They passed the main terminal at sixty miles an hour and continued to the charter area. Locke watched the security arm as they approached, willing it to raise, breathing easier when it did. He barely saw the guard’s face as they flew past.
Money well spent.
They sped across the tarmac, Locke following the blue dot’s beacon around a large hangar toward a Lear jet with its engine running, cargo hold yawning as a forklift loaded a pallet covered in black plastic. Federales were stationed around the plane, all of them heavily armed.
“Looks like a party,” Colton said, pulling his revolver from the holster on his flak jacket.
“You’re not partied out after last night?” Locke asked, hitting the brakes, the Humvee fishtailing as a hail of bullets started from the first line of Federales.
“Hell, no.”
Locke braked and threw the vehicle into park as he opened the driver’s side door. The passenger side was being pummeled with bullets, and Colton crawled to the driver’s side and followed Lock out onto the pavement, both of them taking shelter behind the Humvee. Locke had never been more glad that he’d sprung for armor on the cars. He’d never had to test their mettle — all their other jobs had taken place inside a bank or online — and he was relieved to hear the bullets ping off the armor.
“Cover me while I take a look,” Locke said.
He held up a hand and counted down from three fingers. When he got to one, Colton stepped around the back of the Humvee and fired while Locke looked around the front. Three seconds later they were both back behind the car.
“What’s the word?” Colton asked.
“Pallet’s loaded, plane’s gearing up for takeoff,” Locke said, already trying to figure a way to get to the plane before it left the ground.
So far he hadn’t seen Glover, but he assumed the coward was inside the plane, probably having a drink while his hired thugs did his dirty work. He wanted Glover’s cash most of all, but giving Glover a good beating would be a bonus.
“I can try to cover you while you make a run for it,” Colton said. “But I don’t think you’ll make it.”
He was right. There were four Ferderales on their side of the plane alone, and he didn’t doubt for a second that the other four would move to their side of the plane to lend a hand if Locke made a run for it. Colton wasn’t enough cover to get Locke from the Humvee to the waiting plane.
The forklift was backing away for the plane, the pallet of money on-board, the plane’s engine increasing in pitch as it geared up for takeoff. Locke was weighing the merit of making a run for it in spite of the odds when Braden careened onto the pavement in the other Humvee from the other side of the tarmac.
The Federates turned their attention on the incoming vehicle, and a flurry of bullets flew between the plane and the second Humvee. Locke could make out Nora firing from the passenger seat, another gun — Derek’s — firing from the back while Braden headed straight for the plane. The Federales' bullets pinged off the Humvee, one of them cracking the windshield as it embedded itself in the bulletproof glass.
Locke moved from his crouching position behind the Humvee, racing for the plane as it began to roll slowly backward, the Federales now focused on Braden’s approach.
He stayed low as he crossed the tarmac, waiting for the moment when the guards would realize they’d been distracted by the incoming Humvee while Locke breached their perimeter. He was twenty feet from the plane when the first guard noticed him.
A string of bullets splashed the pavement in front of him as he fired off a series of shots at the guard’s hands. He didn’t want to kill the guy, but he didn’t feel any regret when the guy screamed, dropping his weapon and screaming as he looked down at his bloody hands. Dirty cops were one of the reasons Locke did what he did. He didn’t give a shit whether they were American or Mexican.
The respite gave him enough time to reach the plane as it turned, the staircase slowly raising as it headed for the runway. He didn’t have time to worry about the other Federales as he grabbed hold of the hatch, his body lifted off the tarmac as the plane started down the runway.
The plane picked up speed, Locke’s hands slipping on the edge of the door as he struggled to maintain his grip. The runways were short on the charter side. He didn’t have much time before the plane was in the air. After that he would only have seconds before the G-force of the plane forced him to let go.
And his Kevlar vest wasn’t exactly a parachute.
The door was two-thirds of the way closed when he managed to swing his body onto it and roll into the stairwell. Then the door was closing, spilling him into the plane with a painful thud as the plane’s nose tipped into the air, the angle throwing his body down the aisle to the back of the plane.
34
He hit the small kitchen at the back of the jet with a clatter, the force of it smashing him against the steel cabinetry as the plane climbed into the air. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that made him wonder if he had a concussion. A glance up the aisle told him he couldn’t afford to wait until the plane leveled off; one of Glover’s guards was making his way toward him, trying to maintain his balance in spite of the steep angle of the plane’s climb.
Locke peeled his body from the cabinet’s magnetic hold and forced himself onto all fours. Then he grabbed onto the edge of the metal sink and pulled himself to a standing position, fighting the light-headedness that threatened to knock him back down.
The guard had his gun drawn but Locke was betting he wouldn’t use it. The risk of depressurizing the cabin was too great.
It was too great for him, too.
He reached into his vest and pulled out the taser he’d been carrying since the shooting of the guard at United Bank.
He hadn’t had to use it yet, but there was a first time for everything.
Planting his feet far apart for balance, he waited for the guard to get close enough to fire it. The leads snaked out from the device, hitting the guard when he was two feet away. He froze, his body shuddering as it fell to the ground. When he was immobile, Locke moved past him.
The plane was slowly leveling out, and he took advantage of the opportunity to glance around, trying to get a head count so he knew what he was dealing with.
But the cabin looked empty, no sign of Glover, the guards, or Glover’s mistress. Maybe the bastard had bailed on her too.
He was heading for the front of the plane, assuming Glover was hiding in the cockpit when a figure stepped into the aisle, launching himself at Locke like a missile.
The impact was unexpected, and Locke fell back into the aisle, Glover on top of him, wiry and surprisingly strong. But it wasn’t his strength Locke was worried about.
It was the gun in his hand.
He was lifting it to Locke’s head, the other hand across Locke’s throat, either oblivious or unconcerned about the danger of firing a weapon inside a pressurized cabin three thousand feet above the ground.
It was almost too easy to knock Glover’s hand free of his throat. He kneed the asshole in the groin for good measure, then smacked the gun away and rolled on top of him.
He looked a lot less certain in his new position under Locke’s body, Locke’s fist heading for his face. It was tempting to kill him. All the shit he’d done over the years was bad enough, but now he'd forced Locke to risk his life — his future with Elle.
And all for money. The most petty of all prizes for an already-rich man.
He settled for pummeling his face instead, bringing his fist down over and over again until his features were unrecognizable for the blood, his head lolling to the side as he lost consciousness.
Locke struggled to catch his breath as he rose to his feet. He was turning to face the cockpit, wondering if there were more guards hidden on the plane, when he spotted the parachutes: three of them lined up against the wall between the passenger cabin and the cockpit.
Interesting.
His mind was working the problem, trying to figure
out if they were there as a safety measure or if Glover had some kind of plan for bailing out D.B. Cooper style, as he made his way toward them. It made for an interesting puzzle, but right now his number one goal was to get back to Elle alive. He had no idea if there were more guards, but the parachutes were both a concern and a reassurance.
That they were there was a good thing.
But the fact that they were there could also mean there was more to Glover’s escape plan than he’d expected.
He detached one from the wall and started strapping it on. He was almost done when something crashed into him from behind.
He slammed into the first bank of seats, bouncing off the plush leather and crashing backward into a wall of flesh. The man was big, with shoulders as broad as Locke’s own and meaty hands that felt like sponge covered granite as they made contact with Locke’s nose.
Beyond him, Locke was dimly aware of the open cockpit door, the fact that the pilot and co-pilot seats were empty. That meant the man currently trying to knock him unconscious was the pilot.
It also meant the plane was flying itself.
That didn’t matter. Locke could fly it or jump out of it. But first he had to deal with the guy trying to beat him to a pulp.
He waited for the next punch, then ducked under the man’s arm, using it to spin him toward the back of the plane so that Locke was where the guard had been standing a moment before. It threw him off-balance, and Locke took advantage of the moment to bend the man’s arm at an unnatural angle. The bone snapped, and the man screamed in pain.
Now it was all about distraction, keeping up his assault until the pilot didn’t know where the next punch or kick was coming from. It was the best way to overcome an opponent who matched you in size, especially in close quarters where there was limited room for maneuvering.
He stomped on the man’s foot and kneed him in the groin, moving into a series of punches to the man’s face. With one arm broken, there was little he could do to stop the assault, and Locke went at it until the man’s eyes started to roll back into his head. He smashed his head against the bulkhead for good measure, shoving his limp body to the ground.
He looked around, satisfied that all the men were still down, and hurried for the cockpit. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, he studied the controls, unsurprised to see that their flight plan had them heading for Malé, Maldives.
Glover’s money would have gone a long way there.
He played with the controls, reset the destination, then stood just in time to see Glover in the door of the cockpit, pointing a gun at him.
“You don’t want to do that,” Locke said.
There was a split second where he thought Glover was going to listen, then he was ducking out of the way just in time to hear the bullet zip past his head.
There was a sucking sound as the cabin depressurized, papers flying through the air as everything pulled toward the tiny hole now in the plane’s windshield. The noise was deafening, and Glover stumbled, trying to get his footing as the plane rocked under them. Locke had only a few seconds to decide what to do.
The plane was going down. He could either try to land it or he could leave it.
It only took him a second to make a decision. He hit the button for the staircase, and the air inside the plane switched course as the door began to open. He heard it wrenched from its hinges a moment later. The plane bucked under them and Glover fell backward, holding onto one of the seats at the front of the cabin, trying not to be blown out of the plane.
Locke held onto the seat in the cockpit, determined to hit one more button before he left. The plane shuddered around him as he searched for it, trying to remember where it was on this kind of aircraft. By the time he found it the plane had tilted forty-five degrees to the side, throwing Locke against the side of the cockpit.
He hit the button on his way past it, felt the electronic hum under the plane as the cargo hold opened, the shifting of weight as the pallet slid along the bottom of the craft, the subtle lightening of the plane as the money fell into the air.
Glover was still on the ground, reaching desperately for the parachutes. Behind him, the first guard stumbled to his feet, trying to work his way toward the chutes against the wind blowing like a hurricane through the cabin.
Locke used handholds on his way to the door — the edge of the cockpit, one of the seats at the front of the cabin, the edge of the plane at the door, the sky wide and open beyond it.
He double-checked the parachute attached to his body, thought of Elle somewhere far below, waiting for him in the house by the sea.
He pictured her face as he jumped.
35
Elle sat on the beach looking out over the water, the surface broken only by the heavy surf rolling toward the sand. The day was cold, the wind biting, and she pulled the blanket she’d brought down from the house more tightly around her shoulders as she let her eyes graze the steely waters.
A large wave towered between the shallows and the edge of the cove, blocking out everything beyond it. She was surprised Locke hadn’t caught it, then understood when he rose on an even bigger wave on its tail.
He jumped effortlessly onto the board, steering it into the wave’s funnel, navigating through it as the funnel narrowed. He made it look easy, his movements graceful and effortless in spite of the wave’s size and strength. Advisories had been released about the heavy surf, but nothing could keep Locke from the water when that’s where he wanted to be.
She was still getting used to his recklessness, to the part of him that craved danger, that ran on adrenaline. She didn’t bother hoping it would change with time. That he would be less inclined to risk his life with her in it.
Lots of things changed in the world, but betting on a person changing was never a good idea.
She’d resolved to love him instead. It turned out to be the easiest thing in the world.
There had been no room for fear when he’d limped back into the house in Mexico with the others, cradling his arm, his face a mess of bruises — she’d been too relieved.
He was alive. It was all that mattered, and she’d gotten ice for his face while they waited for the private doctor Locke kept on retainer for times when he needed treatment without the records that would be kept in the States.
His arm had been broken, but the other injuries had been minor. Derek had taken a bullet to the calf and had been right as rain after the doctor dug it out and patched him up. The entire group had been drinking margaritas on the terrace that night, just like Elle promised.
Still, she’d been shaken, and Locke had held her close in bed that night, stroking her hair, promising he would disband the group if it’s what she wanted. That he would do anything to make her happy.
The words had been music to her ears for about five seconds, which was how long it took to realize she didn’t want a watered-down version of Locke Montgomery.
She wanted him. The whole man.
Reckless. Passionate. Wild.
She’d answered his offer with a kiss and proceeded to straddle him, careful not to injure his arm, ensconced in a cast.
They’d spent a couple weeks in Mexico, laying on the terrace and swimming in the cove, sleeping late, wandering Tulum, making love with the doors open until it got too cold. Then they’d come back to California and settled into the beginning of their life together.
Glover’s plane had crashed into the water off the coast of Cancun. Locke had been puzzled by reports that no bodies had been found. According to him, there had been three parachutes onboard. He’d taken one of them, leaving Glover and his men one short.
He’d worried over it for awhile, not wanting to be responsible for another death, but Glover had never appeared and no sign of him or the guards had been found. The FBI was still looking for Glover, but Locke said they would never hear from him again.
The cash was gone, blown out the back of the plane as it was falling to the ground. They both regretted its loss, their inability to return it t
o some of the people who had lost at Glover’s hands, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least it wasn’t going to a luxury retirement for the man who had caused so much misery, and Elle had been strangely satisfied to see Glover’s wife staring back at her from a supermarket tabloid over a headline screaming MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR DIVORCE. Apparently she was working to have Glover declared dead in order to take possession of what was left of their assets. The FBI wasn’t exactly cooperating.
Elle was still thinking about Glover’s family when Locke emerged from the water, dripping wet and carrying his board.
“How’s the arm?” she asked as he set the board in the sand.
“Good as new.” He shook his head playfully over her, sprinkling her with water.
“Hey!” she shrieked, covering herself with the blanket.
He laughed, lowered himself next to her on the sand, seemingly unaware of the cold. “Just keeping you on your toes.”
She leaned over him, touched her lips to his. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked innocently.
She laughed, shook her head. “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”
He smiled. “I think life’s pretty funny.”
She had to agree. Her brother was on his way home, this time for good, or so he said. Her mother was dating a man she’d met while tending to Matheson and Matheson when Elle was in Mexico. Sales at the bookstore were still falling.
But looking at Locke, she could only think that the universe seemed to know what it was doing. Change was chaotic and scary. It cast everything you thought you could count on into doubt. It made you cling to things out of fear that the alternative would be worse when most of the time, it was just different.
Rebel Love (Kings of Corruption Book 2) Page 15