Chapter 14 - The Empty Sanctuary
Vincent's blood ran colder than the mountain wind.
""Clara!"" he yelled, his voice cracking with a panic that no bullet or crash could ever induce.
The reinforced vault was quiet. Lena was slumped against the wall, unconscious, a small bruise purpling along her jaw. On the small steel table sat Clara's medical bag, completely untouched. Her spare calipers and pediatric medication were neatly stacked where Vincent had ordered them left.
Vincent rushed to Lena's side, pressing his fingers to her neck. Her pulse was strong. He lightly tapped her cheek until her eyes fluttered open, wide with sheer terror.
""Mr. Morelli..."" she gasped, clutching her head. ""I—I'm so sorry. The wall... the secret panel...""
Vincent snapped his head around. Behind the main filing cabinet, an old emergency escape conduit—one that predated his takeover of the estate, something Michael had built decades ago—stood ajar.
""Who took her?"" Vincent demanded, his hands trembling as he hauled Lena up. ""Who opened the conduit?""
""Mrs. Gable,"" Lena sobbed. ""She didn't run from the estate. She hid in the maintenance tunnels under the kitchen. When the helicopter crashed, she came up through the conduit with a key card. She took Clara. She said... she said if she couldn't sell the girl to Julian, she’d take her to the buyers across the border.""
Vincent stood up, his jaw set like iron. Mrs. Gable had played everyone. She had used Julian Vance's greed and Vincent's rage as a smoke screen to execute her own abduction.
Dominic ran into the room, his gun drawn. ""Boss! A black sedan just blew through the service tunnel under the southern ridge! It’s heading toward the old logging bridge over the gorge!""
""The logging bridge is condemned,"" Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register of sheer, lethal determination. ""The central span was decommissioned ten years ago.""
Vincent sprinted toward the underground garage, ignoring every wound screaming across his body. He leaped behind the wheel of his reinforced armored SUV, slammed the ignition, and blasted through the garage doors, tires smoking as he vaulted onto the wet asphalt of the mountain road.
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The rain was turning to sleet, coating the winding curves in slick black ice. Two miles ahead, the red taillights of Gable’s sedan cut through the fog, speeding recklessly toward the decaying wooden bridge that spanned the five-hundred-foot drop into the roaring canyon below.
Vincent jammed the accelerator to the floor, closing the distance at ninety miles an hour.
