She stumbled to her knees on the cracked pavement.
Grant saw red instantly.
The man grabbed her arm and hauled her upright roughly.
“Burke,” Grant growled into the radio, voice shaking now. “They’re putting hands on her.”
“Hold position,” Burke ordered sharply.
The jet dropped lower.
A white Learjet burst over the trees, engines screaming across the mountain valley before touching down hard on the old strip.
Tires hit asphalt.
Smoke curled briefly behind them.
The aircraft roared down the runway and slowed near the loading area.
Grant’s pulse hammered so violently he could barely think.
Below him, the Florida men started moving fast now.
Cargo first.
Then Izzy.
One of the men grabbed her zip ties and pulled her toward the jet stairs.
Cal shouted something behind them.
Another man slammed him against the side of the truck.
Grant surged halfway upright instinctively.
“Grant,” Burke barked through the radio. “Do not move.”
Too late.
The man dragging Izzy shoved her again.
Grant watched her stumble hard against the jet stairs.
Something inside him snapped clean in half.
“Move,” Burke ordered suddenly.
The mountain exploded.
Flash-bangs detonated near the edge of the strip, white light ripping through the darkness.
Men shouted.
Someone fired a weapon.
Deputies poured from the tree line on both sides of the runway, weapons leveled. "Jackson County Sheriff's Office! Get down!"
The Florida men scattered instantly.
