MCGILL: He was investigated but not charged. And we’re talking about an unarmed position, in a mall, that pays a dollar above minimum wage. They can’t afford to be too picky. They probably liked that he’s a vet. He was honorably discharged four years ago. Plus, it’s not like Skinner’s got an arrest record. Just one DUI that’s thirteen years old. He’s single and lives in an apartment about three miles from the mall. We’re getting a search warrant.

HIXON: Given that history, Skinner has to be more than just a security guard. He’s gotta be part of this. He knew exactly what he was doing. He created the exigency by claiming hostages were being killed. And he’s the one who told Portland PD to go in through Nordstrom. He led them straight into a trap.

MCGILL: The question is—were any of the hostages really being killed? None of the officers on scene have reported hearing gunshots since they arrived.

HIXON: Skinner knows too much about how we work. This is going to be tricky. And we don’t even know how many gunmen there are.

MCGILL: The sniper reports that he’s in position but he can’t see anything past the hostages they’ve got lined up against the glass doors. And we’re still waiting on the blueprints.

HIXON: Our best bet is still to contain and negotiate. If we try another tactical incursion, we could lose more of our people to bombs. Plus, I don’t want to force these guys’ hands. They’ve already adjusted to thinking of themselves as killers. If we panic them, more civilians could die.

MCGILL: Roger that.

They Can’t Shoot All of Us

THEY CAN’T SHOOT ALL OF US

5:43 P.M.

The kick jerks Parker’s head back on the white tile floor, now smeared with his blood. Tears of pain fill his eyes.

“Parker!” Moxie screams. Stanford has her arms wrapped around his sister’s shoulders. It’s all she can do to keep Moxie from breaking free.

With both hands, Heels shoves Businessman, the guy who just kicked Parker’s chin, in the chest. He staggers back, while she easily keeps her balance, despite her sky-high shoes. Her black bangs are cut in a perfect straight line right above her eyes.

“Stop it!” she hisses, looking from face to face in the circle around Parker. “We can’t just keep going along with them. We’re not sheep.” Her eyes are the color of gas flames. “You know what happens to sheep? They all get slaughtered.”

“Parker!” Moxie shrieks again. Her face is wet and red.

The dozen people clustered around him look from his sister to Heels and then back down at Parker again.

Their faces aren’t particularly friendly.