Gunfire cracked inside the darkened hangar lounge.
Marcus fired twice, dropping the first man in the flight suit.
The second gunman lunged forward, slamming a heavy brass fire extinguisher against Marcus’s temple.
Marcus went down with a sickening thud, his gun sliding across the slick tile.
The gunman spun toward me, his weapon raised.
“Hand over the boy!”
I didn't freeze.
I didn't beg.
I snatched a boiling ceramic pot of fresh coffee from the lounge counter and hurled it straight into his face.
The boiling liquid splashed across his eyes.
The gunman shrieked in agony, dropping his weapon and clawing at his blistered skin.
I kicked the fallen gun under the heavy leather sofa, scooped Noah tighter against my ribs, and sprinted out the side service exit.
The tarmac was drenched in blinding sheets of rain.
Sirens wailed in the distance as airport police vehicles sped across the runway toward the hangar.
I ran toward the perimeter fence, my shoes splashing through freezing puddles.
Noah clung to my neck, his little heart pounding wildly against mine.
“I’ve got you, Noah,” I whispered, shielding his face from the wind.
“I’ve got you.”
Tires screeched on the tarmac behind me.
Julian’s armored SUV blew through the airport security gate, spinning ninety degrees on the wet asphalt before stopping ten feet away.
The back door kicked open.
Julian jumped out into the rain, bruised, soaked, and bleeding from a cut above his eye.
He saw Noah.
He saw me.
He crossed the tarmac in three strides, wrapping both arms around us and pulling us hard against his chest.
Noah buried his face in his father’s wet coat, sobbing with relief.
Julian’s voice broke as he held our heads together.
“You’re safe,” Julian whispered, his tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks.
“Sterling is in custody.”
“His pilots are neutralized.”
“It’s finished, Rachel.”
I pressed my face into Julian’s shoulder, my hands finally stopping their violent trembling.
The nightmare that had started beside a hot iron in a Dallas nursery was finally over.