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“Va te faire foutre,” I spit.
Henry’s too far away to rush. At this distance, he’s going to be able to squeeze that trigger before I can get to him.
I have to choose.
Try to take down Henry, but risk him putting a bullet in Brennan’s skull before I can.
Or go for Brennan and take the shots I know are coming.
Nuñez is racing for us, but she’s seconds behind me, and Henry’s going to pull the trigger now.
I only have one chance.
Every muscle in my body fires at once.
Henry’s finger squeezes—
A single crack blooms through the cargo hold like cannon fire. In the hollow metal tube, the blast sounds and feels like being at ground zero of a dropped bomb. Cavitation waves slam into me as I get my arms around Brennan and bring him to the deck. I roll, coming out on top of him with my back to Henry, in case there’s another shot.
Nuñez will come. She’ll save Brennan. But I—
I only have moments left. This close, any center mass shot is deadly. I don’t feel it yet, but that’s the adrenaline. I’m going to bleed out before Nuñez can get a medic to me. There’s enough time to tell Brennan I love him, enough time for one final kiss—
Henry’s body slams to the deck. His gun clatters out of his hands, echoing in the empty hold, and his head lolls to the side.
His sightless eyes stare into mine. A perfect bullet hole marks the center of his forehead.
I turn, and there’s Sheridan, silhouetted in the halo of the open cargo door. I know it’s him even though I can’t see his face. Who else would be behind me with a pair of handcuffs and the interior panel of a SUV door dangling from one wrist?
He drops his weapon and stumbles until his back hits the bulkhead and he slides to his ass, his head sagging, shoulders slumping.
In the next two seconds, Nuñez’s team rappels from the upper deck and sweeps the hold with their rifles and flashlights. I call an all clear, and a dozen pairs of boots run the length of the fuselage to me and Brennan.
Three of Nuñez’s team circle Henry, their rifles trained on his corpse as if there’s a chance he’ll come back to life and they can shoot him again.
I help Brennan sit up, easing the gag from his mouth as Nuñez cuts his hands free. One is black and blue and swollen. Broken.
“We’ve got you, Mr. President,” Nuñez says. “We’ve got you.”
We’re surrounded, but who gives a fuck? As soon as he’s free, I kiss him. His arms wrap around me, and we kiss as if this is the last time we ever will, pouring everything of ourselves into each other.
We nearly didn’t have this.
No one says a word.
We break apart when we need to breathe. I rest my forehead against his and run my hands over his cheeks, slide my fingers into his matted hair. Flashlights shine down on us, our only illumination, but it’s enough for me to see the blood on his face and the bruises around his neck. He’s hurt, badly. Henry worked him over, either getting him out of Rock Creek Park or after, when he could unload his rage on Brennan in private.
Nuñez’s medic is beside us, guiding Brennan’s face gently away from mine. “Mr. President,” he says, “please look at me.” He shines a penlight into Brennan’s eyes. Brennan laces his uninjured fingers through mine. “Can you stand?”
“Yes. I’m walking out of here.”
“Then let’s get you to your feet, sir.”
The whole team brackets us as he rises. After one step, he falters and leans into me. I wrap my arm around his waist, and he rests his arm gingerly over my shoulder. “I knew you’d find me.”
I kiss him again in front of everyone. He lays his cheek against mine.
Then he takes a jerking step sideways and holds out his uninjured hand. “Sheridan,” he says “Let’s go home.”
