I headed in that direction, once again tiptoeing across open doorways where Clementine’s giants were still looting various parts of the museum. Judging from all the tubes, boxes, and crates clustered in the rooms, she’d trained her crew to be quick and efficient. She had tens of millions packed up already, more than enough to fund the most lavish criminal syndicate—or retirement—imaginable. So what was in the vault that was so important that she’d risk sticking around to get it? What score was bigger than what she already had?

I was going to find out—just as soon as I set off the bomb.

I made it all the way back to the main hallway that led into the rotunda. It was easy enough to hurry over to one of the side entrances, attach the bomb to the center of the metal gate there, and set the timer on the cell phone for ninety seconds.

90. I stared at the numbers on the phone, drew in a breath, and then let it out, preparing myself for the bloody battle to come. I was going to do this—I had to do this for Owen, Phillip, Roslyn, Eva, Finn, and everyone else the giants had trapped inside the rotunda. And for everyone Clementine and her men had already hurt and killed tonight—including Jillian.

Especially Jillian.

That black, murderous rage rose in me again, coating every part of my heart and soul, freezing my softer emotions, and making me cold, hard, and strong enough to do what was necessary. I leaned forward and hit the Send button on the cell phone. As soon as the timer started, I turned and ran in the opposite direction, not caring who saw or heard me.

Because there was no stopping the bomb now.

Or the Spider.

Chapter 15

15

As I raced toward my destination, I counted off the seconds in my head.

Ten . . . Reach the end of the rotunda section . . .

Twenty . . . Start sprinting toward the vault . . .

Thirty . . . Reach the hallway that leads to the vault . . .

Forty-five . . . Slow my steps, quick, quick, quiet, quiet now . . .

Sixty . . . Look for a place to hide out of sight of the vault entrance . . .

Seventy . . . There, behind that doorway will do, giants have already looted this room . . .

Eighty . . . Knife in my hand, the spider rune stamped into the hilt pressing against the larger scar on my palm, familiar, comforting . . .

Ninety . . . Take a breath . . . get ready . . .

BOOM!