“I agree, but how? The entire Tampa Bay police department and the FBI are waiting outside, ready to grab you as soon as you get there. Me too, for that matter, for helping a fugitive. We’ll never make it past them. All their focus is on you.”
“Then we change their focus,” I said. “I have an idea.”
Part V
Chapter 48
I enteredTampa Mall through the east entrance, moving with the measured confidence of a woman who belonged there. My right hand rested casually inside my jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the gun I'd secured from Juan's emergency supplies. Every face I passed was a potential witness, every security camera a deliberate part of my plan. The weight of what I was about to do settled across my shoulders like a familiar burden—not unlike the weight I'd carried during my most dangerous FBI operations. Only this time, I wasn't operating with the authority of a badge. I was creating chaos by design.
The plan had come together in the predawn hours, after Juan had met with us in the park.
"We need to draw the police away," I'd told Matt and Juan. "Create a situation that forces them to leave the house."
Matt had understood immediately. "A distraction. Something that would pull police resources away from her neighborhood."
"Something that plays into her narrative about me," I'd added, the idea crystallizing with terrible clarity.
With a gun in my pocket that Juan had provided for me, I scanned my surroundings with the automatic threat assessment I'ddeveloped through years of field work. Two security guards near the central corridor, speaking into shoulder-mounted radios. Four visible security cameras covering the main walkways. Emergency exits at forty-foot intervals, each marked with illuminated signs. The morning crowd was modest but growing—mostly elderly mall-walkers getting exercise before the stores opened, young mothers with strollers, and retail employees arriving for their shifts.
Perfect. Enough witnesses to spread the word, not enough to create unmanageable chaos.
I made my way toward the center where the fountain was, passing storefronts still dark and shuttered. A cleaning crew mopped the gleaming floor, their yellow caution signs creating islands in the walkway that I navigated around. An elderly couple nodded as they passed, the woman's smile flickering briefly in my direction. I wondered if she recognized me from the news or simply saw another middle-aged woman on a shopping spree.
The fountain opened before me—a circular space in the center of it all. I glanced toward the food court. Workers arranged chairs around tables, filled napkin dispensers, and wiped counters with practiced movements. The ceiling stretched high above, skylights allowing morning sun to illuminate the area better than the mall's fluorescent lighting. I noted the positions of each security camera, the service corridors marked "Staff Only," and the wide entrance to the main shopping concourse.
I selected my position carefully—central enough to be visible from multiple angles, close enough to the service corridor for a quick exit, far enough from innocent bystanders to minimize risk. I had taken the magazine out for now, so there would be no bullet, and no one would be hurt, except for the scare. The chaos would be controlled, contained. No one would be hurt if everything went according to plan.
My heart maintained its steady rhythm as I settled by the fountain, removing my sunglasses and tucking them into my pocket. I wanted the cameras to capture my face clearly.
Two security guards passed nearby, their conversation about weekend plans carrying across the quiet space. Neither gave me asecond glance—just another woman waiting, meeting someone, or maybe waiting for the coffee shop to open. I let them pass, counting seconds in my head.
The burner phone in my pocket vibrated once—Juan's signal that they were in position outside Sarah's house. I gave myself thirty more seconds, using the time to scan the food court once more. A young family had settled two tables away, their toddler banging a plastic toy against the table surface. The mother looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath her eyes, suggesting sleepless nights with her child. I waited until she bent to retrieve something from a diaper bag, ensuring her attention was diverted.
I stood smoothly, withdrawing the gun from my pocket in a single fluid movement that my body remembered from thousands of practice drills. The weapon felt impossibly heavy in my hand, its presence instantly transforming me from an anonymous shopper into a public threat. Before doubt could intrude, I raised my arm and fired three bullet-less shots into the concrete ceiling above.
The sound cracked through the open space like thunder, echoing off hard surfaces and silencing all other noise for one suspended moment.
Then came the screams.
The frozen tableau shattered into frantic movement. Parents grabbed children, elderly couples clutched each other, and food service workers ducked behind counters. Security guards spun toward the sound, hands moving to their weapons as they shouted commands that were lost in the growing panic.
"Gun! She has a gun!"
"Everyone down!"
"This way—emergency exit!"
I moved with the surging crowd, allowing the human current to carry me toward the main corridor. The gun, now hidden again in my pocket, had served its purpose. My face had been captured on every security camera in the food court. Within minutes, those images would be transmitted to law enforcement across Tampa Bay.
"That's her!" a woman's voice cut through the chaos behind me. "That's the FBI killer from the news!"
I didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the recognition. Instead, I peeled away from the main flow of fleeing shoppers, slipping through a service door marked "Staff Only".
I jogged down the hallway. In the distance, I could hear alarm systems activating, the piercing electronic wail adding to the confusion.
By now, Matt and Juan would be entering Sarah's house, using the window I'd created with my desperate diversion. All available police would be coming here in a matter of seconds.
I pushed through a final door and emerged into morning sunlight at the rear of the mall. A service area stretched before me—dumpsters, delivery trucks, the ordinary infrastructure of retail commerce. No people visible yet, though I could hear sirens approaching from multiple directions.
