Chapter 3 - The Shadows of Pittsburgh"Noah, get behind me," I whispered, reaching blindly into my dark coat pocket for the small can of pepper spray I kept on my keychain.
The footsteps stopped directly outside our apartment door. The metallic click of a lock-picking tool echoed sharply in the silence of the dark hallway.
"The back fire escape," I breathed, taking Noah by the wrist. "Now!"
We moved frantically through the dark kitchen, maneuvering around the overturned chairs. I unlocked the heavy metal window latch and pushed the rust-encrusted frame upward. Cold night air rushed into the kitchen, carrying the damp smell of the city streets.
Just as Noah swung his leg over the window sill, the front door burst open with a deafening crack. Wood splintered. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness like laser beams, sweeping across the walls.
"Find the boy!" a dark, rough voice shouted from the hallway. "And take the papers! Boss said no witnesses!"
"Go, Noah! Down!" I pushed him onto the metal fire escape stairs and scrambled out behind him.
We sprinted down the narrow iron staircase, the metal clanging under our feet. Behind us, I heard glass shattering as the intruders reached the kitchen window.
"Stop them!"
We hit the alleyway at full speed. I grabbed Noah’s hand, leading him down the dark, labyrinthine alleys of downtown Pittsburgh that I knew like the back of my hand from years of night-shift commuting. We ducked behind a row of industrial dumpsters just as a sleek black SUV screeched into the mouth of the alley, its high beams blindingly bright.
Men in dark tactical wear leaped out, scanning the shadows with high-powered flashlights. We held our breath, pressing our backs against the cold, grime-covered brick wall. I wrapped my arms around Noah, pulling his head against my chest, praying the violent thudding of my heart wouldn't betray our location.
The beam of a flashlight swept over our dumpster, pausing just inches from my boots. My chest seized. I closed my eyes, preparing to throw myself between my son and whoever was standing on the other side.
"Clear!" a voice called out from the front of the alley. "They hit the main street! Move out!"
The heavy doors slammed shut, tires squealed, and the SUV sped away into the night.
We were breathing heavily, covered in dirt and sweat, shivering in the cold autumn air. Noah pulled away slightly, looking at me with eyes full of terror and confusion.
"Mom... what is happening?" he choked out. "Charlotte isn't my mother... she's my aunt? She tried to throw me away so she could take my real mother's money?"
"I don't know the whole truth yet, Noah," I said, wiping a tear from his cheek with my thumb. "But I know one thing. As long as I have breath in my lungs, no one is going to touch you."
We couldn't go back to the apartment. We couldn't go to the police—not yet, not when we didn't know how deep Charlotte’s influence ran. I needed help, and there was only one person in Pittsburgh I could trust with something this dangerous.
I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. I dialed the number of Marcus Vance—the very judge who had presided over our court case three days ago.
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When he answered on the third ring, his voice was heavy with sleep. "Hello?"
"Judge Vance, this is Emily," I gasped, stepping out into the street light. "They just broke into my home. They tried to kill us. Charlotte Whitman isn't his mother... and she’s trying to finish what she started seventeen years ago."
