Chapter 8 - Footsteps in the Blackout
Elena didn’t breathe. Every instinct honed from years in high-stakes operating rooms took over, freezing the panic in her veins into liquid ice.
She reached down blind into the bassinet, sliding her left arm beneath Leo’s tiny head and spine, scooping him against her chest without making a single rustle of fabric. With her right hand, she reached across the stone workbench and closed her fingers around the heavy iron base of a vintage brass microscope.
The footsteps paused at the bottom of the stairs.
A tiny green beam of an infrared night-vision optic swept across the stone ceiling, painting the vaulted arches in eerie phosphorescence.
The intruder was moving toward the center of the cellar, where the centrifuge still clicked softly as it coasted to a halt.
Elena backed into the shadows between two immense oak wine casks. The baby stirred against her chest, letting out a tiny, sleepy grunt.
The green beam snapped instantly toward her corner.
""Little doctor,"" a low, gravelly voice whispered into the darkness. ""Hand over the baby, and you get to die quickly.""
Elena didn't answer. She hurled the heavy brass microscope toward the opposite wall.
CRASH!
The iron smashed into a shelf of vintage port bottles. Glass shattered, liquid spraying like shrapnel across the stones.
The assassin instinctively spun and fired two suppressed rounds into the darkness—thwip, thwip!—the slugs biting deep into the wooden casks.
In that split second of muzzle flash, Elena darted around the left pillar, sprinting silently toward the cellar's emergency dumbwaiter shaft.
Footsteps pounded behind her. The killer realized the trick. ""Bitch!""
A strong hand grabbed the lace collar of her maid uniform from behind, ripping the fabric with a violent jerk. Elena spun, slamming her elbow backward with everything she had, driving her joint into the man’s throat.
The killer gagged, stumbling back. But before Elena could reach the stairs, a second figure emerged from the doorway above.
A bright tactical flashlight snapped on, blinding her.
BANG!
A deafening gunshot roared through the stone cellar. The assassin behind Elena collapsed forward with a bloody hole through his forehead, crashing lifelessly onto the concrete floor.
Standing at the top of the stairs, smoking gun in hand, was Julian Vance.
Before Elena could catch her breath, Julian sprinted down the steps, threw his massive arm around her shoulders, and pulled her and the baby tightly against his body.
""I have you,"" Julian whispered, his heart hammering violently against Elena's shoulder. ""I've got both of you.""
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Elena looked down at the dead assassin. On the man’s wrist was a distinctive tattoo: a black viper coiled around an anchor.
""That's Marcus's personal security detail,"" Julian said, his voice deadly cold. ""My half-brother is in on this.""
