“Sweet’s not the word I’d use,” Boone said from the back seat.
Her lips twitched, that half-smile that always made me forget we were supposed to be professionals. Then gunfire cracked from the SUV ahead, shattering the moment. Bullets ricocheted off the hood. I swerved, clipping a hydrant, and water geysered behind us.
Aaron’s voice cut through the static. “We’ve got a drone in the air. Reese’s convoy is heading for the south span. If he crosses, he’s gone.”
“Not happening,” I growled.
Julia leaned out the passenger window, rifle braced against the frame. She fired once, twice—tires blew on one of the escort vehicles, metal shrieking as it spun out. She ducked back inside, breath quick, hair plastered to her cheek.
“Nice shot.”
“Thanks,” she said, winking at me.
The bridge loomed ahead—steel and light and chaos. Reese’s SUV hit the incline first, headlights slicing through the mist. I pushed the accelerator to the floor; the engine protested but obeyed. We closed the distance yard by yard until I could see his license plate through the spray.
“Miles, can you disable him?”
“Working on it—EMP pulse is still charging. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“Don’t need thirty.”
I clipped the rear bumper, the impact jarring through my arms. The SUV fishtailed, slammed against the railing, sparks showering into the river below. Reese recovered fast, too fast, and suddenly a flash of movement caught my eye—a remote detonator in his hand.
Julia saw it too. “Hawk!”
I jerked the wheel just as the SUV ahead erupted in aconcussive bloom of fire. The shockwave hit us like a hammer, lifting our vehicle half off its wheels. Glass shattered, smoke filled the cab, and the world spun end over end.
We hit the guardrail hard, metal screaming. The airbag deployed, white and suffocating. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Then I heard her voice—hoarse, alive. “Hawk!”
I tore the deflating bag aside. She was half-covered in dust, eyes wide, hair tangled, but breathing. Relief hit like oxygen.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she gasped. “You?”
“Better now. I looked in the back, and Boone, Logan, and Russ were fighting their way out of their inflated airbags.
Outside, fire chewed through twisted steel. Reese’s SUV burned at the midpoint of the bridge, smoke coiling into the rain. But something in my gut twisted—the explosion had been too clean, too deliberate.
Aaron’s voice came through, faint but urgent. “We’ve lost visuals. Is Reese confirmed dead?”
Julia stared at the wreck, rain mixing with soot on her skin. “You think he’d die that easily?”
I shook my head. “No. He wanted us to see it.”
She looked at me, realization dawning. “You think he staged his own death.”
“I think,” I said, stepping out into the rain, “that this was his distraction.”
Far below, in the dark water of the Potomac, a faint light blinked once, then vanished—a beacon, sinking fast.
Julia joined me at the railing. “What is that?”
“Escape route,” I said grimly. “He’s not gone. He’s underwater.”
Aaron came over the comm again. Teams are on route for recovery. Sit tight.”
