In his ear, Ryder said, “Harris and Quinn are in pursuit.”

Matt scaled down and heard another explosion, followed by an earsplitting scream.

Kara was right behind Michael Harris as they exited the lobby and ran in the direction Costa said Hamilton was scaling down. SWAT and SPD officers were doing everything they could to get the panicked guests out of the way, but the Molotov cocktail Hamilton tossed into the crowd resulted in several injuries. SWAT was protecting the medics who ran over to work on the injured.

“I see him,” Harris called, and ran on the icy walk. He slipped but didn’t fall.

Kara pursued, saw a skinny man drop eight feet from the bottom of a hanging ladder. He had a gun in his hand and was aiming it up.

Shit, Matt was on that ladder.

“Drop the weapon!” Kara shouted.

She didn’t have a clear shot—beyond Hamilton were people, including a fire truck.

“Everyone out of the way!”

Harris had a much louder, booming voice. “Everyone down!”

People started to drop to the wet ground.

Hamilton fled instead of shooting at Matt. Hamilton had a good thirty-foot lead, but Harris was quick, even in the snow. Hamilton rounded the corner. Harris was about to follow, when Kara saw a flicker of light in the dark.

“Bomb!” she shouted.

Harris didn’t hesitate. He threw himself into bushes just as Hamilton tossed a Molotov cocktail around the corner.

It exploded exactly where Harris had been.

Kara was knocked on her ass, but she scrambled up, then helped Harris up.

“Thanks,” he shouted, his ears obviously still ringing from the explosion. “I owe you one.”

“How many of those fucking bombs does he have?”

“We think twelve. He shouldn’t have anymore. He’s covered in gas—I could smell him as I pursued.”

Matt caught up with them.

“Where’d he go?”

“Around the corner. SWAT is on those doors.”

Matt stood at the corner of the building and looked down the side.

Glen Hamilton stood only feet away, gun in hand.

He fired as Matt jumped back. The bullet hit the corner of the building.

“Fuck that,” Matt said. He leaned just around the corner and fired as soon as he caught sight of Hamilton.

He hit him once, twice—then saw a flash and he jumped back as Hamilton burst into flames. He screamed in agony, the accelerant he was coated in burning rapidly.

Harris got up and ran to Hamilton. He tackled him into a snowbank, and rolled him around, effectively putting out the flames. His body was still smoking.

“He’s alive,” Harris said.

Though Hamilton was seriously injured, Harris cuffed him, then searched him. Found two knives. He kicked away his gun, which Matt picked up.

“You should have let him burn,” Kara said, her voice hardened. “He killed a cop.”

“And he’ll pay for that,” Harris said.

Matt called over the paramedics. He searched Glen Hamilton one more time, determined that he couldn’t hurt anyone, but had two SPD officers stay with him. “Go with him to the hospital. Do not let him out of your sight. As soon as the doctors clear him, he goes straight to the infirmary at the state prison while we wait to arraign him. Understood?”