“It’s gone,” William breathed, bracing his hands on his knees as the adrenaline crashed out of his system. “We’re clear.”
Malcolm slid down the wall to the floor, laughing a hollow, hysterical laugh. “We just wired five billion dollars. We’re broke, but we’re free.”
But on the bed, there was no celebration. Alistair’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body convulsing in a tremor that shook the heavy frame of the bed. The heart monitor began to scream–a high-pitched, erratic wail.
“His heart rate is spiking to 160,” Maya shouted, pushing past William. “The exertion triggered a sympathetic storm. He’s going into cardiac distress.”
Victoria was already there. She grabbed the syringe of sedative Maya had prepared.
“Stay with us, Alistair,” she commanded, injecting the fluid into his IV line. She brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, leaning close to his ear as his eyes fluttered.
“You did it,” she whispered, her voice fierce and tender. “You saved them. For the first time in your life, Alistair Croft, you are a hero.”
Alistair’s gaze found hers, hazy and dimming as the drug took hold. He didn’t look like a Titan. He looked like a man finally finding rest.