Elk Grove, Virginia

Maggie tried to keep Mary Louise from seeing the Smith & Wesson gripped in her hand and down by her side. Cunningham moved the little girl to the corner behind him, shielding her from whatever they were about to find.

“Backup is at the front door,” Maggie heard in the earbud. She avoided glancing over her shoulder. “Bomb squad is scanning outer perimeter. They’re ready to go in. Are you coming out?”

Maggie looked to Cunningham.

“Negative,” he said, barely audible while he smiled at Mary Louise. The little girl was chattering to him about eating a whole bag of M&Ms which she really, really loved and was probably the reason her tummy hurt.

Maggie knew they were out of time, yet Cunningham was hesitating. She watched him scan the door frame again and again. Nothing looked out of place. Not on this side. Cunningham cocked his head as he listened for any sound behind the door. His right hand clutched the doorknob. His body kept close to the wall. His left hand stayed open and ready in front of Mary Louise like a traffic cop holding her back.

In an ambush situation they’d kick in the door, weapons drawn. But the threat of rigged explosives with hidden trip wires warranted slow and easy. Maggie knew they should let the bomb squad take it from here.

Cunningham wasn’t budging. Another victim, Mary Louise’s mother, was on the other side. If they picked up the little girl and ran, would it set off a panic? Was someone watching the house with a detonator, waiting for them to do exactly that?

“Ready?” he asked Maggie.

She wanted it over with. They had already wasted too much time. Yes, she nodded, and he eased the door open.

There was no click. No sizzle. No bang.

Nothing.

Except for an unnerving rasping sound. Someone inside the room was having trouble breathing.

Mary Louise swept past both of them while Cunningham grabbed and missed. She bounded up onto the bed where it looked like a pile of bedding had been dumped in the middle. The SWAT team swarmed the outside room, moving so quietly Maggie didn’t even notice them brush behind her, already in the bedroom.

“Mommy, Mommy, someone came to help,” Mary Louise sang out to the swaddled bundle.

Cunningham rushed over and he swooped the girl into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. But then he stopped dead in his tracks, and turned back to Maggie. There was a flicker of panic in his eyes, but his voice remained calm and soothing as he said, “There’s blood.”

A pause and another glance, then, “A lot of it.”

Maggie came in closer. She could see only the woman’s head, matted hair sticking to her forehead. She was gasping, almost a gurgle. Blood spurted from her mouth and nose onto a stained pillowcase. There was blood all over the bedding. But she couldn’t see any external wounds.

Then Maggie remembered the note’s warning. She realized it was too late. There was no bomb. There were no explosives.

“We may have expected the wrong kind of crash,” Maggie said. Instead of relief, her stomach took a plunge.

“What are you talking about?” Cunningham tried to get a closer look while the little girl squirmed in his arms.

“Instead of a bomb squad we should have brought a hazmat team.” She could feel everything around her grind to a halt. The bomb squad and SWAT team were frozen in place by her words.

That’s when Mary Louise started throwing up. Her upset tummy spewed up red and green all over the front of Cunningham, spraying Maggie, too.

“Christ!” he muttered as he wiped vomit and spittle from his face.