Chapter 9 - The Tide and the Truth
The cold salt air of the Atlantic rushed into our lungs as we stumbled through the narrow rock-hewn tunnel that sloped downward toward the crashing surf below. The roar of the waves echoed against the jagged stone walls, drowning out the faint sounds of gunfire and shouting from deep within the Mercer estate.
“Watch your step—the rocks are slick!” I shouted over the din of the ocean, keeping one hand locked around Maeve’s arm while holding my Sig Sauer in the other.
“I can walk!” she panted, her canvas sneakers slipping against the wet stone as we descended into the gaping mouth of the seaside cavern.
The cave was a natural subterranean grotto where the Atlantic surged during high tide, its floor currently covered by two feet of freezing, swirling foam that soaked through our shoes and dragged at our ankles.
“Noah!” Maeve screamed, her voice cracking as she waded into the icy water toward a rusted iron ladder that led up to a dry stone ledge near the back of the cave.
“Quiet!” I hissed, scanning the shadows with my weapon raised.
She didn't listen. She scrambled up the iron rungs with frantic, desperate energy, her hands scraping against the rusted metal until she reached a small, recessed utility alcove cut into the rock wall.
Hidden behind a rotting wooden crate sat the vintage wicker laundry basket Mrs. Higgins had used earlier in the day.
Maeve dropped to her knees, tearing back the wool blanket.
Noah was inside.
He was awake, his tiny face flushed with cold, but his big blue eyes blinked up at her with quiet confusion rather than fear. He hadn't even started crying.
Maeve scooped him up into her arms, pressing him against her chest with a sob of pure, ragged relief, burying her face in his damp knit cap.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking violently as she kissed his forehead over and over again. “I’ve got you, little man. You’re safe.”
I stood guard at the mouth of the tunnel, my pistol aimed out toward the crashing white waves, listening for the sound of boots on the stone. But the tactical team was trapped behind the reinforced bulkhead door we had locked from the inside, and Ethan’s loyal enforcers would have secured the upper levels by now.
The silence of the grotto settled over us, broken only by the rhythmic roar of the ocean and the soft, steady breathing of the baby.
Maeve turned around slowly, holding Noah against her chest, her oversized gray sweater soaked through with salt water, her face bruised and bleeding slightly from a fresh scrape along her jawline.
She looked at me across the dim, echoing cavern.
“You could have run,” she said quietly, her voice steadying as the adrenaline began to fade from her system. “You have a private jet. You have billions of dollars. You could have walked out of that tunnel and left me and the baby to deal with Sterling’s men.”
I lowered my pistol, letting the heavy metal slide forward into its holster. I walked slowly across the slippery stone floor until I stood three feet from her.
“My brother is dead,” I said, my voice barely audible over the surf. “His wife was murdered. And my nephew was hidden in a rat hole in Dorchester by a woman who risked her life every single day to keep him breathing when everyone else had written him off.”
I looked down at Noah, who reached out a tiny, chubby hand from beneath his blanket, his fingers catching on the lapel of my wet suit jacket.
“I’m a Mercer, Maeve,” I said, raising my eyes to meet her fierce, exhausted green gaze. “We don't abandon our own. And we certainly don't let people who hurt our family draw another breath on this earth.”
Maeve stared at me for a long, quiet moment. The fierce, defensive wall that had kept her alive for ninety-three days finally began to crumble, replaced by a profound, overwhelming weariness.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, her head dropping against Noah’s soft cap.
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“What happens now?” she whispered.
“Now,” I said, turning back toward the tunnel entrance where the distant sound of Ethan’s voice calling my name echoed down the stone corridor, “we go back upstairs. And then I dismantle the Sterling Corporation piece by piece until there is nothing left of Richard Sterling except a footnote in a federal indictment.”
