Chapter 1 - The Midnight Breach
The heavy brass handle of the bedroom door rotated with an agonizingly slow, mechanical click.
In the pitch-black room, Sadie’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but her hand remained rock-solid over Desmond Gallagher’s mouth. Her other hand held his own heavy, customized Sig Sauer pistol, the cold steel barrel pressed right against the center of his chest.
Desmond didn't flinch. The initial homicidal fury in his piercing blue eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating assessment of the situation. He looked at the dead security monitor on the wall, then at Sadie, noting the absolute seriousness in her pale face.
He gave her a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Sadie slowly withdrew her hand from his lips, sliding her fingers down to grip the pistol with both hands. She leaned in close, her breath brushing his ear.
"Two of them," she whispered, her voice a thread of sound. "Silenced rifles. They didn't use the stairs. They came through the terrace. Frank isn't answering his radio."
Desmond’s jaw tightened. Frank Delaney had been his head of security for seven years. If Frank was silent, he was either dead or rich. And in the Chicago underworld, wealth bought more loyalty than a clean conscience.
The bedroom door cracked open. A silver sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness, illuminating a masked figure slipping into the room. The long, slender silhouette of a suppressed barrel cleared the frame.
Pop. Pop.
Two muffled rounds tore into the empty master bed, shredding the Egyptian cotton sheets.
Before the assassin could realize the mattress was empty, Sadie stepped out from the shadow of the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes. She didn’t aim like a cop; she aimed like a woman who had spent three weeks watching her life hang by a thread.
CRACK.
The unsuppressed Sig Sauer roared, the muzzle flash blindingly bright in the dark room. The bullet caught the first assassin squarely in the throat. He choked, dropping his rifle as he collapsed hard against the nightstand.
"Behind you!" Desmond barked, his deep voice slicing through the ringing in Sadie's ears.
The second assassin was already moving, swinging his rifle toward the flash.
Sadie didn't hesitate. She grabbed the handles of Desmond’s specialized motorized wheelchair, throwing her entire weight forward. The heavy, reinforced chair surged across the hardwood floor. Desmond, using the explosive strength in his upper body, grabbed the falling assassin’s rifle from the floor, rolled his shoulders, and fired a blind three-round burst blindly into the doorway.
The second assassin grunted, his body taking two hits to the chest. He tumbled backward into the hallway, his blood splattering across the polished marble floor.
Silence crashed back over the room, heavy and suffocating.
Sadie was breathing hard, the smell of gunpowder burning her throat. She looked down at the pistol in her hands, her fingers trembling.
"Not bad for a nurse who keeps a fork in her purse," Desmond said, his voice deadly calm despite the chaos. He didn't look at the bodies; his eyes were locked on her. "But we have a problem. The security grid is down, the perimeter is compromised, and my legs aren't planning on running today."
"We're not running," Sadie said, wiping a streak of sweat and carbon from her forehead. She knelt down, checking the pulse of the assassin by the bed. Dead. She quickly stripped him of his spare ammunition clips and tossed them onto Desmond's lap. "We're going to the elevator. Your private bunker is in the basement, right?"
"Frank is the only one who has the override code besides me," Desmond said, his eyes darkening. "If he betrayed me, the elevator is a death trap."
"Then we take the long way," Sadie said, grabbing his wheelchair. "And God help anyone who gets in our way."
She pushed him out into the corridor. The sprawling mansion, once a symbol of untouchable power, now felt like a labyrinth designed for their execution. As they reached the grand staircase overlooking the foyer, the lights suddenly flashed on, blinding them.
Down in the lobby stood Frank Delaney. He wasn't dead. He was holding a satellite phone, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear.
Frank looked up, his eyes meeting Desmond’s. There was no remorse in his face. Only business.
"Sorry, Boss," Frank called out, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. "The board of directors voted. You're a liability in that chair. It's time to retire."
May you like
Frank raised his weapon.
THE TWIST HOOK: Before Frank could pull the trigger, Sadie slammed her foot against the emergency fire-suppression valve behind the pillar. A dense, blinding cloud of chemical fire retardant exploded throughout the foyer, completely erasing their vision. But as Sadie turned to push Desmond toward the service exit, the heavy steel security doors slammed shut, locking them on the upper floor. They were trapped.
