Chapter 9 - The Emerald Docks
Eighteen hours later, dawn broke over the industrial skyline of Seattle. A heavy blanket of charcoal fog rolled off the waters of Elliott Bay, wrapping the giant shipping cranes of Terminal 18 in ghostly shrouds.
The river cutter had carried the four siblings into the harbor unseen, docking at a quiet, rusted slipway reserved for independent crabbers.
Elena was dressed in heavy oilskin overalls Tristan had stolen from a supply shed, her hair tied back in a messy knot beneath a woolen watch cap. The bruises on her face were turning a deep, plum purple, but the helplessness that had paralyzed her in Julian’s ballroom was beginning to recede. In its place was something harder. Something forged in Montgomery iron.
""This is the slip,"" Leo whispered, checking a handheld tablet shielded beneath his jacket. ""Berth 42. She works the morning shift as the lead crane operator and inventory auditor.""
They moved between towering stacks of shipping containers, their boots splashing through oily puddles.
At the base of a four-hundred-foot gantry crane stood a small, corrugated-metal office. Inside, through the condensation on the glass, a young woman sat behind a metal desk cluttered with shipping manifests and radio sets.
She wore a faded canvas Carhartt jacket with grease stains on the cuffs. Her auburn hair was pulled into a high ponytail, exposing a sharp, elegant jawline that was a mirror image of Elena’s. She was laughing into a two-way radio, tossing a steel ballpoint pen casually between her fingers.
Clara Stone. Or rather, Evelyn Montgomery.
Elena stopped, her breath catching in her throat. ""She has Mom's eyes. Exactly like the portrait in the study.""
""Stay back,"" Cole said quietly. ""She doesn't know who we are. If we walk in there looking like a squad of refugees, she’ll hit the silent alarm.""
""I'll go,"" Elena said, stepping forward.
""El, no,"" Tristan warned. ""Julian’s advance team could already be watching this pier.""
""Look at her, Tristan,"" Elena said, her voice steady for the first time in two days. ""She’s alone. She thinks she's an orphan. If three hulking men with concealed weapons corner her, she’ll fight or run. She needs to see her sister.""
Cole studied Elena's face for a long moment, seeing the determination burning beneath her battered features. He slowly nodded. ""Tristan, take the crane platform. Give us eyes on the perimeter. Leo, jam local cell service within three blocks. If someone dials 911 or a private frequency, kill it.""
Elena took a deep breath, adjusted the heavy jacket around her shoulders, and walked toward the small metal door.
She raised her hand and knocked twice on the glass.
Inside, the young woman set down her pen, turned down the radio volume, and slid open the door. ""We’re closed for general cargo until eight, ma'am. You need the dispatcher in building—""
Clara froze.
Her eyes drifted from Elena's face down to the torn pastel fabric visible beneath the open collar of the work coat, and then back up to Elena's hazel eyes. A strange, instinctual chill passed between them.
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""Who are you?"" Clara asked, her hand slowly moving beneath the edge of the desk toward a heavy steel wrench.
""My name is Elena,"" she said softly. ""Our father was Thomas Montgomery. And you have five minutes before the men who want to kill you burn this dock to the ground.""
