Chapter 2 - THE AMBUSH AND THE ESCAPE
"Get down!" William roared.
He didn't wait for Emma to understand. He lunged across the table, grabbing her by the collar of her thin sweater and dragging her and Noah to the floor just as the restaurant’s front glass window shattered into a million sparkling shards.
The deafening pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire filled the air.
Screams erupted throughout the dining room. Patrons threw themselves under tables, wine glasses shattered, and Sterling screamed in terror as a stray bullet chipped the mahogany bar right above his head.
"Noah!" Emma cried, wrapping her arms completely around the infant as glass rained down on them.
William was on top of them, using his own broad shoulders as a shield. He could smell the gunpowder in the air, a stark contrast to the scent of truffles and expensive champagne.
"Listen to me," William hissed in Emma’s ear, his voice tight with adrenaline. "We have to move. Now. If we stay here, we're dead."
"Who are they?" Emma whimpered, her face pressed against the dusty carpet. "Why are they shooting?"
"They're after me," William said, his mind racing. He had the decryption keys to Parker Industries' entire mainframe on a flash drive in his breast pocket. If Julian got his hands on it, William wouldn't just lose his company; he would lose his life. Julian couldn't leave any witnesses—and right now, Emma and Noah were right in the line of fire.
William peered over the edge of the overturned table. Two of the gunmen were advancing through the shattered entryway, their weapons raised, scanning the panicked crowd. They weren't common street thugs; they moved with military precision.
"On my signal, we run for the kitchen," William whispered. "Do you trust me?"
Emma looked into his gray eyes. They were hard, cold, but there was a fierce protectiveness in them that she hadn't seen since her grandfather died. She nodded.
"Go!"
William grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her up. They bolted toward the kitchen doors.
"There he is! Target is moving!" one of the gunmen shouted.
A volley of bullets chased them, splintering the wooden dining tables and tearing through the drywall. William pushed the double kitchen doors open, practically throwing Emma inside.
The kitchen was in chaos. Line cooks and sous chefs were scrambling out the back exit into the alleyway.
"Keep running!" William yelled, guiding Emma past the stainless steel prep tables and bubbling pots of sauce.
They burst out of the rear exit into a narrow, dark alleyway. The cold air hit them like a physical blow. To the left, the alley led to the main street—where the second black SUV was parked. To the right, it was a dead end blocked by a high chain-link fence.
"We're trapped," Emma cried, clutching Noah tightly. The baby had finally started to wail, a high-pitched, terrified sound that echoed off the brick walls.
"Not yet," William said. He ran to a heavy metal dumpster, pushing it with all his strength until it wedged against the back door of the restaurant, temporarily blocking the gunmen from following them.
He then grabbed a rusted iron pipe leaning against the wall and jammed it through the handles of the exit door.
"We have to climb," William said, pointing to the fire escape climbing up the side of the adjacent brick building.
"I can't climb with Noah!" Emma cried, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "I'll drop him!"
"I’ll carry him," William said.
Before Emma could protest, William gently but firmly unknotted the bedsheet from her chest. He took the baby into his arms. For a fraction of a second, William looked down at the tiny, fragile life in his hands. He had never held a baby in his life. Noah felt weightless, like a bundle of feathers.
"Climb, Emma. Now!"
Emma scrambled up the rusted iron stairs of the fire escape, her small hands gripping the cold metal. William followed closely behind, holding Noah securely against his chest with one arm, using the other to pull himself up.
Just as they reached the second-floor landing, the back door of the restaurant groaned. The gunmen inside were throwing their weight against it. The iron pipe William had jammed into the handles began to bend.
"They're coming!" Emma screamed, looking down.
A gunshot shattered the quiet of the alley. A bullet struck the metal grating right beneath William’s feet, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
"Don't look back!" William commanded. "Keep going to the roof!"
They raced up the third, fourth, and fifth flights of stairs. By the time they reached the gravel-strewn roof of the apartment building, Emma’s lungs were burning, and William’s chest was heaving.
But they weren't safe.
Looking over the ledge, William saw one of the black SUVs speeding around the block, aiming to cut them off at the front of the building.
"Where do we go?" Emma gasped, looking around the empty roof. There were only venting ducts, water towers, and a locked access door.
William ran to the access door. He threw his shoulder against it, but it was solid iron, locked from the inside. He searched his pockets and pulled out his tactical pocket knife. With practiced ease, he inserted the thin blade into the lock mechanism, applying pressure.
Click.
The door swung open.
"In! Quick!"
They scrambled down the dark, concrete stairwell just as the rooftop door behind them was kicked open. Footsteps echoed above them.
"They're on the stairs," William whispered, pulling Emma into a dark hallway on the fourth floor. He led her to an elevator bank, but the digital display showed it was stuck on the lobby.
"We can't use the elevator," William said. "We have to hide. In one of these apartments."
He walked up to the nearest door, Apartment 4B. He knocked urgently. No answer. He checked the handle. It was locked.
The footsteps on the concrete stairs were getting louder, coming down from the roof. They were only one flight above them now.
William had no choice. He raised his heavy leg and kicked the wooden door right next to the lock. The frame splintered with a loud crack, and the door swung inward.
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He threw Emma and Noah inside, slipped in behind them, and shut the broken door, holding it closed with his shoulder.
They stood in the pitch-black entryway of a stranger’s apartment, holding their breath as heavy, booted footsteps walked slowly past the door outside.
