A nervous man in row 18 gripping a tool pouch he hadn’t boarded with. Her vision narrowed. She stood. “Flight attendant, get the captain.”
The attendant blinked. “Ma’am, please take your seat—”
“Now,” Rhea commanded. The authority in her voice left no room for debate. Passengers watched as she approached the man, who began sweating uncontrollably. He clutched the pouch closer. Rhea locked eyes with him. “What’s in the bag?”
He bolted. Passengers screamed as he pushed down the aisle. Rhea sprinted after him—her injuries forgotten, instincts overriding pain. He lunged toward the rear galley door. She caught his arm, twisted, slammed him into the bulkhead. He dropped the pouch.
Inside: Wire cutters. Panel keys. And a scorched circuit relay. Rhea froze. Someone had tampered with the plane.
Captain Markell rushed out of the cockpit. “Calden—what the hell is happening?”
She held up the pouch. “Someone just tried to bring us down.”
Gasps rippled through the cabin. The restrained man spat, “She wasn’t supposed to be on this flight!”
Rhea’s blood ran cold. He knew her. He recognized her. He had expected her not to be here. Which meant—
This wasn’t random sabotage. It was targeted.
Markell whispered, “Lieutenant Commander… who is after you?”
But the better question was: What in her classified past had followed her into civilian life—and why now?
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
