"Active shooter! Active shooter!" someone shouted, and the panic redoubled.
I remained standing, the gun still in hand. Not moving. Not threatening. Just waiting. The crowd parted around me like water flowing around a rock, creating an empty circle of space with me at its center. The two police officers at the entrance drew their weapons and began pushing through the fleeing crowd, but the human current worked against them.
A middle-aged woman stumbled in her haste to escape, shopping bags spilling from her hands. As she struggled to her feet, her eyes locked with mine. I saw the moment of recognition wash across her face—the widening eyes, the slight gasp. She pointed a trembling finger at me.
"That's her!" she screamed, her voice piercing through the chaos. "That's that rogue FBI profiler from the news!"
Just as I'd expected. My face had been plastered across everynews channel. The media had told the story of the dangerous former agent gone rogue, a woman with inside knowledge using it to commit the perfect crime.
I kept my expression neutral, though inside, my stomach churned. For twenty years, I'd been the one people ran toward for safety, not away from in terror.
Mall security guards converged from multiple directions, trying to coordinate through their crackling radios. The younger ones looked terrified, while the older guards moved with more purpose, creating a loose perimeter. None of them had firearms—mall policy—but they were trying to contain the situation until police arrived in force.
I calculated the timing in my head. From the moment the first shot was fired to full police response: approximately four minutes. I'd already used nearly two. The initial responders would be whoever was closest—the two officers already inside—followed by patrol units, then SWAT. They would secure the perimeter first, then begin clearing the building.
My plan relied on this predictable response. Law enforcement would follow protocol, and protocol was something I knew intimately.
I lowered my gun slowly, making sure everyone saw the deliberate motion. Several phones were pointed at me—recording, livestreaming. Perfect. The more digital footprints, the better. I needed the world to see.
The first police officer had finally pushed through the crowd, gun drawn, positioned behind a concrete planter thirty feet away. "Drop the weapon!" he shouted, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Do it now!"
I made eye contact with him and slowly placed the gun on the floor, sliding it away from me with my foot. Not surrendering—just changing tactics.
"Eva Rae Thomas!" he called out, recognition dawning on his face. "Get on the ground! Hands where I can see them!"
Instead of complying, I checked my watch. Three minutes eighteen seconds. Right on schedule. The service corridors would be myexit route, but I needed the timing to be exact. Too early, and I'd be caught. Too late, and the opportunity would vanish.
The second officer flanked from the left, moving cautiously between abandoned shopping bags and overturned chairs. Mall security had formed a loose ring around the first officer and me, keeping frightened stragglers back.
I raised my hands slowly to shoulder height—not surrender, just buying seconds. My eyes locked on the fire alarm on the wall near the food court entrance. The commotion had emptied most of the mall, but the alarm would trigger the sprinkler system, adding another layer of confusion.
As the officers inched closer, I tensed my muscles, ready to move. This was my one chance to access what I needed, and I wouldn't get another. If I failed now, I'd never clear my name.
"Now, on your knees!" the officer shouted, just fifteen feet away.
I took one last deep breath.
Four minutes.
Time to move.
Chapter 2
I boltedtoward the food court, moving against the tide of fleeing shoppers. My body operated on pure instinct now, weaving between obstacles with practiced efficiency.
"Stop her!" someone shouted, but the command was swallowed by the chaos. The mall's fire alarm began to wail—whether triggered by security or some panicked shopper, I couldn't tell. Perfect timing. The sprinklers would activate soon. People collided with me as they rushed for the exits, shoulders bumping, hands grabbing briefly before letting go. No one wanted to be a hero today. No one except the security guards and police officers, now in pursuit behind me.
An abandoned food tray crashed to the floor as I dodged around a corner. The service corridor entrance waited ahead—a gray door marked "Staff Only," partially hidden behind a decorative palm. A young employee in a green polo shirt stood frozen before it, his eyes wide with indecision as the chaos unfolded around him.
"FBI!" I lied without breaking stride. "I need access now!"
The familiar authority in my voice worked—a reflex from my twenty years with the Bureau. The young man stumbled backward, his shoulder hitting the door as he moved aside. I pushed past him,shouldering through the door before he could question why an FBI agent would be running from mall security.
The service corridor hit me with its stark contrast to the mall's polished public face. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, every third one flickering with a sickly pulse that cast moving shadows against cinderblock walls. The concrete floor was stained with decades of spills and tracked-in dirt. Exposed pipes and electrical conduits ran along the ceiling like industrial veins and arteries.
I paused, orienting myself. The heavy door swung shut behind me, muffling the alarm and screams. For a moment, the relative quiet was jarring—just the distant wail of sirens and the hum of the building's mechanical systems. The corridor stretched in both directions, intersecting with others to form a hidden maze behind the mall's gleaming façade.
I needed to go east. From memory, I recalled the mall's layout from the public safety briefing I'd attended two years ago as part of an anti-terrorism task force. The irony wasn't lost on me—using knowledge gained as law enforcement to evade that same system.
