Chapter 8 - Thunder on the WaterThe first blast from Dominic’s shotgun shattered the heavy silence of the night, blowing out the windshield of the nearest black SUV and sending the two front guards diving headfirst into the mud for cover.
"Contact! Front courtyard! Return fire!" Ben Carver roared, drawing his sidearm and spinning toward the boathouse.
Bullets chewed through the wooden siding inches from Dominic’s head, but the crime boss didn't flinch. He ducked behind the engine block of the wrecked SUV, firing back with lethal, calculated precision.
While the gunfire echoed off the stone walls of the estate, Claire didn't hesitate. She sprinted low through the wet grass along the side of the guest lodge, hugging the shadow of the thick boxwood hedges.
The side utility door was unlocked. She threw it open, slipping inside the warm, brightly lit hallway of the lodge.
"Emma!" she cried out in a desperate whisper.
"Mommy?!"
A tiny voice echoed from down the hall. A second later, a pair of small arms wrapped tightly around Claire’s legs, nearly knocking her over.
"Emma, baby!" Claire dropped to her knees, scooping her five-year-old daughter into her arms and crushing her against her chest, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. "Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?"
"I was scared, Mommy," Emma sobbed into her neck. "The nice lady locked us in the pantry, but then the bad men came."
"Mrs. Sullivan!"
Claire looked up to see Sarah emerging from the pantry holding a wide-eyed, sleepy Caleb against her shoulder. The nanny’s face was bruised, but she was alive.
"Mr. Mercer told me to stay here," Sarah gasped, handing Caleb safely over to Claire’s free arm. "The guards are distracted, but we have to move now before Vance realizes we're out."
"We're going," Claire said, her eyes blazing with absolute determination. "Stick right behind me."
With Emma holding tightly to the hem of Claire’s trench coat and Claire cradling baby Caleb against her chest, they rushed toward the rear exit leading away from the gunfire.
But as Claire pushed open the back door, a tall, imposing figure blocked the path.
Ben Carver.
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The head of security stood in the doorway, his pistol raised and pointed directly at Claire’s chest. His face was cold, devoid of any remorse.
"I'm sorry, Claire," Ben said smoothly, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. "Nothing personal. Just business."
