Every Second Read online

  Terror claws into the lives of an American family…

  On a quiet night in their tranquil suburban home, the Fulton family awakens to a nightmare. Four armed men force bank manager Dan Fulton to steal a quarter million dollars from his branch—strapping remote-detonation bombs on him, his wife, Lori, and their young son.

  A relentless reporter discovers an agonizing secret…

  The FBI moves swiftly with a major investigation while Kate Page, a reporter with a newswire service, digs deep into the story. In the wake of the Fulton family’s abduction, questions emerge, including one of the most troubling: is the case linked to Lori Fulton’s tragic past?

  Time ticks down on a chilling plan…

  Working as fast as they can, Kate and the investigators inch closer to a devastating truth—it’s not only the Fultons’ lives at stake, but thousands of others…and every second counts in the race to save them.

  Praise for the novels of Rick Mofina

  “Another powerhouse thriller for the skillful Rick Mofina.”

  —Fresh Fiction on Full Tilt

  “Mofina’s novels are guaranteed to be exciting, thought-provoking and full of surprises. Another stellar read that demonstrates Mofina’s one of the best thriller writers in the business.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Whirlwind (Top Pick)

  “With the exciting plot and a conclusion that is a true surprise to one and all, this is one book that has to be seen ASAP.”

  —Suspense Magazine on Into the Dark

  “Mofina is one of the best thriller writers in the business.”

  —Library Journal (starred review) on They Disappeared

  “Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”

  —Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author, on The Burning Edge

  “A blisteringly paced story that cuts to the bone. It left me ripping through pages deep into the night.”

  —James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author, on In Desperation

  “Taut pacing, rough action and jagged dialogue feed a relentless pace. The Panic Zone is written with sizzling intent.”

  —Hamilton Spectator

  “Vengeance Road is a thriller with no speed limit! It’s a great read!”

  —Michael Connelly, New York Times bestselling author

  “Six Seconds should be Rick Mofina’s breakout thriller. It moves like a tornado.”

  —James Patterson, New York Times bestselling author

  Also by Rick Mofina and MIRA Books

  FULL TILT

  WHIRLWIND

  INTO THE DARK

  THEY DISAPPEARED

  THE BURNING EDGE

  IN DESPERATION

  THE PANIC ZONE

  VENGEANCE ROAD

  SIX SECONDS

  Other books by Rick Mofina

  A PERFECT GRAVE

  EVERY FEAR

  THE DYING HOUR

  BE MINE

  NO WAY BACK

  BLOOD OF OTHERS

  COLD FEAR

  IF ANGELS FALL

  RICK

  MOFINA

  To the memory of my nephew, Matt.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Full Tilt by Rick Mofina

  1

  Roseoak Park, New York

  Lori Fulton woke in the darkness of her bedroom to a strange pressure covering her mouth, forcing her head deep into her pillow.

  A hideous face glared down at her.

  Straining to breathe, Lori thought: I’m dreaming! Then her eyes flicked to her husband’s side of the bed. It was empty.

  Where’s Dan? What’s happening? Wake up!

  At the peel of duct tape and the guttural noises of a struggle nearby, Lori’s brain thundered awake with the horrible realization that the man above her was real. Again, she thought of her husband and her son.

  Where’s Dan? Where’s Billy?

  She thrashed against her attacker, who countered by seizing her throat.

  “Don’t move!”

  The lights switched on and she saw Dan was across the room in his T-shirt and boxers, on his knees, hands bound behind his back. A band of tape sealed his mouth. Blood webbed down his cheek. His eyes met hers.

  A gun was being held to his head.

  Dan! Oh God, where’s Billy?

  The two men in her room wore loose mechanic-style coveralls over top of hoodies and white masks with grotesque faces. In an explosion of terror and rage, Lori fought back, shaking her mouth free to shriek.

  “Billy! Where’s my son? Billy!”

  Lori’s assailant pressed a strip of duct tape over her mouth then yanked her by her hair from her bed. Dan moved to protect her but was stopped when his attacker smashed the butt of his gun against his face. Lori was shoved to the floor, her nightshirt hiked up to her waist in the scuffle. Her attacker—Thorne, according to the name embroidered on the patch on his chest—
paused to take in her body before dropping his knee hard on her stomach, knocking out her breath. He clamped her wrists in one gloved hand then reached for the duct tape.

  Through her pain Lori noticed him fumbling, unable to find the start of the tape. He cursed, shook off his glove, peeled a lead and quickly wrapped her wrists like a rodeo cowboy in a calf-roping competition.

  Thorne replaced his glove, then pulled Lori to her knees positioning her next to Dan, both of them now bound helplessly. Lori wheezed, her need for air contending with the ache in her gut. A muffled whimpering sounded through their open bedroom door. Shadows moved in the hallway as two more figures approached, dressed the same as the first two. Their name patches read Cutty and Percy.

  Cutty, the largest of the four, carried Billy on his hip as if he were luggage.

  Dan’s muzzled growl nearly burst through his tape as Lori screamed under hers. Billy’s hands and mouth were bound, his eyes wide with terror as Cutty tossed him on the floor next to them. Lori fumbled closer, feeling Billy’s body trembling against hers as he sobbed.

  Who were these monsters?

  The man who’d been holding on to Dan—Vic, by his name patch—took charge. He sat on the foot of Lori and Dan’s bed, casually contemplating his gun, then the family.

  Lori, Dan and Billy were on their knees before him, their armed attackers looming behind them—a portrait of contrasts. Dan was in his favorite Jets T-shirt, now bloodstained, and Billy in the new Spider-Man pajamas Lori had bought him for his ninth birthday last month. They’d been torn in the struggle.

  Why had these people violated their home?

  Vic tapped his gun to his knee as if coming to a decision.

  “Are we calm now? Do we have your attention?” he asked. “I’ll make it simple. If you do what we say and do it right no one gets hurt and this will be over tomorrow. If you fail at any stage, you’ll die.”

  2

  Roseoak Park, New York

  Lori’s pulse pounded.

  As the invaders marched her, Dan and Billy downstairs, fear and questions burned through her mind.

  Why didn’t the home security alarm work? Why isn’t someone helping us? Please, God, don’t let them kill us! We have to fight back. What can Dan and I do without guns?

  Overwhelmed with panic, Lori drew a few deep breaths to calm her nerves and focus. The attackers had moved them to the living room and put them on the sofa. A duffel bag, zippered shut, sat on the hardwood floor in the middle of the room like an unanswered question. The invaders closed the curtains, kept the main floor lights dim then browsed around as if they were interested buyers at an open house.

  Thorne inspected their paintings, the crystal figurines and their furniture.

  “You got a lot of nice stuff,” he said from behind his mask. “So much suffering going on, so many people in trouble in this world, but why should you care, huh? You’re living the American dream.”

  Lori watched as Cutty and Percy went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and helped themselves to leftover takeout—pizza and Chinese food Dan and Lori had ordered when they’d worked late this week.

  Lori saw them opening soda cans, lifting their masks to eat and drink. She couldn’t make out their faces in detail, but she could see they were white males in their early twenties.

  Like college kids snacking after a late night.

  “It’s goin’ good,” Cutty said between bites. “Like you said it would, Jake.”

  “Shut up! My name is on my patch!” Vic said.

  One of them was named Jake. Lori glanced at Dan as they both noted the slipup before a new fear dawned on her. She looked around for Sam, Billy’s golden retriever. He wasn’t a barker or a good guard dog at all, really. He was just gentle, loving Sam.

  What’ve they done with him?

  Vic sat in the chair opposite the sofa, placing his gun on the arm and staring at her family from behind his mask.

  “We’ve been watching you for a long time,” he began. “We’ve been doing our homework. We know all about you. Billy Fulton, fourth grade at Eisenhower Elementary, dog lover, Little League, shortstop for the Roseoak Park Wild Tigers. Lori Fulton, age thirty-four, devoted mother. You never miss one of Billy’s games. You work at Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance investigating insurance fraud. Someone in this house is partial to Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Cherry Garcia, judging by what we found in your trash.

  “Dan, age thirty-six. You were in the National Guard, army, when you guys lived in Southern California. You work for SkyNational Trust Banking Corp. A few years ago, you were transferred to New York. Now you’re the manager of a suburban branch here in Roseoak Park. You like the Jets, but you’re still loyal to the Dodgers, according to your Tweets. You both volunteer with charities. How we doing so far? We’ve got you nailed, right?”

  Lori’s stomach clenched at Vic’s accuracy. She glanced at Dan. He remained tense, keeping his eyes on Vic as he continued.

  “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. We know Dan’s branch is one of the earliest-opening branches in the state, opening its doors at 6:00 a.m., to serve commuting customers. This is what’s going to happen. Dan, you’ll be going to work in the morning, as usual, while we stay here with your wife and son. But tomorrow you’re going to remove a quarter million dollars from the vault. We know about cash inventory in a branch like yours. You’ll place the money in a bag like this one here.” He motioned to the duffel on the floor. “No dye packs, no radio transmitters, no bait, no silent alarms. You’ll leave the bank, follow our instructions. Once that’s done and we have the cash, everyone is let go unharmed. You got that?”

  Dan didn’t move. His face was expressionless but for a twitch in his jaw.

  “You need more incentive, Dan?”

  Vic nodded toward Thorne, who came forward and unzipped the duffel bag, removing what looked like a small vest bearing thin, brick-shaped items connected to wires. Cutty then yanked Billy from the sofa. He sliced the tape from Billy’s hands and, with Thorne’s help, slipped the vest over Billy, then resealed his hands.

  Lori screamed into the tape.

  “No!” Dan roared into his.

  Vic leaned forward.

  “That’s right,” he said, pointing with his gun as he continued. “That’s a suicide vest. It’s loaded with C-4 and all sorts of good stuff. Any of us here can detonate it simply by dialing a cell number.”

  Thorne and Cutty pulled another vest from the bag, cut the tape from Lori’s hands, and forced it on her. She struggled in vain when they retaped her wrists, her mind reeling. As she stood next to her son, each of them now wearing a bomb, her knees weakened at the thought of Billy in danger, and she inhaled sharply. They were living and breathing second by second. Their surroundings—the curtains she’d sewn herself, the sofa set they’d bought on sale, the antique coffee table they’d gotten in Williamsburg—their sanctuary instantly took on an unspeakable dimension as images blazed before her.

  She imagined their viscera splattered over the living room walls, mingling with the paint color, Coral Sunset, she and Dan had finally decided on. Blood obscuring the paintings they fell in love with on their vacation in Maine. It all seemed silly now.

  “Now, I’ll ask you again,” Vic said. “Are you going to cooperate, follow our instructions and get us the money?”

  Dan looked hard at Lori and Billy, his eyes filling with tears, and nodded.

  3

  Roseoak Park, New York

  Cutty, Percy and Thorne took Lori and Billy to the basement.

  Their captors switched on the stairway light and marched them down the stairs. With every creaking step, Lori felt time ticking on their lives. The heavy vests enveloped them with the threat of death. Her skin prickled as adrenaline burned through her body, but she moved slowly, terrified that a sudden actio
n might trigger the bombs.

  The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears was deafening, but a steely clink and jingle caught her attention. Cutty carried a coiled chain with locks. The heavy fragrance of powdered detergent filled the damp air when they reached the laundry room, stopping at the wall before the washer and dryer.

  “Lie down there.” Thorne pointed to the shag mat that Lori had made herself when they’d lived in California. There were mistakes in it that she noticed every time she looked at it, but Dan loved it and had insisted she not throw it out. Heaped on the mat were the sheets and towels she’d planned to wash the next day. As Lori and Billy eased themselves carefully on to the pile, Lori could feel the components of her vest digging into her side. She held Billy’s terrified gaze, hoping to reassure him despite the fear that bubbled inside her.

  The chains jangled as Cutty and Percy worked fast, fixing them to a shackle they’d secured to their ankles, grunting as they looped them around the joists in the ceiling and a naked, load-bearing beam.

  Padlocks clicked.

  Then the three invaders moved the snow tires for Dan’s car. She always hated that he’d stored them in the already cramped laundry room, and now the men moved the tires toward Lori and Billy, building a makeshift wall. The rubbery smell was strong. Atop the tires, they piled dusty cushions from the old sofa at the other end of the basement, then worked together to heave the washer and dryer closer to them, pulling the hoses taut.

  Why?

  The answer suddenly dawned on Lori. The men were building a barrier to absorb an explosion—something to protect themselves if they detonated the bombs while they were still in the house.

  She blinked rapidly, struggling to process the reality of the situation.

  Thorne moved close to Lori, lowering himself until he was squatting before her. He drew his horrible mask to within an inch of her face.

  “You deserve what’s going to happen to you.”

  Without another word, Thorne and the others left. They switched off the lights at the top of the stairs and closed the door.

  In the cool darkness Lori felt the warmth of Billy’s body against hers. How could anyone deserve this? Billy was crying softly. She could hear his muffled calling for Sam. As she nestled closer to comfort him, she tasted the salt of her own tears that had seeped under the tape covering her mouth. Her eyes adjusted to the dim basement light and she searched through the cracks of their crude enclosure for any sign of their dog that might reassure Billy. She couldn’t find anything, and she hoped he’d managed to escape through his door in the kitchen. She was suddenly thankful for her bad habit of leaving it unlocked.