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Ace didn’t need to reply. Finding Anton was all he was focused on at the moment. He made a left and then halted. Anton was standing against the west wall in the kitchen, firearm in hand, his eyes wild as he looked around him, agents surrounding him. Ace edged closer, still staying out of sight even though it nearly killed him.
“Do you really think you can get away with this?” Anton snapped.
“We already have, Anton. You can leave this place in cuffs,” an agent said with a smile tilting his lips, making him look quite feral, “or you can leave in a body bag. The choice is yours.”
“You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?” Anton snarled.
“I’m not going to lie to you. I think this world would be a much better place without you in it,” the agent told him. “But I also want you on trial, where the families of the victims you’ve terrified for decades can see you get what you deserve.”
“That won’t ever happen,” Anton said with a leer. “A man like me isn’t so easily captured.”
“Give it up, Anton. It’s over,” another agent yelled. Ace’s feet were twitching with the need to jump into the scene and take this man down.
“I will kill everyone who has ever crossed your path,” Anton promised as he glanced at the men moving in even closer.
“You will do nothing more than rot in prison,” a man told him.
“Go to hell,” Anton shouted.
“You first,” the agent replied, a mocking smile pulling up the corner of his lip.
Ace watched Anton’s finger twitch on the trigger of his gun before a shot rang out, barely missing the agent in front of him. The agent no longer hesitated as he fired on Anton, dropping the man to the ground.
The agents rushed forward, instantly kicking away Anton’s gun and covering the wound to the man’s chest. They all wanted to see him face a jury. But they had known his death in this battle was a definite possibility.
Anton screamed curse words at the agents as blood spat from his mouth. The wound could be fatal, which wasn’t what Ace needed or wanted. He wanted him in court, facing his crimes.
“Don’t let him die,” Ace snapped into his earpiece, still staying out of sight. Let Anton think he’d been shot. “This bastard will face his accusers in court.” Ace’s leg hurt, but he didn’t have time to analyze if he’d been shot or not. He was too focused on the man on the ground—so close, yet so far away.
“He’s not going to make it,” one agent said.
“Get him out to the ambulance. He doesn’t get an easy out,” Ace told the agents, who nodded while they spoke into their mics. The danger still wasn’t over, but Ace lowered his gun. The guy he’d been chasing for four years had been shot. Ace could soon go home. But now wasn’t the time to relax.
Even so, he was tired. Ace was far too young to be this exhausted. But this sting operation was indeed over. It was time to figure out what he was going to do next. He stepped up to the back door when someone behind him shouted. Ace turned in time to see Anton with his finger on a black remote that he must have slid down from the sleeve of his jacket. Why hadn’t the agents frisked the man?
“Good-bye,” Anton said before an evil chuckle escaped his throat.
“Stop him,” Ace shouted, forgetting about staying out of sight as he took a step toward Anton. But it was too late. Everything blurred as Anton’s laughter was amplified in the small space.
An explosion erupted, sweeping Ace off his feet. Hot fire burned around him; his skin felt like it was boiling before he slammed back down to the floor, his head cracking on the hard marble as his body flopped like a rag doll and the lights went out.
CHAPTER TWO
Dakota Forbes wasn’t a meek woman—not by any means. And when she wanted something, she had no problem going for it. Yes, sometimes she was impulsive, and yes, that could certainly get her into trouble—once in a while. But without a little danger, life was too dang boring.
She smiled as she sat back at the small airport—in the cool zone, the place only those with a special badge got to be. She didn’t know why that made her feel haughty, but maybe it was because she was somewhere the average person couldn’t access. She watched small aircraft lift off into the sky and then land again. It was utterly mesmerizing.
Yes, this might be another impulsive decision, but the joy in her heart, and the itchiness in her body, told her it was the right one. She stood up and moved inside the hangar, where Sherman was speaking to a young teenage boy with hair too long and eyes filled with excitement. She probably wore the exact same expression he did.
“Okay, you go out and chop some of that hair off before we get started. A pilot needs to be able to see,” Sherman told the boy, who eagerly nodded.
“Will do, sir,” he said before he turned around and spotted Dakota.
The boy smiled at her before he began walking, and she had to fight to keep her laughter in when the teenager added a bit more swagger to his awkward gait. She was used to teenage infatuation. She was a cheerleader for the Seattle Seahawks, after all—at least for one more season.
Though it filled her heart with sadness, knowing her time with the Seahawks was almost up, it was a day she’d known was coming for a while. She was almost twenty-seven, and playtime was over. Now, she needed a career she could do for the rest of her working years.
Looking in front of her at the slick red plane with smooth curves, long wings, and crystal-clear windows showcasing leather upholstery, she couldn’t help but sigh in enchantment. She had made the decision to become a pilot.
