High-caliber rounds tore through the warehouse skylights.

Two of Sterling’s guards dropped instantly before their weapons could fire.

Flashbang grenades detonated across the rafters with deafening roars.

Blinding white light filled the warehouse.

Julian dove behind a stack of industrial steel drums as automatic fire tore through the concrete where he had stood.

“Move in! Federal agents!” Detective Miller’s voice bellowed through megaphones outside.

Dozens of tactical officers flooded through the side bays, shields up, laser sights cutting through the smoke.

Sterling scrambled out of his chair, lunging toward an emergency exit near the river dock.

Julian didn't wait for the tactical team.

He sprinted through the smoke, tackling Sterling just as the older man reached the wooden pier outside.

Both men slammed hard onto the wet planks.

A small silver revolver slipped from Sterling’s pocket, skittering into the dark river below.

Julian pinned Sterling against the wooden railing, his forearm crushing the older man’s throat.

“It’s over, Richard,” Julian breathed, rain pouring over his face.

Sterling wheezed, coughing up river mist, but his eyes burned with venom.

“You think you won?” Sterling rasped.

“You think Dallas Love Field is safe?”

Julian froze.

A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the freezing rain.

“What did you do?” Julian growled, tightening his grip.

Sterling laughed, a wet, choking sound.

“I knew federal snipers would be on the cranes, boy.”

“Pier 14 was the diversion.”

“Who do you think was flying your private jet?”

At the Love Field hangar, thirty miles away, the fire alarm suddenly began to howl.

Thick smoke poured into the executive lounge.

Marcus drew his weapon, kicking the door open.

“Rachel, stay behind me!”

Before we could cross the threshold, the lights in the hangar went out.

Two men in dark flight jumpsuits stepped through the smoke, zip-ties and silenced handguns drawn.

Noah screamed in my arms.