Chapter 8 - The Cornered Wolf
"You really should have taken the hint, Mark," Julian said softly, gesturing slightly with his free hand.
The two guards stepped forward, keeping their weapons trained on Callahan’s center mass.
"Drop the belt, Sheriff," the taller guard commanded. "Slowly."
Callahan didn't reach for his gun. He kept his hands visible, hovering at chest height, but his posture remained relaxed, balanced on the balls of his feet. "You shoot a sheriff in your living room, Julian, and not even the Supreme Court can keep you out of a maximum-security cell."
"A sheriff?" Julian smiled, a terrifyingly vacant expression. "Who said anything about shooting a sheriff? All they will find tomorrow morning is a tragic fire. A heroic sheriff who broke into a burning mansion trying to salvage property, only to be trapped by the flames alongside my poor, grieving mother."
Eleanor struggled against Julian’s grip, gasping in horror. "Julian! Have you completely lost your mind? I am your mother!"
"You're a liability," Julian snapped, throwing her roughly onto the leather sofa. "You stood there at the gala and let everyone see Clara’s belly. You could have pulled her dress down. You could have called our doctor. Instead, you stood there like an idiot and handed my political career to the wolves."
Julian stepped closer to Callahan, his eyes dark with unhinged malice. "The trust land belongs to my son. And as his surviving father and legal guardian, I will control every single acre. Clara will be declared unfit—traumatized, post-partum psychosis, a danger to herself. She will spend the rest of her life in an asylum out of state."
"You're forgetting one thing, Julian," Callahan said calmly.
Julian tilted his head. "And what is that?"
"You hired cheap muscle."
In a split second, Callahan struck.
He lunged forward, not drawing his gun, but grabbing the barrel of the taller guard's pistol, deflecting it upward just as a deafening bang shattered the room. The bullet tore into the ornate plaster ceiling. Callahan slammed his elbow into the guard's jaw, pivoting his body to use the stunned man as a shield against the second guard's line of fire.
Crack!
The second guard fired, but the round buried itself into his partner's tactical vest. Callahan drew his Glock from his hip with fluid muscle memory and fired two rounds into the second guard's thigh and shoulder. The man collapsed with a scream, dropping his weapon onto the rug.
Julian didn't hesitate. Realizing the tide had turned, he snatched the two external hard drives from the open safe and bolted through the shattered French doors into the pouring rain.
"Mark! Don't let him leave!" Eleanor screamed, holding her bruised wrist.
Callahan kicked the fallen weapons away from the groaning guards and burst out onto the terrace.
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Across the lawn, Julian was sprinting toward his black luxury sedan. The engine roared to life as Julian threw himself behind the wheel. The car accelerated across the wet grass, tires churning up mud, hurtling directly toward the main highway.
Callahan didn't run to his cruiser. He drew a deep breath, raised his service weapon, aligned his sights with the sedan's rear left tire, and squeezed the trigger.
