“Yeah, but it doesn’t actually blow anything up. It just makes a loud noise and a bright light. It stuns people. So if you hear an explosion, don’t worry. It will be giving the SWAT team the cover they need to end this.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll make sure they know exactly where you are, but you have to stay put until they have taken care of these animals. Wait until you hear the police saying it’s safe to come out. You don’t want to get caught in any cross fire.”

She takes a shuddery breath, then repeats, “Okay.”

“And I’ll stay right here—just outside waiting for you.”

It kills Miranda to think her dad is so near. She wants nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms, to cry on his chest, to feel like a little kid again.

“I love you so much, Daddy.” She doesn’t want to say good-bye. It’s too final. Instead she chokes out, “See you soon.”

As soon as she disconnects, the tears come flooding out. Everyone is looking at her contorted face, listening to her weird, strangled noises. Miranda tries to wipe her nose on her sleeve, but it’s no use. She’s an ugly mess.

A slender arm encircles her shoulder. It’s Grace, her face as sad as Miranda feels. And then Amina is on the other side, offering one of the store’s scarves. Even Javier is patting her foot.

“What did he say?” Cole asks.

“A SWAT team’s going to set off some flash bangs to surprise the killers, and then they’re going to take them out. We need to stay put so we don’t get caught in the cross fire.”

“Why is SWAT going to do that? In the middle of negotiating?” Cole looks angry.

“They’re gonna kill them.” Javier snorts. “And they deserve it.”

Cole swipes his hand over his face. “And when is this supposed to happen?”

“Soon,” Miranda says.

Amina’s full lips stretch into something like a smile.

Grace raises a clenched fist. “They deserve to die for what they did to my mom.” A reddish-purple bruise circles her wrist like a bracelet.

Wincing, Javier points. “Ouch—did I do that?”

Miranda remembers yanking at Grace’s wrist to keep her from leaving. The bruise is probably her fault.

Grace covers her wrist with her other hand and pulls it to her chest. “I bruise easy.” Her blouse hangs so loose, it’s like it’s on a hanger instead of a body. She can’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. A lot of girls at Miranda’s school say you can never be too skinny or too rich. Grace, in her five-hundred-dollar size-zero jeans, looks like she’s taken it too far. She probably lives on baby carrots and iceberg lettuce.