Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score
42
12:22 p.m., Tuesday, August 18
“Sorry about that one,” Mrs. Penny said.
“God. Woman. When we get out of here, you and Burt are both going on a diet,” Nick said, trying to breathe through his eyes.
He’d managed to scoot back about two feet when she warned him he was in the blast zone, but there was no escaping the fart in such close quarters.
“Are you calling me fat?” Mrs. Penny demanded.
Before he could answer, the floor of the duct between them erupted as another gunshot rang out.
“Okay, that one wasn’t me,” his partner in crime insisted.
“Oh, fuck,” Nick muttered as metal supports beneath them gave way with a loud creak. With a tremble, the duct split apart at the bullet hole.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Mrs. Penny cried as the duct went from a gaseous tomb to a playground slide, hurtling him down and out into a free fall.
He landed awkwardly on something squishy and whiny. It was impossible to see due to the dust cloud. Surprised shrieks rang out.
“Ow! Get off me!” the something whined.
Nick caught a glimpse of unnaturally tanned skin and realized he’d landed on Griffin Gentry, who was duct-taped to a chair behind the anchor desk.
“Look out below!”
Nick’s vision cleared just in time to see Mrs. Penny careening backwards out of the duct above them.
“This is gonna hurt,” he muttered and braced for impact.
The old woman’s body hit him square in the gut, and Griffin’s anchor chair couldn’t handle the added weight. It tipped backwards in a pile of bodies.
“Nice of you to drop by.”
Nick extricated himself from between Mrs. Penny’s generous thighs and spotted Riley performing a rear naked choke on one Hudson Neudorfer behind the news desk. The guy’s face was the shade of a radish.
He grinned. “I’m impressed, Thorn.”
“I learned from the best.”
Nick pointed at the ceiling. “Just so you know, this wasn’t the plan.”
“Gah!” Hudson said.
“Same here,” Riley said through gritted teeth. “I can’t tell. Is this working?”
“Ow! I think you broke my entire body,” Griffin howled.
“Shut up, Griffin,” the entire studio yelled in unison.
Mrs. Penny managed a clumsy ninja roll to the side, planting her knee in Griffin’s groin before she climbed to her feet.
“Learned…my…lesson,” Hudson rasped.
“Are you just saying that because you see little spots floating in front of your eyes?” Riley asked.
“Maybe.”
“That’s the will to live,” she said, releasing him. “Your brother says you’re welcome.”
Nick tossed his phone to Riley. “Call Weber,” he said as he rolled Hudson over on his stomach. “Tell him the hostages will be coming out of the side door and to hold their fire.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “That sounds like it would be better coming from you.”
“Make the call, Thorn,” he said with a wink. “A badass like you should have no trouble telling the cops to stand down.”
“Is it over?”
“Are we going to live?”
“Is there any lobster tail salad left?”
The hostages were starting to peek over the desk.
“Everybody, form an orderly line and put your hands on your heads,” Nick advised as he patted Hudson down.
“Kellen, the hostages are coming out the side entrance. Hold your fire,” Riley said.
“Oooh! I’m taking this chicken parm with me,” Mrs. Penny announced, snatching a to-go container off the anchor desk. She turned, and Nick watched in slow-motion horror as the thick sole of her orthopedic shoe caught on the cable running to the bomb.
“Nooooooooo.”
But it was too late. The clock started a countdown from thirty seconds.
“Everybody out!” Riley shouted.
“Now! Move!” Nick ordered.
Gabe picked up Mrs. Penny and tossed her over one shoulder. He grabbed the associate producer and put her under his other arm and ran like a linebacker for the emergency exit.
Armand scooped up Chris on a dolly and sprinted for the door.
Bella skipped past them, looking like she was lining up for chicken fingers in the cafeteria.
“Wait! Help me! I’m stuck to this chair,” Griffin wailed, scooting after her.
“Really tempted to leave him here,” Nick said, throwing Hudson over his shoulder.
“I know. But you won’t because you’re a good person,” Riley told him.
“I’m the most important person in this room! Someone has to save me,” Griffin wailed.
“I’m not that good of a person,” Nick insisted.
“Come on, Santiago. I’d like to see you naked again.”
“The things I do for you, Thorn.”
With that, they ran for the door, Nick carrying Hudson and pushing Griffin in front of him.
The clock glowed brightly in her head as they made it through the emergency exit into the parking lot. “Get back,” she yelled as she held the door for Nick.
“Ahhh! This is too bumpy,” Griffin complained when the chair wheels hit the parking lot.
“We can’t get far enough away with this luggage,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
Riley glanced at the dumpster then back at Nick.
“Good idea,” he said.
“Nooooo!” Griffin kicked his feet. “This suit is Indonesian mohair!”
“Better than being buried in it,” Riley quipped as she flipped the lid.
Nick tossed Hudson inside, then picked up her ex-husband, office chair and all, and tossed him into the dumpster.
She flipped the lid back down just in time for Nick to grab her and drag her after him in a dead sprint.
“Everybody get d—”
Nick didn’t get to finish the warning as the explosion ripped through the building. The blast of the concussion hit Riley in the back, and she felt herself flying.
But Nick never let go of her hand.
She landed hard with all two hundred and thirty pounds of Nick Santiago on top of her. A human shield against the heat and debris. Her own personal hero.
Wrapping her arms around him, she held on tight and buried her face in his shoulder.
A flaming life-size cutout of Griffin sailed overhead before crashing to the asphalt.
Nick grinned down at her. “Come here often?”
Across the parking lot, Gabe stood with Mrs. Penny, who was poking debris with her cane. Bella was signing autographs for the firefighters.
“Are we alive?” Riley asked.
“You tell me,” Nick said, lowering his mouth to hers.
“Get a room,” Mrs. Penny shouted from across the parking lot.
“Hello? Is anybody out there?” called a tinny-sounding voice from the dumpster.
