Chapter 13 - The Trap Springs Shut
For one terrifying split-second, nobody moved. Cole’s hand hovered over his crowbar, his brain desperately trying to calculate whether he could overpower me before I sounded an alarm. Lena’s eyes darted frantically around the kitchen, her chest heaving as realization dawned upon her that they had walked directly into a slaughterhouse of their own making.
"You stupid son of a bitch!" Lena shrieked, her theatrical panic instantly returning as she pointed a shaking finger at me. "Cole, grab him! Grab the kid upstairs right now before the cops show up!"
Cole snarled, his fingers finally wrapping around the heavy steel crowbar at his waist, ripping it free with a metallic schwing that echoed off the granite countertops. "You should have stayed out of our way, Miller," he roared, lunging forward across the kitchen island like a rabid animal.
Before Cole could even clear the countertop, the front and back doors of the house exploded inward with a deafening crash of splintering wood and thunderous boot-falls.
"FBI! POLICE! DOWN ON THE GROUND! DROP THE WEAPON!"
A half-dozen heavily armed tactical officers clad in black ballistic vests and helmets swarmed into the house from every direction, their assault rifles instantly training laser sights directly onto Cole’s chest.
Cole stopped mid-stride, his face draining of all color as he stared down the barrels of six automatic weapons. The heavy iron crowbar slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.
"On your knees! Hands behind your head! Do it now!" a tactical officer bellowed, tackling Cole hard against the kitchen island and slamming his face down onto the granite surface with expert precision, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists in a blur of motion.
Lena didn't even try to run. She simply collapsed onto her knees near the pantry door, her hands flying up to cover her head as she began to sob hysterically, rocking back and forth while whispering frantic, incoherent excuses to empty air.
Detective Vance stepped into the kitchen through the back sliding glass door, holstering her service pistol with a cool, satisfied smirk. She walked over to where Cole was being hauled roughly to his feet by two tactical officers.
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"Cole Miller and Lena Scott," Vance recited clearly, reading them their rights as the handcuffs clicked into place. "You are under federal arrest for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, breaking and entering, and violation of interstate protective orders. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
I let out a long, shuddering breath, setting my coffee mug down on the counter as the overwhelming weight of the past three years finally lifted off my shoulders for good. The nightmare was truly over.
