"Crybaby."

She sniffed and swallowed, smearing the tears off her cheeks with dirty palms. "Am not. You got any more Cheetos?"

"No." He turned back to the scope in time to see somebody move on the bridge, and his smile widened.

"Payday," he said to himself.

"I said do you got any more Cheetos?"

The Kid just never shut up. He took his drive-on rag, a strip of green cloth, grabbed her head, and wrapped it around her mouth.

"Should have done that a long time ago," he said as he gathered his gear.

She tried to claw it off, but he'd tied it good and tight. She began to gag, and then cry, and Tyler became worried that she'd choke on the rag. He'd never get his chopper if the little snot choked to death.

He ripped the cloth off. "Take it easy. Breathe." He put his hand under her chin and she sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand, and he reacted instinctively, his other hand hitting her on the side of the head. She dropped in slow motion, the momentum of the blow sending her rolling toward the roof edge.

Tyler grabbed her a split second before she went airborne.

Fuck. If she had gone, no chopper.

He threw her over his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

His fucking phone rang again. Fucking proof of life.

Tyler ignored it and hit the stairs.

Wilder felt the weight of the pack on his back, especially the pull of the long black case on the right side. He was tempted to take the case out, but it was too soon. He had to play this as long and as tight as he could because Pepper was out there. And the goddamn ghost wasn't answering his phone.

He could hear the chopper in the distance and looking to the east he could see its lights as it went in a holding pattern about a thousand feet away over the river. He "lanced over at Lucy at the monitors, her face grim as she listened to the phone ring. Still no answer.

Wilder went over to where Althea was handcuffed to the back door of the truck.

"How you doing, kid?" he said.

"Okay." She looked paler than usual, but she tried to smile.

"It's okay," he told her. "We're all watching out for you."

"I know," she said. "But, J.T.?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember that gun you showed me? The Clock?"

"I've got it right here," he told her to reassure her.

"Could I have it?"

"What?"

"You know, to give to Bryce? So he can save me." She smiled at him wanly.

"Uh, no," Wilder said, trying not to shudder at the idea of Bryce with live ammunition. "But he won't need it. He knows everything he has to without the gun. And he's got that big knife."

"Oh." Althea nodded. "Okay."

"Great." Wilder surveyed the bridge. Just the stunt people, Lucy, Gloom, and Bryce. Everybody else was gone, ordered off the bridge by Lucy half an hour earlier.

High Noon. The townspeople were clearing out.

"J.T.?" Althea said from behind him.

"Yeah?"

"Bryce can't see me if you're standing there."

"Right," Wilder said and moved out of the line of sight.

Lucy gestured to him and he turned on the small FM radio in his combat vest.

"There's no answer," he heard her say through the speaker, her voice tight. "I called, there's no answer."

Wilder looked out at the ship, getting closer. "He's on the move," he told her. "Give him five minutes and try it again."

"You sure-"

"Yes," he said, "start the stunt," and a minute later he heard her say, "Rolling."

There was no echo on the set. Nobody there to echo. Ghost town.

Then she said, "Action," and Wilder watched as Nash, dressed as Rip, reached up to the bulky block of fake explosives he had attached to the back door next to Althea and pressed a button while she screamed and struggled. A glowing red display began a countdown as Nash ran toward the fast-rope he had waiting.

Such a cliche, Wilder thought. Just get off the fucking bridge and out of Lucy's life.

Nash grabbed the thick fast-rope, wrapped his arm around it, and disappeared off the bridge, sliding down toward the deck of the ship as the bow passed underneath. Bryce came dashing forward, trying to be the hero, looking wildly back and forth. The bad guys had disappeared and his girl was trapped with a bomb. What should a hero do?

Save the girl, of course.

Wilder glanced over his shoulder, gave Lucy his best reassuring smile, then ran forward to the fast-rope and grabbed hold to go after the bad guy.

His girl knew how to save herself.

Lucy checked the monitor. No film in the camera but still a nice shot of the armored car. If she had an apple in her hand and Pepper beside her, it would be a good night.

Get her back, get her back-

She looked at it closer.

The detonator looked wrong. Any other day, shed have said, "What do I know from detonators?" but today was not that kind of day. "J.T.?" she said into her headpiece.

"What?" he said, sounding distracted, which he probably was, since he was somewhere between the bridge and the ship, descending fast.

"I don't think the detonator's right. It's smaller and it-"

"Tell Althea to get away from the truck." She heard a thump and Wilder's sharp intake of breath. "I'm on the ship."

"Well, get back here."

"Doesn't work that way-one-way rope. Gravity rules."

Lucy stood up. "Althea," she called. "We're going to go a different way with this shot. You can leave."

Althea nodded and tried to help Bryce unsnap the cuff. "It's stuck," she called back.

"The cuff is stuck," Lucy told J.T. over the radio as she started to run toward Althea. "What do I do?"

"Stuck?" J.T. swore, but his voice was low, almost a whisper. "It's not stuck, the asshole used real cuffs, which probably means real explosives. You-"

Lucy dropped the headset and ran for Althea. When she reached the car, there were sixty seconds on the detonator.

Lucy pulled the gun out of the holster under her shirt. "Hi, Al, how's it going?"

"Lucy?" Althea said, and then Lucy put the barrel on the chain and fired. Althea screamed and Lucy spun her around and yelled, "Run," and Althea and Bryce ran for the rail while Lucy went flat out for the monitors, yelling, "Get behind the truck," to Gloom, diving behind it with him just as the armored car exploded, catching a piece of hot metal on her cheek and something else on the back of her head.

Then she was on the ground behind the truck, hands over her head as metal rained down all around them.

Wilder was in the middle of the ship, crouched down on a container, MP-5 at the ready, when he heard the explosion from above. Hot metal went everywhere, sharp edges slicing through the air, heavy chunks thudding onto the river, steaming, and somewhere up there…

"Lucy?" Wilder whispered into the radio, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

Silence.

He swallowed. "Lucy?"

Maybe she was just concussed. Maybe…

"Lucy," he said, his voice sharp. "Answer me, damn it."

"Hey," her voice came over the headset, shaky. "I just got blown up. Give me a minute."

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she said, her voice unsteady.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, but she wasn't. He could tell.

"Where are you bleeding?"

"I'm not-"

"Don't screw with me, Lucy, where did you get hit"'."

"My cheek," she said. "I'll probably have a nice scar.'

"Scars add character. Where else?"

"Thumped the back of my head."

Wilder swore. "Double vision? Dizziness-"

"J.T., a fucking car just blew up behind me. Dizzy, hell, I'm mad. What did that asshole think he was doing? He was going to kill Althea."

"He was creating a diversion," Wilder said, relieved that she was mad. "Probably supposed to keep me busy to give him time to get on the ship without me. I moved too soon."