Chapter 4 - The Betrayal at Terminal 3
Word Count Goal: ~3,500 words
The rain lashed against the windshield of Detective Vance’s unmarked cruiser as we tore down the highway toward Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, sirens blaring.
My head was spinning. The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together in the worst possible way.
Mark hadn't just faked his deployment. He had spent the last six months living in my mother’s backyard shed, using her Wi-Fi network and my compromised laptop to commit massive corporate fraud under my name. My mother and sister hadn't just helped him—they were receiving cuts of the stolen millions.
And Noah?
Noah had wandered into the backyard two nights ago, looking for his lost toy, and found his father sitting in the dark shed surrounded by monitors and stolen passports. To keep the secret from getting out, Mark had beaten our six-year-old son and locked him in the cold, windowless structure, leaving him to bleed out while my mother and sister turned a blind eye.
"We have TSA on high alert," Vance said into his radio, his eyes fixed on the slick highway ahead. "All international gates are locked down. If he's using your passport, he's going to try to clear customs for a non-extradition country."
"He won't use my passport," I said suddenly, realization washing over me like ice water.
Vance glanced at me. "Your sister said—"
"Madison lied to stall us!" I shouted. "Mark doesn't look like me! He can't use a woman's passport at a customs kiosk! He’s using Noah's passport!"
Vance slammed his foot harder on the accelerator. "Dispatch, target may be traveling with a minor's documentation or posing as a single father! Check all outgoing flights to South America immediately!"
Ten minutes later, we screeched to a halt outside Terminal 3. TSA officers and federal agents were already rushing through the glass doors.
I jumped out of the car and ran inside, ignoring the stares of hundreds of travelers clutching suitcases. The bright fluorescent lights of the departure hall dazzled my eyes as I scanned the crowd frantically.
"Emily, stay behind me!" Vance commanded, drawing his sidearm and keeping it concealed beneath his jacket.
"There!" I yelled, pointing toward Gate D22.
A tall man in a dark trench coat, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses despite the indoor lighting, was standing in the fast-track customs line. He was holding a small child's hand—a boy wearing a dark hoodie pulled low over his face, holding a stuffed dinosaur.
My heart plummeted into my shoes.
Mark hadn't just tried to frame me.
He had taken a decoy child to clear security without raising suspicion.
"Mark!" I roared across the terminal.
The man in the trench coat froze.
He slowly turned around. Through his sunglasses, I saw the smirk spread across his face—the same handsome, cold smile that had duped me for seven years.
May you like
He let go of the little boy's hand and pulled a small black remote control out of his pocket.
"Don't take another step, Emily," Mark said, his voice carrying clearly over the ambient noise of the airport terminal. "Or I press this button, and the thermal charges inside your house explode, taking half your neighborhood—and all the police officers standing outside—with it."
