Page 17

17

Lyon

Oliver and I picked River up at five. Our flight was set for Texas, where we would escort a woman and her two children to North Carolina, reuniting them with her billionaire husband. They had purchased a mountain estate, and she had stayed behind to ensure the movers packed everything properly.

She carried a heavy case—one we knew contained the family’s prized jewelry. She told us at least twenty times. Hopefully, no one else knew. But the way she clutched it, her grip white-knuckled, would make anyone wonder what she was protecting. I positioned myself to block curious onlookers as we made our way to the plane.

Out of the corner of my eye, movement registered—too fast, too deliberate. A hand. A gun. Instinct took over. I pivoted, seizing the man’s wrist before he could fire. A swift strike sent him sprawling, unconscious, just as the airport police arrived.

I gave a brief explanation, ready to move on, letting them take over when an officer stopped me.

“This is a U.S. Air Marshal,” he said, gesturing toward the downed man. “If he pulled a weapon, there was a reason. You say you’re escorting a woman and her kids to North Carolina? And she’s carrying all the family’s jewels? Where’s the husband in all of this? You don’t find that odd?”

I had to admit, it was strange that her husband left her to transport millions in jewels alone.

“We’ve been watching her closely,” I replied, heading toward the plane.

“Call me with any updates,” the officer said, then reconsidered. “Never mind. I’m coming with you. We’ll call it extra protection.” He extended a hand. “Stanley.”

I sighed. “Fine. But stay out of our way. We’ll handle this.”

His brows lifted. “Noted.”

My mind was racing. Something wasn’t adding up. When I boarded the plane, I turned to Oliver and River. “Stanley’s coming with us. I think we have a situation.”

Tonya—the woman we were escorting—watched us carefully.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you for saving us.”

“That’s why I’m here. Are the kids okay? Do they need a snack?”

Her expression hardened. “No. They eat only their designated meals. No snacks.”

That raised a flag. What parent doesn’t allow their kids a snack?

Stanley stepped in. “I’m here as backup, in case anyone tries to harm you or the kids.”

“That’s why I hired these men,” she said sharply. “I don’t need more protection.”

Her reaction was almost defensive—angry, even. Why would a police officer’s presence bother her? As the plane taxied, she sat stiffly, jaw tight, fingers gripping the armrest like she wanted to crush it.

Something was seriously off.

Once we were in the air, I made my way to Oliver in the cockpit. “Something isn’t right,” I muttered.

Oliver frowned. “Yeah. I’ll get George, the husband, on the line.”

I nodded. “Keep it quiet. I don’t want her overhearing.”

Returning to my seat, I kept my gaze on Tonya without making it obvious. The four-year-old was eerily obedient. No requests, no complaints—not even a glance toward her mother for reassurance. Even the baby was silent. Not normal. More like they were afraid to talk.

River’s phone buzzed. He read the text I sent him, his face blank. Then, casually, he offered, “Would you like something to drink? We’ll be landing in a couple of hours.”

“No, thank you,” Tonya said curtly.

“So, are you excited for the move?” I pressed.

She barely turned my way. “I have a headache. I’d rather not talk.”

That was odd. Yesterday, she had been chatty, excited about reuniting with her husband.

Her shift in behavior made my gut churn.

A few minutes later, she got up and went to the bathroom. I turned to the four-year-old and kept my voice low.

“Is she your mom?”

The little girl hesitated, then whispered, “No. That’s Sherry.”

A cold chill ran down my spine. “Where’s your mommy?”

“She’s locked in the basement.”

I pressed a finger to my lips, and she nodded, understanding the need for silence.

Keeping my expression neutral, I stood and approached River. Low enough that only he could hear, I said, “The little girl says her real mom is locked in a basement. This woman is Sherry.”

River’s jaw tensed. “I just talked to the husband. I described her. He said she sounded like their nanny, Sherry. She’s been with them since the oldest was born.”

“She’s the nanny?” My pulse quickened.

River’s expression darkened. “Yeah. He said she started getting…weird. Dyed her hair like Tonya’s. Wore green contacts. They noticed the kids acting terrified around her. They fired her—told her she wouldn’t be moving with them.”

Dread settled in my gut. “You think she killed Tonya?”

River’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I’m calling the local police to check the house. I’ll have the husband meet us at the airport.”

Before I could respond, I noticed something. Sherry was having a silent meltdown. Her breaths quickened. Her hands trembled.

Then I realized—her case was missing.

Heart pounding, I darted toward the bathroom.

And there it was.

A bomb.

“Oliver!” I barked. He saw it and immediately rushed to River, taking control of the plane.

Stanley, watching the kids, muttered, “The Air Marshal must have recognized her. She’s wanted.”

River glared at Sherry. “So, you’re the nanny. You wanted the wife’s life. When they fired you, you decided to kill their kids along with yourself.”

Sherry’s lips curled into a deranged smile. “That’s exactly right. Tonya got everything. But she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t even know—we’re cousins. I tricked her into hiring me. I locked her in the basement—with another bomb.” She laughed, a wild, unhinged sound.

Rage burned through me.

River didn’t hesitate. He punched her in the chin, knocking her out cold.

“She has the detonator,” he muttered, already checking her for it.

I tore her dress down the front.

And there it was.

The bomb, strapped to her thigh.

River grabbed his phone. “Cyclone. We’ve got a bomb on board. I need you to walk us through disarming it.”

Cyclone’s voice was calm. “Describe it.”

“Orange and red wires. And…wait. Green.”

“Good. River, make sure she stays unconscious. The detonator is on her thigh. If she wakes up and struggles, it could go off.”

River took a steadying breath. “I’m cutting the tape.”

“Lyon,” Cyclone said. “Tell Oliver to fly away from populated areas.”

I relayed the message. Oliver nodded, angling the plane away from civilization.

River held the detonator now.

“Okay,” Cyclone instructed. “Open it. It’s like a garage remote. There should be a way to pop it open carefully.”

River grunted. “Tell Cyclone to stop telling me to be careful—I got this.” Then, quietly, “If this goes south, tell Kat I love her and the kids.”

“Nothing’s going south,” Cyclone said firmly. “Cut the green wire first—on the detonator, then the bomb.”

I held my breath as River severed the wire.

“Good,” Cyclone said. “Now the red. Same order.”

River’s hands were rock steady as he worked.

Silence.

Then—

“It’s done,” River exhaled. “Bomb’s defused.”

Sherry groaned, starting to stir.

I leaned down, my voice ice-cold. “Your plan failed. Instead of killing us and those kids, you’re going to rot in prison.”

Her scream was pure rage.

I smiled.