Bernadette waved wildly. The team stared at her, and she put her finger to her lips. Confusion washed over their faces, but Bernadette put the phone on speaker.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you, Annika. I didn’t even think you had my number.”
“You gave me your business card when you came to my dorm room in Juneau Hall, remember?”
“Ah, yes,” Bernadette said. “So I did. Why are you calling me?”
“I can see you from the airplane window. Take me off speakerphone.”
“Why?” She started sweating despite the cold and unzipped her puffy purple coat.
“Because you’ll be the only one getting on this plane.”
“You must know that we’re here to arrest you.”
Silence.
“Are you still there?”
“I thought you arrested Vivian Roundhouse.”
“We did. But then we saw you on camera. With Tommy’s dead body in the shopping cart.”
Silence.
On the tarmac, the door to the jet swung down slowly.
“Hey!” Annika yelled. “What are you—”
Two women, both in uniforms, jumped from the plane, then dashed across the asphalt.
“The pilot and the flight attendant,” Dunn exclaimed.
Costa, hand on his belt—was there a holster under his jacket?—hurried toward the pilot and flight attendant. A female figure appeared in the door, holding a phone to her ear.
“You promised that you’d believe me,” Annika said. “I guess that was a lie.”
“No—wait—Annika!”
The line went dead.
The door to the jet, as it reached the bottom of its descent, began to rise slowly.
Then the plane jerked forward—toward the runway.
She’ll try to take off anyway. And she doesn’t know there’s not enough fuel. She’ll crash into downtown Milwaukee.
Bernadette broke into a sprint.
Surprised shouts came from Dunn, Maura, Officer Lance Schroeter—but a glint was in Kep’s eye as she darted past him.
The door was almost halfway closed now, but she was racing toward the plane, and if she timed the leap right, she could make it.
The pounding of her boots against the pavement, the whine of the jet engine as it tried to turn onto the runway—was Annika a pilot in addition to a killer-for-hire, a scientist, an escort, and a chameleon?
The plane turned and Bernadette changed her angle. It was closer now, the door still partially open.
Twenty yards.
Ten. Five.
She leaped.
Her head and shoulders flew through the open space in the door, her bruised hip crashing painfully into the corner of a seat. The pain seared for a moment—she might have dislocated her shoulder, too—but she had the presence of mind to pull her knees up. Then the door was closed. And the plane was still moving.
Panting and in pain from her shoulder and her hip, she scrambled into a crouching position on the small jet.
The plane sped up. She looked out the window and the group of people—Kep standing halfway between the maintenance building and the tarmac—were receding. The jet was on the runway, accelerating.
She reached for her gun in her holster.
It wasn’t there.
Shit. It must have fallen out when she jumped into the plane.
She rubbed her forehead. What was she going to do?
The plane kept speeding up. If she didn’t decide soon, she and Annika would be crashing the plane into a city block or two.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She rushed into the cockpit and jumped forward.
Her elbow connected squarely with Annika’s temple. Annika’s head snapped to the side, then she turned back, growling.
A movement across Annika’s torso—
Bernadette jumped backward and heard the sound of ripping fabric. She looked down—Annika had sliced through her puffy coat. She couldn’t feel any cut on her skin—but she didn’t have time to check.
Annika reached up, the knife glinting from the cockpit lights.
Bernadette rushed under the blade, the top of her head hitting Annika’s chin.
A clatter of metal on metal—Annika had dropped the knife.
Bernadette jumped onto the throttle control and pulled it hard, all the way back, and the plane jerked suddenly, slamming to a stop. Bernadette lost her balance and fell into the instrument panel, smashing her injured shoulder. She heard a bang, then a bump: the tire on the landing gear blowing out.
She barked in pain, then scrambled to her feet as the plane rocked to a stop.
Annika was standing in the small cockpit too, a crazed look in her eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d try to stop me,” Annika said. Her lip was cut and blood dripped down her chin.
“I didn’t think you were the killer,” Bernadette said.
“I wasn’t supposed to kill anyone.”
“Then what happened, Annika? You’ve killed four people.”
She snarled. “It’s all your fault.”
“My fault? You killed Tommy before I even got into town.”
“If you hadn’t chased Nick down the street,” Annika said, ignoring Bernadette, “we would have killed the lampreys that night. We had to abort because of you.”
Bernadette remembered what Lightman had said. “You and Tommy were both on call on Tuesday.”
“Yeah, that’s right. But we had to switch to the next night instead. And Eddie was on call then. We couldn’t risk him getting the alarm notification.” She frowned. “Then your cool-as-ice co-worker had to follow me from my dorm to the lab.” Annika’s nostrils flared. “I thought I was pretty good at losing a tail, but I wasn’t thinking straight.” She gave Bernadette a withering stare. “If you’d stayed where you were on Tuesday night, no one else would have died.”
Bernadette kept eye contact. Where did the knife go? She wished she hadn’t dropped the gun on the runway.
Sirens. Surely Annika heard them too.
Then Annika drew her hand up—holding the knife. She launched herself at Bernadette with a scream.
Barely sidestepping the blade, Bernadette felt it catch the inside of her puffy coat.
But this time she was ready. Bernadette jerked her torso—her shoulder screaming in pain—and her arm came clear of the sleeve, the blade still embedded in the coat. Annika’s face contorted.
Bernadette kicked out and caught Annika’s leg.
Annika fell forward, face right onto the wall separating the cockpit and passenger area and collapsed onto her stomach.
Bernadette jumped onto Annika, a knee between her shoulder blades, and pulled her hands behind her back.
She was shaking from the exertion, sweat pouring off her brow. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding, and pulled herself completely free of her shredded coat.
It was over.
Bernadette let out a long, slow exhale.
“Annika Nakrivo, you’re under arrest for murder.”
The sirens were louder, now right in front of the door to the plane.
“Anything you say can be used against you…”
As she finished the Miranda rights, Bernadette reached over the narrow cabin, knee still in Annika’s back, and pushed the button for the door release.
The hydraulics whined as the door with the built-in stairs slowly lowered. Two police cruisers were fifty feet from the jet, and Officer Lamar Chesapeake was inside the cabin first, handcuffs already out, cuffing Annika’s hands behind her back. He pulled her to her feet, then turned to Bernadette.
“You okay?”
Her heart pounded and her hands shook, but she nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?”
Bernadette gave him a weak smile. “Give me a minute.”
Chesapeake nodded and led Nakrivo down the stairs.
Then Bernadette was alone on the jet. The plane was eerily quiet. There were no sounds from the runway.
She looked down at her ruined puffy purple coat, Annika’s knife caught inside it, and briefly wondered if she could expense a new winter jacket.
She sighed and closed her eyes. Would Maura think she was worthy of becoming an agent again after this? She’d certainly gone above and beyond. Although running onto the plane put herself in danger—and it didn’t serve to protect Kep either.
Bernadette opened her eyes, steeled herself, and turned toward the airplane door—a fresh wave of pain shot through her shoulder as she started down the stairs. She’d have to go to the hospital.