Another blast shattered the kitchen window. Gillian screamed. Claudia pushed her sister away from flying shards of glass. Other windows in the neighborhood had broken, too. They could hear cries of shock and surprise.
“I’m going to investigate,” Roddy declared.
“No, wait,” Claudia urged. “Stay here until we know more. This could be a terrorist event.”
“Now you’re being absurd,” Roddy replied. “Obviously your husband’s right-wing fantasies have clouded your mind.”
Outside, a red glow continued to spread over the predawn sky. Sirens wailed. On television, the news anchor’s running commentary about the troubled history of the Big Dig was suddenly interrupted when someone off camera slipped him a sheet of paper.
“We’ve just received word of a second explosion. This one at Harvard Medical School—”
“My god!” Gillian cried.
Roddy stormed off before Claudia could stop him. Both women were relieved when they heard him climb the stairs, instead of going to the front door.
“We have raw video feed coming in of the initial blast at the Big Dig,” the anchor said.
On screen, a massive hole in the center of town was spewing fire like a live volcano. Buildings around the site had collapsed, some of them burning. Though horrified, the sisters could not turn away from the screen.
Outside, a police car raced down narrow Acorn Street, lights flashing. They heard popping sounds, like fireworks going off. Then the sound of a car crash.
Roderick appeared in the kitchen again. He was dressed in khaki pants and a golf shirt. “Here,” he said, handing a phone to Claudia. “I found your phone on the dresser.
Your cell’s been ringing nonstop.”
Claudia took the phone. It wasn’t ringing now, but she had three missed messages in just the past five minutes.
She was about to call up the latest one when her cell went off in her hand.
“Where are you going, Roddy?” Gillian cried, nearly hysterical.
“Out. To see what all this ruckus is about.”
“No, you can’t—”
“Hello,” Claudia said into her cell.
“Claudia, thank God you’re safe,” said her husband.
“Of course I’m safe. A little rattled, maybe—”
“Listen, a terror alert has just been issued for the Boston area.”
“I knew it,” Claudia said.
Outside, the fireworks got louder, and closer.
“We got the word in earlier this evening, from an un-trustworthy source, frankly,” Nathan Wheelock continued.
“But it appears the agent in question was correct.”
Roddy stormed out of the kitchen. Gillian wrung her hands.
On television, the announcer warned: “The Mayor has just issued a command that all citizens of the Boston area are to remain inside their homes. Let me repeat that…”
“Roddy!” Gillian cried, rushing to the front door.
“Truck bombs, Claudia,” Nathan Wheelock said. “At least two of them, possibly as many as four—”
“We heard a number of explosions,” Claudia replied.
“Now it sounds like fireworks outside—”
“Those aren’t fireworks,” Nathan cried. “They’re gunshots.”
On the television, the anchor took another piece of paper and visibly paled. “We’ve just received another bulletin. Armed gangs are roving the streets around Boston Commons and the Beacon Hill area. All citizens in those neighborhoods are advised to lock their doors and take shelter in basements or attics—”
Claudia heard a fusillade that seemed to fire off right outside their door. She heard Gillian scream. Claudia closed the phone and bolted to the entranceway. Gillian was standing in the door, clutching her head.
Outside, someone was facedown on the pavement, blood pooling around a shattered skull. It took Claudia a moment to realize it was Roderick. Another form was crumpled on the sidewalk, a youth with long hair and a brown beard, wearing tie-dyed pajamas.
Claudia dragged her sister’s arm, yanked her backward, then shut and locked the door. Another round of shots rang out, one of them puncturing the stout oak and shattering a mirror in the hallway.
On the other side of the door, they heard shouts and screams — and more shooting. Claudia dragged her sister deeper inside the house just as someone slammed a shoulder against the front door.
Frantically searching for a place to hide, Claudia opened the closet and pushed her sister inside.
“Keep quiet, no matter what you hear,” Claudia commanded.
She’d just closed the door on her sister when Claudia heard a crash, then heavy boots tramping on the polished hardwood floor. She slipped her hand into the robe’s pocket, touched the butt of the small handgun — but she was afraid to pull it free. She wasn’t all that sure of her aim, but mostly she didn’t want to provoke the man.
A burly African American appeared in the hall. He wore dirty overalls and a skullcap. In his beefy hands, he clutched a double-barreled shotgun, which was pointed at the ceiling. His eyes appeared wild, like he was drugged.
“What do you want?” Claudia asked as gently and calmly as she could. The lawyer in her took over. If I can just remain rational, negotiate with him, get him to talk to me, then it will be all right…
“I want to help you,” Claudia assured him. “What can I do to help you?”
The man blinked, his eyes beginning to focus. He looked down at Claudia’s long, tanned legs. His gaze moved upward, over her trim figure, attractive face, and golden, sleep-tousled hair. Finally, he met her sky-blue eyes.
“Please, just put the gun down…” Claudia urged.
Claudia held her breath, feeling a moment of triumph as he did what she asked. He’s putting the gun down! He’s actually leaning it against the wall!
“Good,” Claudia murmured on a released breath.
“That’s good.”
The man stood there, unarmed now. But he still hadn’t said a word.
“You don’t want to hurt me, do you?” Claudia cooed.
A slow grin spread over the big man’s face, the wide smile showing a single gold tooth. Then he began to move toward her, his steps deliberate, his sexual interest at last apparent to Claudia.
The lawyer’s mind seized up; her jaw went slack. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Finally registering what was about to happen to her, she simply stood frozen in place, barely able to breathe.
Her courtroom tactics were useless now; but Claudia Wheelock wasn’t defenseless. Something deep inside her was taking over. Like a puppeteer, it directed her hand to take hold of the heavy item in her pocket — the gun her husband had given her. As if in a dream, Claudia felt her fingers curling around the butt.
The man reached out, still grinning, the gold tooth winking. She could read the laughter in his eyes now: Easy prey. Arrogant. Defenseless. Stupid.
His beefy hands tore open her robe, and Claudia’s finger squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in her hand, the first bullet ripping through the terry cloth. She pumped four more shots into the stunned intruder before he finally went down.
Tony Almeida peered through the windshield of the stolen Explorer. Judith Foy sat beside him in the passenger seat. The idling Ford was tucked between two chop shop wrecks, nearly invisible to anyone cruising along Howard Street — or so Tony hoped.
“There’s the Hummer,” he announced, sitting up.
Agent Foy followed his gaze. “That’s the one,” she agreed.
Tony threw the SUV into gear. “I was getting worried.
The plane must have been delayed.” He glanced at his partner. “Get clear now.”