Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

He then placed his hand on hers. "This isn't the time to be a hero. Sit tight and try not to move. We don't know the extent of your injuries. Leave that to us. And try not to look down."

She listened to the first part of Kelly's message but failed to adhere to the second part. Upon seeing the bone sticking out of her whitewashed Levi's, the girl released a blood-curdling scream and fainted.

"Kris, I need you to stabilize her neck. We've got to get her off the pile and onto a flat surface.” What was left of the footbridge groaned loudly. Kelly looked up at the mangled rebar sticking out of the walkway’s damaged masonry. "Check that. We need to get everybody away from the fallout zone as quickly as possible before any more of that bridge falls."

Barnes joined him, supporting the girl’s neck and upper back while Kelly gripped her ankles. He was glad she was unconscious so she didn't have to experience the pain of moving her broken leg. The synchronized lift was quick but controlled, and they hustled her behind Kelly’s Caprice.

"Let's make my car the rally point. We'll put our wounded there. The medics are already on their way." Kelly quarterbacked the group, and everybody did their part to help.

Two MBTA police officers rushed to assist. In the few tense minutes that followed, all three injured parties were removed from the rubble and were now lying in a row on the cool asphalt.

The mother sat up against Kelly's request. She was crying uncontrollably and brushed at her daughter's hair. Kelly didn't press the issue. He'd have done the same if Embry had been hurt. Even when EMS arrived and began putting pressure on the mother's wound, she never stopped patting her daughter's head. Sirens in the distance indicated the impending arrival of a fleet of first responders as Langston received a call.

"Where the hell were you?" Langston paced, balling his non-phone fist. Sweat flew off the end of his mustache as he barked into the receiver. "I tried calling you. I tried the secretary."

Kelly couldn't hear the other person but assumed it was Hodges.

"You did what? Tell your boss we're going to need to have a meeting, sooner rather than lat... I don't care what his schedule says at this point. You're going to make time for us." Langston shut off the phone. He looked pissed. If his normal walk-around face exuded annoyance, his new facade was one of pure, unabashed anger.

"That didn't sound like it went well." Kelly grabbed a pressure dressing from his trunk and exchanged it for the girl's blood-drenched one as another ambulance arrived on scene.

"It was Hodges."

"I figured. What happened? Where's McLaughlin?"

"They got off at Quincy Center."

"You’re telling me McLaughlin got off two exits ago?"

"Looks that way." Langston looked at Kelly differently. They were starting to jibe. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Either Hodges got your message and finally was able to talk some sense into his boss. Or..."

McLaughlin's past couldn't catch up with him if he was the one controlling the present. Maybe Collins was right about McLaughlin being the target. If so, the implications were staggering.

"I think you and I are going to go have a talk with our friend Mr. McLaughlin and see where things go."

"Agreed. But I think we should do a little digging around beforehand."

Kelly realized what Gray had told him during their phone call was proving to be true. Langston wasn't the inept agent his ornery disposition had first led him to believe. He was, in fact, quite adept and intelligent, and he picked up on the subtle nuances of the case. These were the things in an investigation that separated a good cop from a great one. Now they just had to put their money where their mind was and figure out McLaughlin's involvement, if any, and then find the person responsible for these attacks.

They had their work cut out for them. And with the bomber still on the loose, time was not on their side.

30

Kelly rinsed his hand for the third time, trying to get the last remnants of the blood out of the cracks of his fingernails and giving up after his last effort. The three injured had been transported to the hospital for non-life-threatening injuries. No lost limbs like the first bomb. Most of the damage came from impact, fractures, and broken bones. One of the businessman's broken ribs punctured his left lung, but all of them were expected to make a full recovery.

The area had been cordoned off, and with the assist of local agencies, the FBI now controlled the scene. After the third bombing, Langston had requested that an additional crime scene team be brought in. They had been on their way to the Downtown Crossing scene before being redirected to Braintree. They actively worked the scene while Kelly and company looked on from just outside the crime scene tape. Kelly looked at this respite like he did a break between rounds in the ring. He breathed deeply and slowly, using it as an opportunity to reset both his mind and body for the fight to come.

Superintendent Acevedo drove up, followed by his SUV entourage. He got out and made a direct line for them, stopping in front of Barnes. He visually inspected her as if he were doing a parade review, then silently repeated the process on Kelly before addressing the group.

"Everybody okay here?" Acevedo’s voice sounded genuine. Hard to tell with him.

"Yes. Minus the three civilians. No fatalities this time around." Kelly wiped his hands for the millionth time. He still felt the tackiness of the blood.

"Good to hear." Acevedo seemed pleased. "Still no idea who's behind the attacks?"

"The sketch artist is taking a crack at getting something from the bartender. We think he had direct contact with our bomber. Might prove worthwhile. But as far as an actual positive ID, we're no better off right now than we were when this whole thing started." Kelly