setting the Sunday breakfast table with bright-colored placemats and long-stem glasses for their orange juice. Her dad would be playing short-order cook, waiting for Rebecca before he started his performance of flipping the pancakes. Those Sunday mornings weren’t for show. Her parents really had been happy, the banter out of love not jealousy. She wanted to sink down and soothe herself in that moment, that feeling of calm and security. If only she could ignore the prick at her skin, the ache in her arm, that deep burning sensation.
Her eyes fluttered open. She willed them to stay closed. They wouldn’t listen. The blur around her swirled images and noise together. Before her eyes could focus she started to remember: holiday music, Dixon laughing, Patrick smiling. And then…backpacks exploding.
Rebecca didn’t realize that she had tried to sit up until she felt hands on her shoulders pushing her back down.
“It’s okay.”
She recognized the voice and searched for it. Patrick’s face bobbed in front of her, slowly coming into focus. There was no smile, only concern. And she tried to remember—how badly had she been hurt? The image of a severed arm lying next to her made her twist around to check both her own. One was wrapped. The other had a needle and tubes in it. But both were there, attached.
“You’re all right, sugar,” a woman’s voice said from someplace over Rebecca’s head. “Just relax and lie still a bit.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Patrick asked. She nodded. Her throat felt
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