No. Not just Ace, but me as well.
On the heels of that thought, my confidence rises.
Ace and I are a great team. And we can do this.
On silent feet, we creep towards the hijacker. He’s half dragging the terrified flight attendant, and I’m pretty certain he can’t hear anything over her noisy sobs.
When we’re six feet from them, Ace glances back at me. His expression is determined, but his eyes hold a depth of emotion within. Fear. Worry. Love. Trust.
And it’s the last of them that gives me the final boost of courage I need.
He trusts me to have his six. And I’ll do anything not to let him down.
Then he turns his focus back to the man ahead of him. Now we’re five feet away.
Four.
Three.
With only two feet left between us and the hijacker, Ace makes his move.
He swipes his leg out, and it collides with the other man’s legs with a heavy thunk. Then Ace grabs the attendant, yanks her away, and pushes her into the nearest row of seats.
I leap forward, catching the hijacker as he’s falling. I jerk the arm holding the gun behind his back, hard enough to hear bones snap. He yowls in pain and lets out a string of curses. The gun falls to the floor, and I kick it so it goes skittering down the aisle.
Ace spins the asshole hijacker around and slams his fist into his face. “You piece of shit! It’s Christmas. How dare you!”
Even as Ace is yelling at the man, I’m already wrenching zip ties around his wrists. A little tip from Blade and Arrow that I intend to hang onto—keeping zip ties with me no matter where I go.
In less than ten seconds, the hijacker is restrained. But his explosives on his vest are still ticking away, and the timer is at just under four minutes.
“Turn it off!” Ace snaps. It would be easier if the man just did it himself, rather than forcing Ace into doing it.
But the hijacker just spits at Ace, “No! I hope you all die!”
“Not today,” Ace retorts. Then he looks up at me. “I’m going to need scissors. To cut the wires. Can you find me?—”
The silver-haired woman jumps up and rushes towards us. “I have scissors. They’re small, but they should work.”
I take the proffered scissors while Ace crouches over the hijacker. Then I hurry to Ace’s side and ask, “What else do you need?”
“Just keep him from moving around. I should have knocked him out, but I thought he might make this easy for us.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I reply. Pressing my fingers to the man’s carotid artery, I cut off the blood supply just long enough to knock him unconscious. I’m tempted to do more, but decide against it. Not because he deserves mercy, after what he did. But the passengers are going to be traumatized enough already without seeing someone dead on the airplane.
Ace notices what I did and makes an approving sound. “Nice, Tink.”
“How does it look?” I want to look for myself, but I don’t want to get in Ace’s way.
“Not too bad,” he answers. “It’s a pretty simple—” He stops to concentrate on the weave of wires beneath his fingers. Then he reaches out his hand. “Scissors, please.”
I hand them over.
“I’m just going to make one cut,” Ace explains, raising his voice so everyone in the cabin can hear him.
There’s a great inhale, as though everyone is holding their breath.
“He’s a HAZMAT specialist,” I explain. Because, honestly, if some random guy on a plane announced he was about to disarm a bomb, I’d be scared crapless.
