Chapter 8 - Crossfire
Detective Vance didn't reach for his gun. He froze, his hands raised in the air, his weathered face draining of color under the fluorescent clinic lights.
""Mark, lower the weapon,"" Vance said, his voice hoarse with panic. ""I swear to God, I didn't know.""
""Your sister,"" Mark hissed, taking a step forward, the iron barrel never wavering from Vance’s forehead. ""Clara disappeared three months ago. You told me she moved to Seattle for a nursing job!""
""That’s what she told me!"" Vance shouted, sweat dripping down his temple. ""She sent me postcards! She called me every Sunday! If Eleanor used Clara as a surrogate, she did it off the books. Clara had mountains of medical debt after our mother died. She would have been desperate enough to take their money.""
Elena stepped between the two men, her arms outstretched. ""Stop it! Both of you! Look outside!""
Red laser dots danced across the frosted glass windows of the clinic.
""Down!"" Mark roared, grabbing Elena and tackling her behind the heavy oak desk just as the windows exploded inward under a hail of automatic gunfire.
Shattered glass showered over them like hail. Vance dove behind a steel filing cabinet, drawing his Glock and firing blind through the shattered frame. Outside, two black SUVs had boxed in their vehicles. Armed men in unmarked tactical gear were advancing down the clinic corridor, suppressing the room with relentless precision.
""They're Julian’s sweepers!"" Vance yelled over the deafening cacophony of gunshots. ""They didn't just come to kill Larson. They knew we’d follow the paper trail here!""
Mark peeked over the desk. Leo was still in the armored SUV outside, protected by his personal security detail, but they were vastly outgunned. Through the shattered window, Mark saw an RPG launcher being hoisted onto the shoulder of a gunman across the street, aiming directly at the armored SUV where his son was hidden.
""Thomas! Move the truck!"" Mark screamed into his tactical radio.
There was no answer.
Mark threw the heavy mahogany chair through the remains of the window, vaulting outside into the rain with reckless fury. He fired three precise shots into the RPG operator before the man could pull the trigger. The mercenary collapsed, the rocket detonating harmlessly against an empty brick wall.
A black SUV peeled out from the alleyway, tires screaming. The rear door flew open, and a figure leaned out, wearing a tactical mask. The figure threw a smoking canister into the clinic before firing a single sniper round.
The bullet struck Vance squarely in the chest.
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Mark lunged to catch the detective as he crumpled onto the wet sidewalk. Vance coughed violently, blood spilling over his lips, but his fingers grabbed Mark’s lapel with supernatural strength.
""Clara..."" Vance wheezed, his eyes rolling back. ""She's not in Seattle... The lighthouse... Black Rock... She's still alive...""
