Page 127 of Critical Mass
Brass stiffened, and his hand moved again toward his jacket.
“Please.” Hudson couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice now. “Please don’t make me do this. We were brothers, Brass. We saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. Don’t end it like this.”
“It ended for me after that helicopter crash,” Brass said quietly. “When everyone left me behind, assumed I was dead. This is just the epilogue.”
His hand continued moving, and Hudson saw the tablet emerge from the jacket pocket. Saw Brass’s thumb moving toward the screen.
And he knew, with terrible certainty, that his former teammate wasn’t going to stop.
Some wounds went too deep to heal. Some betrayals—real or perceived—couldn’t be forgiven.
“I’m sorry,” Hudson whispered. “I’m so sorry, brother.”
Brass met his eyes one last time. “So am I.”
Then Brass’s thumb descended toward the screen, and Hudson had no choice left.
He had to pull the trigger.
Natalie watched in horror as Brass’s thumb lowered toward the tablet screen.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Every person on that pier was about to die, and she was helpless to stop it.
Then her father moved.
He broke away from the FBI agent guarding them and sprinted toward Brass with a speed she didn’t know he possessed. His face was set with determination, with purpose, with something that looked almost like peace.
“Dad, no!” The scream tore from her throat.
Everything happened in slow motion and too fast at the same time.
Hudson’s rifle came up.
The sharp crack of a gunshot split the air.
Her father launched himself at Brass, his shoulder colliding with the man.
Brass jerked backward from the bullet’s impact, his hand spasming.
The tablet flew from his grip, spinning through the air in a lazy arc.
It hit the concrete pier with a crack that seemed impossibly loud, skittering toward the edge.
Toward the water.
Natalie started running before she realized she’d made the decision. Her legs pumped, her lungs burned, her entire focus narrowed to that small electronic device sliding across the wet pier.
If it went into the water, would it still work? Would the signal still transmit? Would everyone here still die?
She didn’t know, and she couldn’t take that chance.
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-TWO
Natalie dove,her hands outstretched, her body hitting the concrete hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.
