Chapter 4
Chapter 4
“Because your father hid the encrypted banking keys inside Emily’s childhood locket,” Cross explained frantically. “The locket she was wearing around her neck the night I pulled her out.”
A sudden red laser dot bloomed silently against the center of Cross’s wet woolen coat. Adrian reacted instantly, grabbing Brielle by the collar and driving her hard against the concrete floor.
A sharp, suppressed crack echoed through the warehouse as a high-caliber round shattered the single lantern. Cross gasped once, collapsing backward into the shadows with a muffled thud.
Automatic gunfire erupted from the upper iron catwalks, chewing through concrete pillars and wooden crates around them. Adrian shielded Brielle’s body completely with his own, returning fire with lethal precision.
Marcus and the Moretti tactical team deployed smoke canisters, filling the lower floor with thick grey fog. “Sniper on the northern crane tower!” Marcus shouted through his tactical headset.
Adrian pulled Brielle to her feet, staying crouched behind an overturned iron industrial hopper. “We need to extract Cross now if he still draws breath,” Brielle yelled over the gunfire.
“He is gone, Brielle,” Adrian said, pointing toward where Cross lay motionless under a widening dark pool. “Dominic’s hunters were tracking him all evening to cut the chain.”
“Then Emily is alone at that convent!” Brielle cried, grabbing Adrian’s tactical vest with both hands. “If they knew Cross was here, they already have men driving north!”
Adrian fired three rapid rounds toward the catwalk, dropping a masked shooter from the high railing. “Marcus, radio the private airstrip! Have the chopper fueled and ready on pad two!”
They sprinted through the dense smoke toward the warehouse loading bay, bullets ricocheting wildly off structural steel. Adrian kept his weapon raised, firing defensive bursts until they breached the exterior doors.
The armored SUVs were idling with doors swung open, tires throwing wet gravel as they accelerated away. Brielle tumbled into the back seat, gasping for air while Marcus slammed the heavy door.
“Dominic’s cell intercepted our movement through the city,” Marcus reported, checking his digital monitors rapidly. “They tapped the municipal traffic grid around the South Side three hours ago.”
Adrian reloaded his sidearm with calm, mechanical efficiency, his pulse never appearing to race. “Then Dominic has someone inside the municipal emergency dispatch office feeding him real-time camera data.”
Brielle looked down at her hands, finding them covered in fresh grit and smeared blood. “Eleanor and Sophia are alone at the penthouse. What if Dominic sends men there too?”
“My penthouse is protected by thirty veteran soldiers and reinforced steel shutters,” Adrian replied firmly. “My family is secure there, but your sister currently has zero protection.”
The convoy tore onto the interstate heading northwest toward the private airfield near Schaumburg. The rain intensified, sweeping across the windshield like endless sheets of dark liquid glass.
“How far is Lake Geneva from the airfield?” Brielle asked, leaning forward against the front console. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird demanding escape.
“Twenty minutes by air if the storm permits clearance,” Marcus answered, coordinating with their flight crew. “The pilot is warming the twin turbines right now on runway four.”
Brielle closed her eyes for a fleeting second, picturing Emily as an innocent six-year-old child. The crushed yellow wildflower Sophia had carried flashed in her mind, linking past and present.
“She thinks I died in that fire,” Brielle whispered, opening her eyes to look at Adrian. “She spent eleven years believing she was entirely alone in this brutal world.”
“When this night concludes, she will know you fought through hell to reach her,” Adrian answered softly. His hand covered hers over the console, warm, heavy, and reassuringly strong.
They reached the private airfield within fifteen minutes, passing through high security gates without slowing down. The twin-engine helicopter sat roaring on the tarmac, its rotors beating back the rain.
Adrian escorted Brielle across the flooded tarmac, shielding her head with his arm against the rotor wash. They climbed into the warm, illuminated cabin, strapped in, and lifted off immediately.
Chicago’s skyline vanished beneath a dense blanket of grey cloud as the helicopter banked hard northwest. Below them, ribbons of highway traffic crawled like tiny glowing embers through the downpour.
Marcus handed Brielle a laminated satellite map showing a secluded stone convent bordered by dense pine forests. “Saint Jude’s Sanctuary. Twelve elderly sisters and six civilian groundskeepers reside there.”
“Does Dominic know the exact layout?” Adrian asked, studying the thermal terrain overlays on the screen. He traced the single access road winding through the dense Wisconsin timberline.
“Cross kept the location on an encrypted drive recovered from his car,” Marcus stated grimly. “Our tech team cracked it two minutes ago, but another IP address accessed it first.”
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“How much head start do they possess?” Brielle asked, her voice tightening with dread. Her knuckles turned white against the nylon safety harness holding her into the seat.
—END OF Chapter 4,
