LET ME GO (Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Book 5) Read online

  “It’s nothing but a peaceful protest march,” she said. “I don’t see…”

  “Five cops were shot two days ago in an ambush. All orchestrated by this same guy who tried to kill you. These five men have families. They have children, wives, brothers, sisters. They’re someone’s children.”

  “But this is a peaceful event.”

  “For now,” I said. “Until he ruins it. I bet he is out there right now amidst all these people, riling them up. All it takes is for him to find a few bad seeds and get them to do something stupid. The police are on edge as well; they’ll overreact at the smallest thing. Maybe he’s not even alone in this. It’s the easiest thing in the world to make sure this all goes wrong. You’re handing it to him on a silver platter. You’ve got several million angry people out there right now. It can so easily go wrong. Think about it. Please.”

  “Listen, we need to get going, Amal.”

  Amal’s brother came up to us. Amal had told him to leave us alone so we could talk, but now he had come back.

  “They’re waiting for you.”

  “Please, Amal,” I said. “Don’t do it. Don’t let him win.”

  “Of course, she’s doing it,” her brother said dismissively. “Do you have any idea how much effort it has taken to get her here? To arrange all this? People have come from all over to be a part of this movement.”

  “Think about Nathan,” I said. “Nathan Downey.”

  Amal’s eyes met mine, and they locked for a few seconds, her nostrils flaring lightly while she pondered what I had said. I had struck something inside of her by mentioning the boy’s name; I could tell I had. Amal had to know what happened to him and that he was yet another innocent victim in this sick game the Swatter was playing. But was it enough?

  “I’m sorry,” Amal said and looked away. “I have to get up there now. They’re waiting for me.”

  With that, her brother grabbed the wheelchair and turned her around, then pushed her up the ramp toward the stage. I stared at her as she disappeared behind the big black curtain while the crowd chanted her name on the other side.

  Chapter 78

  Amal felt a wave of adrenaline rush through her body as she was rolled onto the stage and the roar emerged from the crowd. She couldn’t believe her own eyes as she stared out at the ocean of faces. Screaming fans, banners, and people as far as the eye could see. Amal took a deep breath, taking it all in.

  This was truly spectacular. Seeing this, the politicians had to listen. They had to know that the people demanded a change.

  It wasn’t for nothing. All that happened to you wasn’t in vain.

  Amal lifted her hand and waved at the crowd while her brother parked the wheelchair and handed her a microphone.

  “We love you, Amal!” someone yelled.

  Amal smiled. A tear had escaped her eye, and she wiped it away. The crowds were still roaring, but slowly subsiding as they waited for her to speak.

  “Oh, wow,” she said into the microphone, half choking up. “Look at all those faces, all those people. Look at you! I can’t believe you all came out for this. But I am so glad you did.”

  She swallowed while preparing to begin her speech, then turned her head to see that Eva Rae Thomas was standing on the side of the stage, watching her. Amal bit her cheek while thinking about what she had said right before she went up to the stage.

  She had mentioned Nathan Downey, the kid who was beaten up just because he was the son of the officer who had shot Amal. He had no part in this. He had done nothing wrong. Was this what Amal wanted? An eye for an eye?

  Amal looked away. She focused on her speech and the people who were waiting patiently for her to begin.

  The microphone feedback howled loudly as she lifted it back up to her lips. Amal winced, then spoke as the sound disappeared:

  “Protests work when groups are willing to be bold in their tactics and persistent in their approach. It serves as a powerful signal to the rest of society that something extraordinary is happening.” Amal looked down briefly at the piece of paper in her hand where she had written what to say, then back up at the crowd. “Today, the media is weaker; the institutions meant to be watchdogs aren’t as watchful as they’re supposed to be. But marches like this mobilize people, wake Americans up to the gravity of the situation. It can push progressive politicians to action. It can confront those who do nothing with their cowardice…”

  Amal paused and looked down at her notes, then cleared her throat. She couldn’t find where she was at. It was like the words were jumping around on the page, like they wouldn’t stand still, no matter how much she willed them to. She kept seeing Nathan Downey’s face. She had watched all the news stories about him she could find, and she’d read all the articles about the little boy who was attacked on his way home from school just because of who his dad was. She had kept telling herself that what happened to him had nothing to do with all this, that is was unfortunate and terrible, yes, but she couldn’t do anything about it. But now, as she sat there, she realized it was all connected just as her being shot was connected to something bigger. And if it was ever to change, it had to start somewhere.

  It might as well be here.

  Amal looked at Eva Rae Thomas once more, briefly, then crumpled up the paper in her hand, lifted the microphone, and looked at the crowd.

  “But it can also divide us further and create a situation that will hurt more people than it benefits,” she said.

  Chapter 79

  “I was shot,” Amal said, grabbing the wheels of her chair and rolling it closer to the edge of the stage. I watched from the sidelines, holding my breath as she crumpled up her paper and went off-script. I had no idea what she was going to do.

  “And I was angry about that. For a very long time, I was very angry. I had done nothing wrong. I was just a woman on a flight, and I believed I was shot because of my skin color. I’m still angry at what happened to me, sometimes furious, since my life will never be the same again. I mean, look at me…my body is completely destroyed.”

  As she paused, people yelled slogans against the police, chanting for those blue pigs to die, calling them murderers. Amal lifted her head and looked out at them, then spoke again, this time sounding more determined than earlier:

  “But…recently, someone reminded me of the importance of forgiveness. The men that shot me had families, and Officer Downey’s child was attacked. He was beaten half to death and is in a coma right now. I need you to understand that I never wanted that to happen. That is not how it’s supposed to be. We’re better than that. I have not come here to create division; that’s not what I’m all about. I want to build bridges. I want to put down my anger and blame, and I need you to do the same. Therefore, I ask you all to welcome with me a former FBI agent with whom I have recently become friends. Please welcome Miss Eva Rae Thomas. She is with the police, and also my friend.”

  Amal turned to look at me, then stretched out her arm toward me, nodding. I stared at her, not knowing what to do. Not only was I terrified to be on stage, but I also had to keep a very low profile. There was no way for me now to argue that I wasn’t involved with the movement. Cameras were recording all of this, some broadcasting it live, and Amal’s brother was also live-streaming it to her YouTube channel. My face was going to be all over the news in a few seconds, and that was exactly what Isabella warned me against. She would no longer be able to protect me if they wanted to prosecute me for being involved in the shooting of the five officers in Orlando.

  “Come on out here,” Amal said, smiling.

  My feet refused to move. I stared at the woman in the wheelchair, holding out her hand, urging me to come while the crowd had gone completely silent.

  This is not what they came to see. This is not what they want.

  I couldn’t breathe, and every part of me screamed not to, yet I did it anyway. I took a step forward, then another, and soon I was walking onto the stage, out into the open where every set of eyes could see me, and eve
ry camera had me in their lens. I wanted to build bridges, too; I wanted to help.

  “Eva Rae Thomas, ladies and gentlemen,” Amal said and grabbed my hand in hers. She lifted them into the air. The crowd looked dumbfounded like they didn’t know what to say or do. Amal saw it, then said:

  “I say we all hug an officer today, huh? When we march through these streets, let’s at least hug one officer each. Let’s help spread the message of love instead of hatred. That should be our real mission. I’ll start by hugging Eva Rae Thomas.”

  She pulled me into a hug, and I bent down to put my arms around her. As we hugged, the crowd broke out into a spontaneous cheer behind us that kept going for a very long time, getting louder and louder.

  As she let me go and I turned away, I spotted movement on one of the rooftops nearby, and too late, I realized what was happening. I threw myself forward, trying to cover her when the shot echoed through the air.

  Chapter 80

  Three bullets tore their way into her chest. Her upper body went into spasms, and seconds later, she went completely still, head slumped to the side.

  NO!

  I shook her, crying.

  “Amal, no, please.”

  People came running onto the stage from behind the curtain, but I hardly saw anything anymore. I kept looking in the direction where I had seen the shooter on the rooftop, but of course, he was gone. The crowd stopped clapping and cheering and had turned to screaming in shock. Police officers came running onto the stage and tried to get people away from Amal’s dead body.

  I stopped one of them.

  “I saw someone on the rooftop over there,” I said and pointed. “Over there, to our right side.”

  The officer looked where I was pointing. “We’ll get a team up there asap and surround the neighborhood. He’s not getting away.”

  “I sure hope not,” I said, not feeling very hopeful. If this was the Swatter, then he was too smart to get caught.

  I waited there for hours while the police finished up. An ambulance arrived, and they took Amal out of her chair, carrying her onto a stretcher. They closed the body bag over her head, and just like that, she was gone. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I wept as they took her away, leaving her brother behind looking confused and lost.

  Meanwhile, the crowd was taking their anger to the streets. There was yelling and screaming, and suddenly, there were loud crashing noises as they smashed in store windows. Several cars were set on fire along with dumpsters that they rolled into the street. The police set in with their forces, trying to calm the crowd, but that only made things worse. As I came down from the stage and looked out at the town, it felt like a war had just begun.

  Amal’s brother, Samir, came up behind me. His eyes were filling, the words coming out of him as choked sobs, “They say someone said it was a cop that shot her. That’s why they’re angry.”

  “Do you believe it was a cop?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why would they shoot her and make a martyr of her?” I asked.

  “Why not? She spoke up against them and their violence. She was a symbol of a movement against them.”

  I looked up at Samir. He looked so much like Amal, it was almost scary. He exhaled deeply, then grabbed his phone. “Anyway, I need to call our family.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” I said. “I truly am. She was a remarkable woman.”

  He gave me a look of brokenness, then left, phone pressed against his ear. The whole scene was one of chaos, and, to be honest, I had no idea where to go or what to do. I had given a brief statement to the first responders, but the investigators looking into Amal’s death would want to get more later, so I thought I’d better try and get back to Priscilla’s house somehow. I had borrowed her, car and, as I walked to where I parked it, protesters were running around in the streets, yelling slogans and fighting the police. I rushed to the car, then got in as a large police vehicle drove onto the road, and about fifty of them jumped out, wearing full body armor, running toward the roaring crowd.

  “This is never going to end well,” I sighed as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from Liam of all people.

  HOTEL PHOENIX, it simply said.

  Chapter 81

  Phoenix Park Hotel wasn’t very far, but trying to drive through a town full of protesters with them rioting and the police trying to stop them wasn’t exactly easy. I kept running into roadblocks or into crowds of people who were throwing rocks at windows while yelling out their anger. I repeatedly had to turn around and try to go the other way while chaos governed the streets around me. At one turn, I drove toward a huge crowd, and they started to bang on the car with sticks. I tried to go back where I had come from, but the crowd had surrounded me, and now the police were beginning to knock them down. I got out of the car, ducked down, and tried to elbow my way out of the crowd. A huge store window of a Books A Million store was shattered, and the books thrown into the street, then set on fire. I made my way out of it, then ran down a small street before pulling out my phone to look at the map.

  I wasn’t far from the hotel now.

  I ran onto a bigger street, looking carefully for protestors or police, then crossed it and ran through Lower Senate Park while the sounds of screaming and yelling behind me pushed me to run as fast as I could.

  I spotted Liam standing outside the hotel, wearing a hoodie over his head. He saw me and waved. I ran up to him.

  “This is hell,” I said. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Not much worse than running from the reporters as I have been all day since they released me this morning on bail,” he said. “My lawyer fought quite the battle to get them to let me out. Thank God for expensive lawyers. It all came down to the fact that they have no evidence that links me to the guy who did the shooting. He advised me not to travel out of state while waiting for my court date, but the judge allowed it since I have to go home at some point, and it might take months. Have you read any of the crap they’ve written about me?”

  “You can’t care about that now,” I said. “The Swatter has started his war. Look at this town!”

  I couldn’t hold my tears back anymore, and Liam saw it. He grabbed me in his arms and hugged me as the emotions of the past hours’ events overpowered me.

  “Hey, hey.”

  “It’s all my fault,” I said. “I’ve been so close all this time. I knew this was what he wanted. I shouldn’t have let her go onto that stage. I should’ve…”

  “What a load of nonsense,” Liam said.

  I pulled away. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not going to get me to feel sorry for you if that’s what you want,” he continued. “It’s not happening.”

  “I…I wasn’t…”

  “Yes, you were. You think that you could have stopped this? What else do we need to blame you for while we’re at it? War in Afghanistan? Syria? My boy dying?”

  I swallowed and looked at him, confused.

  “The fact is, there was nothing you could have done. Things happen. Life happens, Eva Rae. Yes, you’re chasing a killer, but you are not responsible for those he kills. He is. Didn’t they teach you anything at Quantico?”

  I stared at him. “You have to be the most annoying man on this planet.”

  “It’s only annoying because you know I’m right.”

  I snorted, feeling my tears dry up. “So not.”

  “There’s my girl,” he said, smiling, looking into my eyes, causing me to blush. “That’s the look that I wanted to see. There’s the look of determination.”

  “Save it, will you? Stop patronizing me.”

  “What? What did I do wrong?”

  As a flock of protestors approached us, I started to walk away, pulling his arm to have him follow me inside the hotel.

  Chapter 82

  THEN:

  FanTAUstic345: Yo, you there?

  DeVilSQuaD666: Yes.

  FanTAUstic345: It went wrong. It was the wrong
address. I can’t believe it. Did you see the news?

  DeVilSQuaD666: I saw it.

  FanTAUstic345: OMG! Then you know that guy was shot? He was shot right there in his own home.

  DeVilSQuaD666: Calm down.

  FanTAUstic345: How can I? A guy died. You made that call to the police. You told them to go there, to his house.

  DeVilSQuaD666: I know. But they’ll never find out.

  FanTAUstic345: How can you be so sure? They could track you down somehow. You’ll go to jail.

  DeVilSQuaD666: I just am. They’ll never find out. I promise you. Trust me. They won’t find out it was me. I’ve done this hundreds of times, and they’ve never found out it was me.

  FanTAUstic345: This is different. This isn’t like when you clear out a school with a bomb threat. The guy is dead. It’s murder.

  DeVilSQuaD666: I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t. It’s not my fault.

  FanTAUstic345: Yes, you did. You made the call.

  DeVilSQuaD666: Well, you made me. You’re the one who wanted him punished, remember? You wanted to teach him a lesson.

  FanTAUstic345: I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was supposed to be like a prank. A joke. But it wasn’t even the right guy. It was someone else. It was the wrong address. This guy was innocent. He had no idea.

  DeVilSQuaD666: So?

  FanTAUstic345: So, that makes us murderers.

  DeVilSQuaD666: No, it doesn’t. It’s not our fault they thought he was armed and shot him. Maybe he was a bad guy. We don’t know everything.