Chapter 6 - The Cleaners
Christopher moved on pure instinct.
He didn't scream. He didn't hesitate. He dropped to the floor, swept Emma off the cot with one arm, and shoved Yvette behind the heavy iron cast-iron woodstove in the corner of the cabin.
"Stay down and don't make a sound," he hissed.
Through the darkness, the front door handle jiggled.
The state trooper guarding the front porch had gone silent. A heavy thud against the exterior wall confirmed Christopher's worst fears.
Estelle hadn't waited for the police to build their case. She had mobilized her own private cleanup crew to erase the evidence before the state warrants could be executed.
The cabin door was kicked inward with a violent crash.
Two figures silhouetted against the flash of lightning stepped through the frame, wearing tactical gear and night-vision optics. The red laser dot of a suppressed submachine gun swept across the empty cot, then moved toward the blood pressure monitor.
"Target isn't in the bed," a low, gravelly voice whispered over a tactical headset. "Search the perimeter. Kill the witnesses, retrieve the ledger."
Christopher held his breath, pressing Emma's face tightly against his chest to muffle any accidental whimper. The little girl stirred slightly in her drug-induced sleep, her forehead hot against his collarbone.
One of the mercenaries stepped toward the kitchen counter, his combat boots crunching on broken glass from the shattered window. The red laser crept along the floorboards, inching closer to the cast-iron stove.
Two feet away.
One foot away.
Christopher’s right hand found the heavy brass poker resting in the woodstove’s tool rack.
When the mercenary’s boot crossed the edge of the shadow, Christopher lunged upward with everything he had, driving the pointed end of the brass poker into the operative's knee joint.
A muffled scream of agony tore through the mercenary's mask as his leg buckled.
Christopher grabbed the barrel of the suppressed weapon, twisting it violently downward before the man could pull the trigger. A burst of silenced rounds ripped into the pine floorboards. Christopher slammed his elbow into the man’s throat, knocking him backward into the kitchen table.
"Over here!" the second shooter shouted, pivoting his weapon toward the dark corner.
Christopher threw himself over Emma and Yvette just as the second gunman opened fire. Splinters of wood and plaster exploded in the dark, raining down on their backs.
Click. Click.
The second shooter's magazine ran dry.
Before the mercenary could reload, a deafening blast shattered the cabin's front window. The gunman jerked violently and collapsed face-first onto the rug.
Through the blown-out doorway stepped Captain Vance, holding a smoking tactical shotgun, flanked by four state police officers in full body armor.
"Clear!" Vance roared, sweeping the room with a high-powered tactical flashlight. The beam illuminated the dead operative on the floor, then settled on Christopher shielding his daughter.
"Christopher, are you hit?" Vance asked, rushing forward to check Emma's pulse.
"We're alive," Christopher panted, spitting blood from a split lip. He reached into his coat and held up the blood-stained ledger. "Take this. It has the payout for Rachel's murder and every corrupt official on Estelle's payroll."
Vance took the book, his jaw set in stone. "This ends tonight. We just raided the Pierce mansion."
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Christopher looked up, his eyes wild. "Did you arrest her?"
Vance shook his head grimly. "The mansion was empty, Chris. Estelle’s private jet took off from the county airfield twenty minutes ago. And she took Juliette with her."
