“The subway.” It’s a longshot but it would explain why her tracker isn’t working. Either that, or someone found the kid’s GPS signal and disabled it.
“Sam. I need you to stay here in case she returns.” I sprint out the door, zig-zagging past a Trump, a ghost, and a spiky covid costume. At the top of the subway, I reach into my pocket and plug a comm unit into my ear.
“Slate? You got eyes on her?”
“Nothing yet.”
Fuck.
Chapter 7
Sam
At my insistence, Jon, the Waldorf security guard, continues to search the footage around the hotel. When my phone rings with Kessler’s caller ID, I let it go to voicemail. Stacy’s safety is more important than some paranormal paranoid bullshit.
Immediately, he texts for me to call so I hit redial. “What?”
“Jason has sounded an alert. There’s a bomb somewhere in today’s parade route.” He sounds so calm my first reaction is denial.
“Are you sure?” I imagine the thousands of young people who might get hurt and tears threaten to overwhelm me.
“He says it’s a ninety percent probability.”
Oh my God.“Tell me you know where it is.”
“Working on it. Keep an eye on Vladimir. He could be in on it.”
Jon searches my face, his pale. He was close enough to overhear.
I back out of the room and whisper into my android, “Did he plant the-”
My old boss barges in. “No, but I believe he knows who did. I need to-”
“Was it Jack Fialko?” I recall Mr. Flashy-eyes and shudder. He was capable of anything, of that, I’m certain.
“What? He works for us.”
“No way. Did you know he and Vladimir are in some kind of bidding war? I bet he kidnapped the girl in order to gain the majority share.”
“I’ll take care of Fialko. You find Oblonsky.” He hangs up and I call Suds.
“Where are you? Is the Russian with you?” My heart hammers in my chest.
“I’m in Union Square. What a fucking madhouse. I’m close. Her GPS signal reactivated. They must’ve been underground.”
“Sebastian, there’s a bomb. You need to get out of there. The cops are on the way.”
“Shit. Do we know where?” Sirens increase in volume, drowning out all other background noises and I have to yell so he can hear.
“Not yet. They’ve got Jason on it. But… it may not b-be in time.” My eyes water at all the deaths looming.
“I got to go, sugar. I see her.”
“Suds?” I get dead air. Shit. When I glance down at my phone, my most recent contact pops up and I press redial.
I sure hope Kessler was right and the guy is on our side. “Hello? Mr. Fialko? This is Sam Sutcliff. There’s a bomb in the East Village.”
“Dammit. Tell me everything.”
