Chapter 4 - The Safehouse in the Pines
The drive was an agonizing blur of blinding rain, sharp turns, and the metallic stench of fresh blood. Nora knelt between the front seats, her hands pressed desperately against the wad of clean laundry she had jammed into the wound near Thomas's collarbone. His skin had gone clammy, but his hands remained glued to the wheel until the pavement gave way to gravel, and the gravel to a narrow dirt track bordered by towering evergreens.
They arrived at a secluded cabin nestled deep in the pines. The structure was dark, masked by overgrown hemlocks and an unlit porch.
""Grab the duffel bag from under the seat,"" Thomas grunted, killing the headlights before cutting the engine. He leaned heavily against the steering wheel, his breathing shallow and ragged. ""Code for the lockbox by the front door is 0-9-1-4. Go first.""
Nora didn't hesitate. Shielding Maya beneath the technician jacket, she carried the heavy duffel and ran through the downpour to the porch. Her fingers were numb, but she punched the four digits into the keypad. The electronic bolt clicked open.
She hurried inside, flicked on a dim entryway lamp, and turned back to see Thomas dragging himself up the steps. He looked like a ghost, his long coat soaked with water and gore. He stumbled through the doorway, collapsed against the wall, and slid to the hardwood floor, leaving a dark streak along the cream-painted baseboard.
""Lock it,"" he wheezed. ""Drop the crossbar.""
She obeyed, sliding the heavy iron bar across the timber door. The house was silent save for the drumming of rain on the tin roof and the ticking of an old grandfather clock in the corner.
""There's a medical kit... hall closet,"" Thomas murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. ""Suture needle. Antiseptic. Quick-clot.""
Nora set Maya down in a deep armchair lined with wool blankets, ensuring the baby was warm and secure before racing to the closet. She returned with a hard plastic trauma box, kneeling beside the fallen man. With trembling hands, she cut away the fabric of his shirt. The bullet had torn through the meat of his shoulder, missing the artery by centimeters, but the wound was ugly and bleeding steadily.
Using the skills she had picked up working as an orderly during nursing school, Nora packed the wound with hemostatic gauze, ignoring his sharp intake of breath as the chemicals burned into the tissue.
""You're not just a hired gun,"" Nora said softly as she stitched the edges closed, trying to distract him from the pain. ""Julian said you were a phantom. He was terrified when you hit him. Who are you to Arthur?""
Thomas let out a weak, raspy chuckle that turned into a cough. ""Arthur... saved my life twenty years ago. In Prague. I owed him a blood debt. When he faked his death to protect you from the Vance family, he made me swear one thing.""
""What?""
""That if they ever realized his bloodline survived through you... I would burn everything to the ground to keep you safe."" Thomas turned his head, his gaze piercing hers. ""Your father didn't run away because he was a coward, Nora. He ran because the Vance syndicate wanted his research. And because you are the legal sole heir to forty percent of their corporate shares.""
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Nora dropped the needle. Before she could speak, the cabin’s power abruptly cut out. The hum of the refrigerator died, plunging the room into pitch darkness.
Outside, a dry twig snapped beneath the steady rhythm of the rain.
