Chapter 6 - THE TRAPMy mother’s name was Evelyn Carter.
She was sixty-three years old, five feet three, and had once chased a raccoon out of our garage using nothing but a broom and language that permanently changed my understanding of her vocabulary.
She was not easy to scare.
That didn't mean Mercer couldn't hurt her.
Ortiz had officers intercept Mom before she left the secured area of the airport.
When they brought her to us, she walked straight past Gideon, Sarah and three detectives.
Then she saw my leg.
Her face collapsed.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I became eight years old again.
I cried into her shoulder until I couldn't breathe.
Mom never asked why I stayed.
She asked why Tyler wasn't in jail.
I loved her for that.
Unfortunately, Tyler was still moving.
Mercer too.
Ortiz believed the motel photograph had been deliberately left behind.
A warning.
Or bait.
Gideon believed it was arrogance.
“Tyler wants her frightened,” he said. “Fear makes people predictable.”
I stared at him.
“You sound like you know.”
“I used to make money understanding frightened people.”
Mom looked him over.
“And you are?”
“Gideon Locke.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“The Gideon Locke?”
Gideon looked uncomfortable.
Mom turned toward me.
“You accidentally texted the mob?”
“Mom.”
“What? I'm clarifying.”
Sarah laughed.
Even Ortiz smiled.
It was the first normal moment we'd had in days.
It didn't last.
The evidence on Elena's tapes was explosive, but much of it was old.
The tablet was stronger.
Recent.
Financial records.
Audio.
Photographs.
Still, prosecutors needed corroboration.
They wanted Tyler or Mercer alive and talking.
“We need pressure,” Ortiz said.
“Hale,” Gideon replied.
Councilman Victor Hale had scheduled a charity fundraiser two nights later.
Canceling would look suspicious.
Attending meant exposure.
Ortiz planned surveillance.
Then I remembered something.
“Tyler hates Hale.”
Everyone turned.
“He used to complain about him.”
“What did he say?” Ortiz asked.
“That Hale acted like Tyler was disposable.”
Gideon's eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Last year. Tyler came home drunk. Said, ‘That old man thinks cops make him untouchable.’”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Anything else?”
“He said if things ever went bad, Hale would be the first rat off the ship.”
Gideon smiled without humor.
“There it is.”
Ortiz understood.
“We convince Tyler Hale is cooperating.”
“How?”
“Leak it.”
I shook my head.
“He won't believe the news.”
“No,” Gideon said. “But he'll believe something private.”
We constructed the trap around one fact from Tyler's tablet.
A storage unit.
Hale had used it for years to hold backup financial records.
If Tyler believed Hale was preparing to surrender those records to federal investigators, Tyler would act.
The leak went to exactly one person.
A contractor we knew still communicated with Mercer.
Within six hours, someone attempted to access the storage facility’s security system remotely.
Ortiz smiled.
“They bit.”
The operation began the following night.
I remained at a secure hotel with Mom and Sarah.
At 11:40 p.m., Ortiz called.
“We have movement.”
Mercer’s vehicle.
Heading toward the storage facility.
Another car followed.
Registered to a shell company linked to Tyler.
My heart hammered.
“Stay where you are,” Ortiz said.
Then the line disconnected.
Twenty minutes passed.
Thirty.
Forty.
Nobody called.
I watched Gideon pacing.
He wasn't supposed to be involved in the arrest.
Ortiz had forbidden it.
For once, he obeyed.
At 12:28, his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Pause.
“When?”
He looked toward me.
“No. She's here.”
Another pause.
Then Gideon's face went completely blank.
He disconnected.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Gideon.”
“The cars were decoys.”
My blood went cold.
“What do you mean?”
“Mercer wasn't driving his.”
“Then where is he?”
Before anyone answered, the fire alarm began screaming.
Red lights flashed.
Sarah stood.
“Move.”
Gideon grabbed his phone.
Smoke began seeping beneath the hallway door.
My mother took my crutches.
A voice shouted outside.
“Fire!”
Sprinklers erupted.
Everything became chaos.
Gideon opened an adjoining door to a second hotel room.
“Service exit.”
Sarah helped me.
The brace on my leg made every movement slow.
Too slow.
We reached the service hallway.
Then a man appeared at the far end.
Baseball cap.
Gray jacket.
I recognized his walk before his face.
Tyler.
My entire body froze.
He smiled.
“Hi, Emma.”
Gideon stepped between us.
Tyler raised a gun.
“No.”
Gideon stopped.
Sarah pulled my mother behind a housekeeping cart.
Tyler nodded toward me.
“She comes with me.”
Gideon’s voice was calm.
“That's not happening.”
“You think you're tough because everybody whispers your name?”
“No.”
Gideon looked almost bored.
“I think you're weak because you only hurt people when you believe they can't fight back.”
Tyler's face twitched.
“Emma.”
I didn't move.
“Come here.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
That word again.
No.
This time I said it louder.
“No.”
Tyler pointed the weapon toward Gideon.
“Come here or I shoot him.”
My old instincts screamed.
Protect everyone.
Make Tyler calm.
Obey.
Instead, I noticed something.
Tyler's hands were shaking.
For three years, I thought fear belonged to me.
Now I recognized it in him.
He wasn't powerful.
He was desperate.
“You won't,” I said.
His eyes widened.
“What?”
“You won't shoot Gideon.”
“You want to test me?”
“No.”
I gripped my crutches.
“You want me scared enough to walk back into your life.”
Tyler’s mouth twisted.
“Your life?”
“Yes.”
I had never called it mine before.
“You ruined everything.”
“You broke my leg.”
“You pushed me!”
“No.”
“You always—”
“No.”
Each time I said it, his face changed.
Because the word itself was destroying the version of me he had built.
“You don't get to rewrite what happened anymore.”
Tyler raised the gun.
Then a door behind him burst open.
“Police!”
Tyler spun.
Gunshot.
Everybody dropped.
Another shot.
Gideon tackled me behind a laundry cart.
My leg exploded with pain.
Police flooded the hallway.
Someone shouted, “Weapon down!”
Then silence.
I lifted my head.
Tyler was on the floor.
Alive.
Bleeding from the shoulder.
Handcuffed.
Detective Ortiz stood over him.
For one second, relief overwhelmed me.
Then I saw Gideon.
Blood soaked the side of his black shirt.
“Gideon?”
He looked down almost curiously.
Sarah screamed.
He collapsed.
Everything after that happened too fast.
Paramedics.
Elevator.
Hospital.
Mom holding me while I shook.
Ortiz explaining that Tyler had fired first.
The bullet had passed through Gideon's side.
No major artery.
Surgery successful.
He was expected to recover.
Tyler was charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault, kidnapping-related offenses and multiple weapons violations pending investigation.
But Mercer was still gone.
Worse, Tyler demanded a lawyer and said nothing.
At 6 a.m., I sat outside Gideon’s hospital room.
Ortiz joined me.
“We searched Tyler.”
“And?”
“Phone. Cash. Fake identification.”
“No Mercer?”
“Nothing useful.”
I closed my eyes.
“We still don't have him.”
“No.”
Then Sarah emerged from Gideon's room holding his coat.
Something fell from the pocket.
A phone.
Not Gideon’s normal one.
Sarah frowned.
“What is that?”
The screen lit.
One unread message.
No sender name.
Only a number.
Ortiz picked it up with gloves.
The message read:
You protected the wrong woman. Next time I finish what Tyler started.
Below it was a photograph.
Not of me.
Of Gideon’s hospital room.
Taken through the doorway.
Minutes earlier.
May you like
Mercer wasn't hiding somewhere across the state.
He was inside the hospital.
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