McGee hung up and ran.
Out the front door of Rick's, the bell jingling wildly behind her. She hit the sidewalk and heard it — tires screeching, an engine roaring.
Hannah's car slid to the curb. She was out before it fully stopped.
"Get in!" Hannah shouted. "Talk while I drive!"
McGee threw herself into the passenger seat. "How did you find me?"
"Dispatch traced your 911 call." Hannah was already pulling away, one hand on the wheel, the other grabbing the radio.
"Tell me everything," Hannah said.
"He's going to release gas. Toxic gas. At five PM. At a fundraiser — a politician speaking to wealthy donors." McGee's words tumbled out. "He gave me a riddle. I memorized it."
"Say it."
McGee closed her eyes and recited it from memory — the shepherd, the wealthy flock, the gilded sin, the five PM deadline. The air running out of time.
Hannah was already on the radio. "Did you get that? I need every political fundraiser, donor dinner, or speaking event scheduled for today. Cross-reference with the riddle. Go."
Static. Then: "Copy. Working on it."
McGee stared out the window. The city blurred past. "He said the people there deserve it. That they're not good people."
"McGee." Hannah glanced at her. "What else did he say?"
McGee told her. The monologue. The three hours. The choice — arrest him or find the gas. The wrists held out for cuffs.
"I let him walk," McGee said quietly.
Hannah didn't answer for a moment. Then: "You made the right call."
"Did I?"
The radio crackled. "We got it. Senator Mike Langley fundraiser. Grand Meridian Hotel, downtown ballroom. Donor dinner — tickets started at fifty thousand a plate."
McGee felt ice in her stomach. "When?"
"That's the thing." The voice on the radio hesitated. "The event was scheduled for two PM. It's — it's already happened."
Hannah floored the gas pedal.
---
The Grand Meridian Hotel was already surrounded by police cars when they arrived. Officers stood at the entrance, faces grim. A hazmat team was suiting up on the sidewalk.
McGee and Hannah pushed through the lobby, up the stairs, down the hallway to the ballroom doors.
An officer stopped them. "You don't want to go in there without masks. We haven't cleared the air yet."
"We're going in," Hannah said.
They pulled on respirators. The officer pushed the doors open.
The ballroom was grand — chandeliers, white tablecloths, a stage at the far end with a podium and a banner: LANGLEY FOR AMERICA.
And every seat was full.
Men in tuxedos. Women in evening gowns. All sitting upright, facing the stage. All dead.
No panic. No signs of struggle. They'd just — stopped. Glasses of wine still on the tables. Napkins still in laps. Like they'd fallen asleep mid-dinner.
McGee walked slowly down the aisle between the tables, her respirator fogging. She counted — forty, fifty, sixty bodies. Maybe more.
All facing the stage.
The stage was empty. No podium speaker. No Senator.
"He's not here," McGee said, her voice muffled by the mask.
Hannah was already on her phone, calling it in. "We need the ME. We need —" She stopped. Listened. Her face changed.
"What?" McGee said.
Hannah lowered the phone slowly. "They found Langley."
"Where?"
Hannah looked at her. "The stock exchange. He's —" She paused. "He's tied to the bull."
---
The stock exchange building rose over the financial district like a temple. And in front of it, on the plaza, stood the bronze bull — massive, muscular, mid-charge.
Tied to it with rope was a man in a suit.
Senator Mike Langley.
His arms were bound around the bull's neck. His legs were tied to its front legs. His head hung forward. His eyes were open.
McGee stood at the edge of the police cordon, staring up at him. A crowd had gathered — onlookers, reporters, phones held high. This would be everywhere in minutes.
Hannah came up beside her. "ME says the donors died of gas inhalation. Quick. Probably didn't even know what was happening."
McGee didn't answer.
"McGee."
"He lied." McGee's voice was flat. "There was never a clock. The five PM deadline — the riddle — all of it. He'd already done it. The donors were dead before he ever walked into that alley."
Hannah was quiet.
"He let me think I could save them." McGee looked at Hannah. "He gave me a riddle and a ticking clock and let me run. And they were already dead."
She looked back up at Langley, bound to the bull.
"That was the game. Not the gas. Me."
Chapter 15