Nearing the backside of the building, he saw movement in a shop with all-natural products made in Oregon.
A large man shot across the opening. Archer made him at five-ten, 180 pounds. Dark, ugly eyes. Holding a high-powered semiautomatic rifle in his hands and attired in a combat vest, the pockets holding fresh ammo clips.
Odd. Most active shooters wanted to die, but the vest, especially one with steel plates like the body armor he’d put on, said something else.
This guy was here to inflict damage—serious damage—and would not be easily taken out.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Good. Backup was almost there.
“I said do it. Now!” the shooter suddenly shouted. “Before the cops arrive.”
Archer heard a woman respond. He couldn’t make out her words, but she pled with the gunman as if he was holding her hostage.
A good sign, actually. If the shooter was taking hostages instead of opening fire, Archer could use his skills as a negotiator to talk him down. But first, Archer had to get close enough to evaluate the situation without alerting the gunman to his presence.
He dropped to the ground. Belly-crawled along the floor sticky with soda until he could see inside the booth. He forced himself to ignore the grime and focus on the action.
A woman with curly gray hair stood staring into the distance. A younger woman dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt stood tall in front of the older woman. A slight man wearing a brown shop apron huddled in the corner, his face slack, his mouth hanging open.
The shooter approached the young woman. Pressed the rifle barrel to her heart.
“Do as I ask or I’ll shoot you right now.”
“Delmar, please. I can’t...”
Delmar. Something about that name rang a bell. Archer couldn’t place it, but the woman knew the shooter’s name.
Was she involved with him?
“My aunt.” She turned to point at the older woman. “She’s not well. Alzheimer’s. She’s afraid. Needs me by her side.”
“Boo-hoo. I don’t care. In front of me. Now!” He ground the rifle deeper into her chest.
After a lingering look at her aunt, the young woman complied and he clamped his arm around her neck, then backed away from the other people before releasing her. “Don’t move.”
Archer wanted the chance to use his negotiation skills to end this without loss of life, but right now, the situation still fell under an active shooter scenario and protocol called for an armed intervention.
He sighted his rifle on the gunman. Held his breath. Focused. No clear shot.
Weapon still trained on the woman, Delmar reached into a duffel bag sitting on a table and pulled out a bright red vest with pocketed explosives and long wires running from his backpack.
A suicide vest.
“Father, no,” Archer whispered and drew in a breath.
“Put it on, Emily.” Delmar’s mouth split in a twisted smile. “I can think of no one better than you to wear this.”
Emily. Her name was Emily, and she obviously knew the shooter but was terrified of him, and his piercing glare said he hated her.
What was going on here?
Large brown eyes flashing with strength and determination, she slipped her hands through the vest armholes. She stood five-six, and the vest hung to her thighs. The wires trailed along the floor to the backpack connecting her to Delmar.
Anger choked off Archer’s breath, and he fought to draw in the sweltering air. How dare this shooter come in here, gun down innocent people and terrify this woman. How dare he!
He wasn’t going to get away with it. Not today. Not on Archer’s watch.
“Hurry it up. The cops are on the way just like I planned.” Delmar grinned arrogantly. “But be careful. Wouldn’t want to blow you to pieces...yet.”
So he wanted the cops on scene and seemed as if he wanted to take Emily out, too. Maybe he was one of those guys who couldn’t end his own life, and he needed the police to do it for him. Or...maybe this was designed as an ambush for responding officers.
Archer rolled to his side and scanned the building. Then to his back and other side, looking for a sniper waiting to kill the first responders. Archer didn’t see anyone, but then if the shooter was a trained killer, Archer wouldn’t see him.
“Why are you doing this, Delmar? Why me?” Emily’s hand stilled over a Velcro loop and she looked up at Delmar. Her chin rose and her determination doubled when Archer expected her to fall apart or at the very least burst into tears.
A sardonic smile played on the man’s face. “Why not you?”
“We once worked well together. Remember all the group meetings where we championed the same issues?”
Group? What group? Archer wanted to ask.
“Sure. Once upon a time.” He paused, his face still filled with rage, then took a step closer. “That was before you killed my sister.”
She looked up from fastening the vest’s Velcro loops, terror in her brown eyes. “I didn’t kill your sister. It was an accident. She fell and hit her head on the curb.”
Delmar’s lips curled in a sneer. “If you hadn’t reported my plan to the cops, Cindy would be alive today.” He got in her face. “And you deserve to pay with your life. The world will be better off without you.”
She gasped and stepped back, her worn Birkenstock sandals slapping on the concrete. “You can’t mean that.”
“I can and I do,” Delmar bit out.
Archer cringed at the unfettered fear in her eyes now, but kept his focus glued to his scope. He was desperate to save this woman’s life, yet he still hoped he wouldn’t need to fire.
“You’re not being fair,” she said. “I was afraid your bomb at the bridge would take lives.”
Bomb at the bridge.
Aha...that’s it. How Archer knew the name Delmar. Though Archer wasn’t the negotiator and hadn’t responded with the First Response Squad to a bomb callout at the Interstate Bridge, he’d heard about the incident. Turned out there was no bomb, but a woman died in an unfortunate accident.
And Delmar, this man armed to kill, wanted revenge. On Emily. Maybe on the FRS for their response to the bridge callout.
A sick feeling sent acid burning up Archer’s throat.
“I had to report you, don’t you see?” Emily continued.
“And I have to end your life, don’t you see?” He ended in a high note, mimicking her.
She gaped at him. “Is that what this is all about today? Shooting others to get to me?”
“Big head, much?” He rolled his eyes. “No, seeing you walk in the door just gave me a chance to stop trying to make your death look like an accident and take you out in a blaze of glory.” He grinned, a mean, ugly smile. “Now close that vest so we can get on with my plans.”
“What do you mean me dying by accident?” Her fingers shook as she finished the loops, then she raised her shoulders and stood staring at him, her arms hanging limply at her side.
“Exactly what I said. A pot rack falling in your kitchen. An arrow barely missing you, lodging in the tree instead.”
Emily gasped. “You... Those...weren’t accidents...? You did it? But when the police found a camouflage hat, they said the arrow was likely from a hunter who ran off because the season hadn’t opened yet. They never