The Evasion by Adrienne Giordano Page B

that might save both their asses, and squeezed.
    He held his breath while the blades slid, connected with the wire—so far so good—and met resistance. Damn it. Energy whipped around him, charging the air, closing in. Cut it . One more squeeze would do it. Go time. Let’s roll .
    Snip.
    Gabe waited, his pulse jackhammering, making him sweat. He checked the wire to be sure. Two ends lay on the floor. He dropped his head, rolled it around as the bunched muscles in his shoulders released.
    “Did you do it?” Jo asked.
    Sure did . “We’re good.”
    “Yay for us. That seriously sucked.”
    Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was their combined caustic humor that most didn’t understand, but he laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You’re still attached to the bomb.” He checked the timer, thirty minutes. Crap. “Reese, where are we on getting the shipment released?”
    “Tom’s on it.”
    “Okay. Can I untie Jo from this chair?”
    “Yeah, but be careful. No jerky movements. I don’t know what that thing is made of.”
    Gabe’s phone rang—Tom—and he propped the phone at his ear while he went to work on the ropes. “What’s up?”
    “The mayor is on with the Port Authority now.”
    The mayor? They were so fucked. They were supposed to be down here lending support to the sheriff and they’d gotten themselves into the middle of a PR nightmare.
    “Hang on,” Tom said and music suddenly came across the phone line.
    Sure, boss. Got all the time in the world. Gabe managed to get Jo’s hands loose while Barry Manilow sang in his ear. Could this get any worse? She kept her lower body still, but worked her fingers in and out. Must be numb .
    “They’ll do it,” Tom said. “They’re releasing it now. “They’re putting an unmarked car on the truck so we don’t lose it.”
    Thank you . “Roger that. But tell them if the driver spots a tail, we’re fucked. Martinson said no tail or he blows this thing.”
    “I’ll take care of it. What’s Jo’s status?”
    “I just cut the trip wire. I’m getting her free and then I’ll deal with the bomb.”
    “Go. Call me when she’s safe.”
    Gabe dropped the phone and set his sights on the knots at Jo’s ankles. Right foot first and then the one with the bomb. I got this .
    The cell phone on the desk chirped. Martinson again. Jesus, he had three phones and a computer going while trying to get rid of a bomb. Gabe had always been a great multitasker but this might break him.
    “That’s him,” Jo said. “The truck must be there.”
    An inch at a time, making sure not to jar the bomb, he rose from the floor and snatched the phone from the desk. “Gabe Townsend.”
    “Sergeant,” Martinson said, his voice cool, unfazed. “My truck is at the Port Authority.”
    I will beat this fucker into the ground . A child’s squeal sounded from Martinson’s end. Outside . Gabe still believed he was somewhere close. Maybe the park adjacent to the square? He’d find him. Sooner or later, he’d find him. “They’re releasing your shipment.”
    “Excellent. When the shipment has been released, I will call you.”
    “Hey, asshole, we don’t have time for that. Down to twenty-one minutes.”
    “You’d better hope they move quickly.”
    Click. Fighting the urge to hurl the phone, Gabe used deliberate care to press end. Gotta move .
    “Gabe?” Reese said.
    “Yeah, we’re here. About to get royally fucked by this guy.” He squatted again, went to work on the last knot. “How do I diffuse the bomb?”
    “With the time you have, you don’t. You get it to an open area and let it blow.”
    An open area. Think . In his mind, he pictured the layout of the town, the stores lining Main Street, the small parking lot behind the hotel, the square—not enough room. No matter how he sliced it there was no room anywhere. Not for a bomb.
    “That won’t work. How about a Dumpster? Would it contain it?”
    “Yeah, but the lid could fly off and decapitate someone. If you leave