Chapter 9 - Cold Waters
Before Cross’s men could open fire, a blinding flash pierced the riverbank from the trees above. A high-caliber rifle shot cracked through the night, shattering the wheelhouse spotlight into sparks and plunging the shore back into darkness.
"Move!" Clara yelled, shoving Victor and Julian toward a concrete drainage pipe nestled in the bank.
Another crack echoed from the tree line, and Cross let out a muffled shout of pain as a round clipped his shoulder, sending him staggering back into the cabin. The boat's crew panicked, returning erratic automatic fire into the tree line without a clear target.
"Who is shooting?" Victor shouted over the roar of gunfire, crouching with Julian in the drainage alcove.
"Reinforcements I called before the power was cut," Clara said, firing two suppressive shots toward the boat’s deck. "Sarah had a fail-safe network. People who owed her their lives."
The pontoon boat’s engines revved violently into reverse as the crew prioritized saving their wounded employer. Water churned white and frothy, pushing the vessel out into the main current, drifting away from the shore as tracer rounds chased it down the river.
From the wooded ridge above the bank, a silhouette moved swiftly downward through the brush. The sniper slid down the muddy embankment, rifle slung across his back. As he stepped into the moonlight, Victor’s eyes widened in disbelief.
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It was Marcus, his personal chauffeur and former Marine who had allegedly retired three months ago due to ill health.
"Sir," Marcus said, breathing steadily as he offered a scarred hand to pull Victor to his feet. "Car is waiting on Route 9. We need to leave before state troopers track the gunfire."
