Chapter 6 - THE CORNERED RAT
The iron security gates of the Ashford estate were fifteen feet high, made of solid wrought iron, and backed by high-voltage electrical wires and motion-tracking sensors.
Outside the western boundary wall, along a secluded, tree-lined alley on Beacon Hill, an unmarked police cruiser sat idling in the shadows.
Derek Lawson sat in the driver's seat.
He was out of his mind.
He had spent the last four hours drinking straight bourbon from a hip flask, his mind spiraling into a dark, violent psychosis. He had lost his badge, his gun, his career, and his freedom. He knew the federal marshals were coming for him; his lawyer had already warned him that the indictment was ironclad.
He had nothing left to lose.
In his lap lay a black market, unregistered 9mm pistol he had taken from an evidence locker six months ago, equipped with an extended magazine.
"You ruined me, Harper," Derek snarled to himself, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the heavy iron gate down the alley. "You think you can sleep with a mob boss and walk away from me? You belong to me!"
He pulled the slide of the pistol back, chambering a round with a sharp, heavy CLACK.
He knew he couldn't storm the front entrance. The Ashford estate was defended like a military fortress. But Derek had worked the Beacon Hill precinct for four years; he knew the old underground utility tunnels that ran beneath the historic properties along Elm Street.
Ten minutes later, Derek slipped into a rusting maintenance hatch hidden behind a dumpster in the alleyway.
Using a tactical flashlight, he crawled through the dark, damp brick drainage tunnel that passed directly beneath the estate's western perimeter wall. The tunnel smelled of sewage, wet soil, and rotting leaves, but Derek didn't care. The alcohol in his blood burned away all reason, leaving only a single, blinding obsession:
Find Harper. Kill Gabriel Ashford. Take what’s mine.
He reached the end of the drainage line—a rusted iron grate that opened into the estate's lower basement utility room beneath the garage.
Using a heavy crowbar from his belt, Derek wedged the metal tool between the rusted bars, straining his heavy muscles until the old iron bolts snapped with a loud, ringing sound!
The grate popped open.
Derek scrambled through the opening, dropping onto the wet concrete floor of the Ashford basement, raising his pistol into the dark.
He was inside.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breath coming in ragged, erratic gasps as he crept toward the concrete staircase leading up to the main floor.
He didn't notice the tiny red laser light that flickered across his leather jacket from a motion sensor near the ceiling.
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He didn't notice the silent alarm flashing red on the security monitors in the central control room three floors above.
And he didn't know that Gabriel Ashford was already waiting for him.
