The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(105)

She leaned down and kissed him. “I will. You’re going to be okay. Do you hear me?” She took his gun, shoved it into her pants.

“How do I get out of here?”

He pointed. “To the right of where you came in. She went through a door there, down the hallway. I’m low on bullets, too, but there’s a tranquilizer gun in the pocket of my vest. In case.”

Mike pulled out the tranq gun and shoved it in her pocket. With a last pat on his shoulder, she went to the steel door, punched the button. The doors slid open, and she stepped out into the hall.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE


T-MINUS 00:00:01:03

Nevaeh waited.

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes, saw the clock no longer counting down, it was now running forward. The bomb had to have exploded, but where were the Numen? There were no lights in the sky to announce their arrival, only the keening of the wind, eerie and mournful, and the first drops of rain coming through the open roof with the passing of the eye. The blood moon was obscured by dark, angry clouds for a moment, then they raced past. The moon shined brightly down. And still, nothing.

She didn’t know what to think. Was there some sort of problem? Hadn’t the EMP blown all the satellites dead? Surely that had happened, but what was wrong? Where were they?

She slid out of her chair, staggered as she set the heavy Heaven Stone down on the floor. She ran to the roof’s control, shut it so her telescope wouldn’t be ruined.

But the rest of her was screaming inside.

This wasn’t happening. She had programmed the computers herself. Once the flight computer took over the countdown there was no stopping it. Was there? And she’d shot that agent dead. But it hadn’t gone off, she was sure of it now.

She ran toward the control center. She would set off the bomb herself.

The doors to the command center slid open. Yes, there was the FBI agent on the floor where she’d left him, but the steel door that led out of the command center was open, and a woman—not Kiera—was running out of it.

Nicholas saw Patel and yelled, “Mike!”

He wasn’t dead? How could that be? Patel watched the woman jerk around. She was wearing a black watch cap, ripped pants and shirt.

“Bitch! You’re dead, just like your friend here.”

And Nevaeh charged her, raising her gun as she ran.

How odd, Mike was thinking as Patel came toward her. The woman was wearing, of all things, what looked like a white Roman toga. Her eyes were quite mad, Nicholas was right about that.

Mike pulled out the tranq gun and pulled the trigger.

Nevaeh felt a single sharp pain, but only for a moment, nothing more than a bee sting really, and then she began to feel—happy. Happier than she’d felt in so many years, since she’d first met the Numen. She smiled. They’d come. They’d brought incredible light. It flooded over her, encased her. She whispered, “You came for me. At last.”

She hadn’t failed. She knew blessed victory, she’d done it. The world would be hers now. Ah, what she would do, the Numen at her side. And they sang to her, Yes, Nevaeh, what we will do together. Together.

A white light shined bright on her face. Nevaeh looked up into the blurred face of a woman kneeling over her. She seemed to be floating above her. “You’re not Kiera.”

“No, I’m not. She’s dead.”

Nevaeh smiled. “Oh no, that can’t be right. No one could kill Kiera.” Then she was drawn inward again, and the light sharpened, hurt her eyes.

The woman was shaking her now, peeling back her eyelids, feeling her pulse. She was talking, Nevaeh could hear words, but they made no sense. The room filled with figures and she felt joy overcome the pain. They were here. The Numen had come for her.

They gathered her up in their arms, and she was being carried. She felt safe, loved. She felt blessed warmth, tenderness. Was that a heartbeat she heard against her face? Did the Numen have hearts just there? She whispered, “Thank you. I am ready.”

They didn’t answer.

She closed her eyes, settled into the strong arms that carried her, and let the waves of warmth carry her away.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX


Mike didn’t watch Mills’s team carry Nevaeh out of the control room. She was leaning over Nicholas, checking the wound. “Okay, you hang in here with me, you hear? Oh, yes, Patel—you’re right, she is certifiable.”

His teeth were gritted.

“I know, it hurts like bloody hell. Help’s on the way—”

Suddenly, his cell phone sang out, “Rule, Britannia!” And she nearly jumped a foot. She fumbled, found his cell, answered.

“Nicholas? It’s your mother. I’ve solved it, it was Mr. Able’s wife who killed him. She was the lover—”

What to do, what to say? “Mrs. Drummond, I’m sorry, but Nicholas isn’t available right now. Congratulations on solving the crime. He always says you’re a whiz. I’m sorry, but I have to go. He’ll get back to you.” And she punched off, fast.

Surprisingly, Nicholas looked like he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. “I heard. She did it. Not surprised. Thank you, Mike.”

Mike looked up to see Poppy Bennet stride, not walk, into the control center, a phalanx of men on her heels. She was dressed in camo assault gear that looked like it had been made for the runway in Milan.