Page 128 of Critical Mass
Her fingers closed around the tablet just as it reached the edge.
For a moment, she just lay there, gasping, staring at the glowing screen. At the app that was still open. At the bright red button that said ACTIVATE.
Brass’s thumb had been millimeters away from pressing it.
“Natalie!” Hudson was there, dropping to his knees beside her, his hands gentle as he helped her sit up. “Let me have it. Carefully.”
She handed him the tablet with trembling fingers, watching as he powered it down completely, then removed the battery for good measure.
“It’s over,” he said. “It’s really over.”
Around them, FBI agents swarmed. Someone shouted medical commands—Brass was down but alive, Hudson’s shot having hit him in the shoulder. Dimitri was being taken away handcuffed on a gurney, still shouting threats in Russian.
And her father?—
Natalie looked toward the van and saw him being helped up by two agents. He was limping, his face pale, but he was alive. When his eyes found hers, she saw tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. “I’m so sorry.”
She wanted to be angry. Wanted to stay furious at him for all the lies, all the secrets, all the ways he’d put her in danger.
But all she felt was exhausted relief that he was still breathing.
“Ma’am, we need to get you checked out.” A paramedic appeared with a blanket, draping it around her shoulders. “You’re bleeding.”
Natalie looked down and realized her hands were scraped raw from the concrete, blood mixing with dirt. She hadn’t even felt it.
“I’m fine,” she heard herself say. “I’m okay.”
But she wasn’t sure if that was true.
Twenty minutes later, Hudson sat on the bumper of an ambulance, letting a paramedic clean the cut above his eyebrow while he watched federal agents process the scene.
The chemicals were being carefully secured and documented. Every drum, every container, every piece of evidence that would put Sigma’s leadership away for life.
Brass had been loaded into an ambulance five minutes ago, conscious and cuffed, with two FBI agents riding along.
He’d looked at Hudson as they’d loaded him, something unreadable in his expression. Regret maybe. Or just resignation that this was how his story ended.
“You’re going to need stitches,” the paramedic said. “Hospital’s ten minutes away.”
“Later.” Hudson’s eyes tracked Natalie as she sat in another ambulance, wrapped in a shock blanket, her father beside her. They were talking—intense, emotional, too far away for him to hear the words.
But he saw Natalie’s face. Saw the pain and confusion and betrayal written there.
“Sir, I really think?—”
“Later,” Hudson repeated, more firmly this time.
The paramedic sighed but didn’t argue further. Instead, he finished bandaging the cut and moved on to the next patient.
Jake appeared at Hudson’s elbow, his tactical vest streaked with dirt and what looked like burn marks. “What a night.”
“You can say that again.” Hudson’s voice came out rough.
“Colton said the FBI wants statements from all of us.” Jake paused. “And from her.”
Hudson knew Jake meant Natalie. “She just saved everyone on this pier by grabbing that tablet. She deserves a minute to process.”
