“The hell she is—” said Wes, moving forward
Flynn rested the barrel of her gun against my temple. “Ah, ah, Officer McAllen. Watch your step.”
Wes froze. Slowly, calmly, Flynn walked me to the airstairs, keeping her gaze locked on Wes, Lauren, and Olivia. They remained still as Flynn guided me up the steps. A trail of blood spattered the flightline, marking our path, and behind us, I heard the frightened squeak of the innocent flight attendant. We reached the top step, but before we retreated into the jet, I looked out at Wes one last time.
“I love you too,” I called across the distance between us.
“How sweet,” simpered Flynn. “And how appropriate. Your mother took my love away from me, and now I have the pleasure of separating you from yours, Miss Costello. It does have a poetic kind of justice, does it not?”
“Go to hell,” I told her through clenched teeth.
“You’re invited too, my dear,” she replied. She brandished the revolver at the stunned pilot and ordered, “Close the door!”
But before the pilot could obey, a shot rang out across the flightline and connected with Catherine Flynn’s midsection, sending a spray of blood across the private jet’s carpeting. I dropped to my knees and covered my head with my uninjured hand. The world spun. Flynn lay flat on the floor of the plane, pressing both palms to the gunshot wound in her abdomen. Through the open door, several unmarked vans pulled up next to the jet. Men dressed in tactical gear and carrying multiple firearms poured out of the vehicles, surrounding the private plane and shouting orders to one another. They stormed the jet, pounding up the airstairs. I pushed myself away, panting and scared, but they ignored me. Instead, they swarmed Flynn, securing her in a pair of handcuffs before escorting her off of the jet.
It happened so quickly that Flynn was gone from my sight before I had even registered the S.W.A.T. patch stamped across the uniforms of each agent. One of the specialists kneeled in front of me and took off his helmet.
“Nicole Costello?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“My name is Luke,” the man said, slinging his assault rifle over his shoulder to rest on his back. “I’m a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Special Weapons and Tactics team. Everything’s going to be all right, ma’am.”
With Luke’s help, I managed to make it down the airstairs and out to the flightline. As the rest of the S.W.A.T. team swept the area, a squad of paramedics and other emergency service personnel arrived in several ambulances and a firetruck. They spread out, checking the car wreck and the fallen Raptors. When Wes saw that I had emerged from the plane, he shook off the paramedic that was attempting to take his pulse.
“Nicole!” he called out, running toward me.
Luke relinquished me just in time. Wes locked me in a tight hug, cradling my face to his chest. His heart thumped erratically against my cheek as I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“I’m okay,” I mumbled into his sweat-soaked shirt. “I’m okay.”
Lauren and Olivia approached hesitantly as I let go of Wes.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” said Lauren, squeezing my hand.
“Back at you,” I said. I looked at Olivia. “Have you checked on Henry?”
She nodded. “They’re working on getting him out of the car, but he’s stable. We should have the paramedics look at your arm though. You’ve lost some blood.”
Appropriately, the woozy feeling in my head intensified. I leaned heavily into Wes. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “What about Flynn?”
“Gone,” reported Lauren. “The FBI already hauled her off.”
“How did they know?” I asked. “Did Henry—?”
The door to one of the unmarked vans slid open, and a leather Italian loafer planted itself on the pavement, followed closely by a medical boot.
“No, Miss Costello,” said a familiar voice as the figure unfolded himself from the van and buttoned his suit jacket. “I believe you have me to thank for your timely rescue.”
“Dad?” breathed Lauren.
Orson Lockwood smiled. He looked worse for wear, despite the sharp three-piece suit that he wore. His face was a painting of yellowing bruises and the medical boot slowed him down as he limped toward us, but there was no mistaking him for dead. Lauren slowly approached him. When Orson offered his hand to her, she fell into his arms and hugged him firmly.
“Does no one just stay dead in this damn town?” I grumbled.
Orson grinned wider. “You should be glad I didn’t.” He snapped his fingers at a nearby paramedic. “You. Have a look at her arm. It might be nice if she stayed conscious.”
“What did you do?” Wes asked Orson as the paramedic sat me down on the pavement to examine the bullet graze. Now that the initial shock of the injury had passed and the blood had begun to clot, all that remained of the pain was a dull, hot ache.
Orson shrugged, refusing to let Lauren go. “I gave up in a sense. I surrendered all of the Raptors’ information to the FBI. When my sister left me for dead in that parking garage, I knew there was no way I could allow her to continue on with the Raptors. She had twisted our once great society into something gruesome and foul. I decided it was better to forsake our association entirely rather than allow it to become a parody of itself.”
“But how did you get the Feds to arrest Flynn and not you?” asked Olivia. She lowered her voice. “Most of the society’s work was covered up by your own corporation. What about the BRS business that you were responsible for?”
Orson clapped a hand to his heart as if offended by Olivia’s statement. “My dear girl, I can assure you that I am a reformed man. If you recall, Catherine framed me for many of her own despicable deeds. I simply allowed the FBI full access to all of my files. It was only
