“Drop it, Reynolds.” Mason is visible now, his sidearm raised, stepping from concealment.
TWENTY-FOUR
Willow
Steffan whirls,keeping the gun trained on me while facing this new threat. His eyes widen with recognition, then narrow with calculation.
“The mountain man himself,” he says. “How gallant.”
“Drop the weapon. Last warning.”
Steffan laughs, a hollow sound devoid of humor. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? With my wife so close? I don’t think so.”
“He doesn’t have to shoot you.” I push up to my knees, then to my feet. “I’ve already beaten you.”
Steffan sneers, glancing between us. “You call this beaten? I’m the one holding the gun, sweetheart.”
“Are you?” I smile.
His expression falters as he registers what I’ve done—during my fall and recovery, I’ve positioned myself by the concealed panic button beneath the side table. My finger hovers just above it.
“One push, and this room fills with highly trained operatives,” I tell him. “You’re surrounded. Your security team has been neutralized. It’s over.”
Doubt flickers across his face. Then the familiar mask of control returns. “You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
His finger tightens on the trigger. Mason tenses, ready to fire.
I push the button.
Silence.
Steffan’s smirk returns. “As I thought. A bluff?—”
The doors on either side of the room burst open. Ryan and Martinez enter from one, Cooper from the other, all with weapons trained on Steffan.
“Federal Judge Steffan Reynolds,” Ryan announces formally, “you’re being detained for questioning regarding charges of corruption, arms trafficking, and conspiracy.”
The color drains from Steffan’s face as he realizes how completely he’s been outmaneuvered. The gun wavers in his hand.
“Don’t,” Mason warns. “That would be a very poor decision.”
For one terrible moment, I think Steffan will choose violence over surrender. His finger twitches on the trigger. Mason steps in front of me, shielding me with his body.
Then, with a sound of disgust, Steffan lets the gun clatter to the floor.
“Hands behind your head,” Ryan orders. “On your knees.”
Steffan complies, his eyes never leaving mine. “This isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.” I step past Mason to face my husband—my abuser—one last time. “It is.”
Ryan moves to secure him with zip ties but freezes at a sudden burst of radio chatter. Mason’s hand goes to his earpiece, his expression darkening.
“What?” I ask.
“Multiple vehicles approaching,” Mason says grimly. “Fast. Professional.”
