Chapter 6 - The Siege of Cliffside
I returned to the Mercer estate just before four in the morning. The thunderstorm had broken, leaving behind a cold, dripping fog that rolled in off the Atlantic, wrapping the stone towers of the mansion in a thick, ghostly shroud.
The moment I stepped through the front foyer, Ethan hurried down the grand staircase, his face grim.
“Boss,” he said, catching my arm before I could head toward the lower vaults. “We’ve got movement at the perimeter.”
I stopped dead. “What kind of movement?”
“Thermal imaging on the outer wall picked up three unidentified individuals scaling the northern cliffside near the old boat-house,” Ethan reported rapidly, his voice clipped and precise. “They’re not local street muscle. They’re moving with military discipline. Tactical gear, suppressed weapons, night-vision optics.”
My blood ran cold.
Richard Sterling hadn't wasted any time. He knew that the moment I walked into his office and mentioned the shipping manifests, his window to eliminate loose ends had shrunk from weeks to hours.
“Maeve and the baby?” I demanded.
“Secure in the sub-basement,” Ethan said. “I doubled the guard detail down there the minute you left for the city. But if these guys breach the main house, the basement is a kill box with only one exit.”
“Not if I get to them first,” I said, drawing the Sig Sauer P226 from my shoulder holster and checking the chamber with a sharp, familiar clack.
“I’ve got men sweeping the ground floor—”
“No,” I cut him off, my eyes narrowing. “Sterling didn't send a hit squad to massacre the entire estate. He sent a surgical team to retrieve the baby and eliminate anyone who knows about the card. They want Noah back, and they want the witness dead.”
I turned and sprinted toward the service staircase leading down to the private vaults, taking the steps three at a time.
The heavy steel door to the sub-basement was standing ajar.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
I shoved the door open with my shoulder, raising my weapon.
The room was empty.
The narrow cot was rumpled, the gray blanket tossed carelessly across the mattress. The baby bottle sat half-empty on the nightstand, still warm to the touch.
“Maeve!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the damp concrete walls.
No answer.
May you like
Only the distant, muffled sound of gunfire echoing from the upper levels of the estate—a sharp, suppressed thip-thip-thip cutting through the thick walls.
They were already inside.
