Chapter 162

In an abandoned warehouse in the city's southern suburbs, the investigation revealed this to be the group's meeting place. Emma, of course, didn't come alone; she'd dispatched a team beforehand. By the time she and Josiah arrived, the warehouse's occupants were largely subdued.

They waited in the car. When the commotion ceased, Emma entered, arms crossed. About a dozen people were gathered; one lay on the ground.

"Miss Wilson," Josiah said, "this is him. He's connected to Bunny's death."

Emma's eyes were bloodshot as she squatted. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

The man knew Justine's identity and her organization. Rumor had it everyone in that mysterious organization was an outlaw. Fear flickered in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he stammered.

Emma produced a picture of Justine. "How did she die? Tell me, and I'll spare your life. If you don't…"

He'd already been interrogated before Emma's arrival; he had no will to resist. "I… I'll tell you!"

A voice cut through the warehouse – a phone on the floor, currently on a call. "He won't tell you," the voice said.

Emma heard a voice modulator. "Who are you?" she demanded coldly.

An unpleasant, raspy laugh filled the phone. "Blaze, long time no see. I'm curious to see who's improved more in the last five years. I've rigged a bomb around this man's neck. It detonates if he tells the truth. None of you will survive."

"It's you," Emma breathed, recognizing the voice. He'd assassinated Blanche, and now this! Repeated obstruction confirmed his role in Dummy's death. "Don't hide! Fight me one-on-one!"

The voice chuckled darkly. "One-on-one? I'm not stupid. I can't beat you, so I scheme. Can't you disarm bombs? Oh, I forgot – you can't disarm this one. Choose: the truth, or your lives." The call ended.

Emma was furious. She'd almost had it! The man, however, was terrified by the bomb's mechanism and was now incoherent.

"Miss Wilson, the bomb's linked to his heartbeat," Josiah reported, having swiftly analyzed the data. "If he dies, it explodes. He's critically injured."

"Bitch!" Emma cursed, thinking of her arrogant adversary, an old rival whose identity eluded her.

A hand grabbed her pants. "Save me! I don't want to die!"

Josiah, thinking the man was attacking Emma, almost kicked him. Emma intervened. "Cut the crap! Tell me the truth, or even God can't save you!"

"No… I can't! The bomb…" Terror choked him; his chest tightened, and he neared collapse.

"Miss Wilson, he's going into shock," Josiah said. His heart stopping would trigger the explosion. They would all die.

Emma, using an acupuncture needle, temporarily revived him for half an hour – buying them time. This method was energy-intensive, however; he wouldn't survive much longer.

"Everyone, prepare for an explosion. Carry him outside," Emma instructed.

Josiah frowned. "Miss Wilson, what's the plan? Should we lie, say we disarmed the bomb, get the truth, then evacuate?" This was optimal; they'd get the truth, and Emma would live, at the cost of the murderer's life – a small price to pay.

Emma hesitated. "Let's go outside first. We'll talk later." This minimized the blast's impact.

Outside, the man went berserk. "You're lying! You'll let me die!" Fear and jealousy fueled his madness. He slashed at himself with a knife; everyone recoiled. Only Emma remained unfazed, stepping forward.

"Drop the knife!" she commanded.

He pointed at her. "You're a liar! You'll trick me, then blow me up, won't you?"

Emma was surprised by his sharp hearing. Josiah hung his head; those were his words.

Emma shouted, "Shut up if you want to live! Suicide means death. Cooperate, and you might survive. Life is short, but you can choose to fight and live!"

Her words moved him. He wailed, trembling, the bomb's faint green light a grim countdown.

"Put down the knife," Emma urged, steadily approaching.

Josiah saw him raise the knife. "Miss Wilson, be careful!"

The knife flew. Emma sighed in relief, then knelt, studying the bomb – far more complex than the one at Sean's concert. One mistake, and they'd all die.

The man, on the brink, mumbled, "I don't want to die… I won't say… You're lying…"

He was petrified, useless. Yet, this was their last chance to learn the truth about Justine's death.

Emma inhaled deeply. With a heavy heart, she acted decisively. She used a special device, handcuffing herself to the bomb. With a decisive throw, she locked the mechanism.

"Miss Wilson!" the others gasped. It was her special lock – unopenable without the key.