Page 19 of Beyond Redemption

I looked down at my phone, pulling up the app to get her exact location. A little blue dot pulsed over a gray outline of the humanities building.

“She in the rec room, sublevel, south side,” I said, my voice shakier than I wanted.

Thomas swung the SUV into the east lot. With nowhere else to park, the tires bumped over the curb, and he settled for aspot in the grass, braking hard. The lot was a mess of patrol cars, ambulances, unmarked sedans, and students standing in clumps.

Thomas threw the shifter into park and killed the lights. The engine was still rumbling when he unbuckled and pushed his door open.

I unlatched my belt and stepped out, leaving the door open. My phone stayed on the seat, the screen glowing with the tiny dot marking Livvy's location. I dragged a vest over my shoulders without looking away, irrationally convinced that if I lost sight of it, I'd lose sight of her. Once the vest was in place, I quickly grabbed a pair of boots from the backseat and laced them up, making one final check of the map. Thomas nodded, ready to move, so I pocketed my phone and followed him toward the humanities building.

Uniforms immediately started toward us, palms out, trying to divert us before we even cleared the sidewalk.

“Sir, you can’t be here, this area’s locked down—”

Thomas raised his badge to eye level. “Special Agent Thomas Maddox, FBI HQ. My unit works half the federal spillover cases this jurisdiction sends our way.” His tone softened—not warm, but surgical. “I know you’re doing your job. I know this is a mess. But my daughter is in that building, and I’m not standing behind tape while shots are still being called in on your radio.”

“I can see you’re a fed… but I’m sorry, pal, no one’s getting through here. You’ll just have to wait in the staging area like all the other parents.”

Thomas leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You and I both know how ugly it gets when HQ reports local PD slowed federal response. I’m better trained for this than anyone out here. My kid is in the basement of the humanities building, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m standing here while you debate procedure. If you want to file a complaint later, I’ll walk you through it myself.But right now? You need to get the fuck outta my way, or I’ll have your jobandyour pension within the hour.”

The officer swallowed, his eyes flicking to Thomas’s gold shield, then to me when I held up my own.

“Special Agent Liis Lindy,” I said. “This is your last warning. Move aside.”

A sergeant-looking type jogged over, radio clipped to his shoulder, the strain in his face a mirror of the sirens still screaming in the background.

“You the feds from HQ?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “We’re both armed and current. You’ve got one shooter?”

“Far as we know,” the sergeant answered, the cop in front of him slinking back. “Started on the green, moved toward humanities. We’ve got a contact team already clearing top floors and working down. You’ll just be in the way.”

My brows pulled together. “Not happening.”

The sergeant hesitated. I watched a war play out behind his eyes. Liability, protocol, administrative action. And somewhere in the mix, understanding. His gaze snagged on the tension in Thomas’s shoulders, on the wrath and fury written all over my face.

He exhaled, sharp. “If you go in, you’re under our command post. You clear it with them, stay on their channel, and you don’t break off alone. I don’t care who your kid is. I’m not getting blamed for losing agents on top of everything else.”

“That’s fine,” Thomas said. “Where’s command?”

The sergeant pointed toward the Mobile Operations center, an open trailer surrounded by a cluster of marked SUVs. A folding table was in front, covered in floor plans, a campus map taped to the surface with a crew of officers bending over it, speaking into radios pressed to their shoulders.

We jogged over, and for the third time showed our badges. There wouldn’t be a fourth. No matter what happened with their command, our next stop was Livvy.

A lieutenant in a tactical vest gave us the thirty-second version, clipped to the essentials. Shooter last seen by the north side of humanities, moving between cover. Multiple students, some staff, and campus security down on the Green. Contact teams inside sweeping down. Basement levels not yet cleared.

My hand closed over the butt of my sidearm, needing to feel something solid.

“We’ve got a second team going into the humanities building now. You’re with them,” the lieutenant instructed. “Don’t break formation unless your lead says so.”

Thomas nodded once. “Understood.”

We fell in with four officers in tactical vests at the front of the building. Their faces were drawn tight, eyes already narrowed, tracking lines and exits, measuring everything in angles and threat. I recognized it all too well. I felt it pulling at me too.

“Who’s point?” Thomas asked.

A man about his size stepped forward, but he was far younger. “Coleman,” he said, introducing himself. “Let’s move.”

We moved as a unit, with purpose but cautious, cutting across the grass and checking rooftops. Laptops lay open in trampled paths, coffee cups tipped over, a lone sneaker on its side. Backpacks gaped where they’d fallen, notebooks and debris were scattered through the grass.