Chapter 5 - THE HUNT IN THE WHITCOMB GRAND"Stop him!" Julian roared, pointing toward the doors.
Two private security guards rushed toward the exit, but Marcus was already sprinting down the carpeted hallway toward the service stairwell.
Odessa didn't hesitate. "I know the shortcuts," she whispered to Theo.
"Go," Theo commanded quietly.
Odessa bolted out of the boardroom, leaving the executives in absolute chaos. She didn't take the elevators; she knew every twist and turn of the Whitcomb Grand’s labyrinthine service corridors—the narrow stairs behind the laundry chutes, the maintenance catwalks above the grand ballroom, the blind spots where staff could move unseen.
She sprinted down the concrete steps of the fire exit, her breath pluming in the cold stairwell air. She knew Marcus was heading for the basement loading dock to grab his car. And she knew her sister Nova was still somewhere down there.
Hold on, Nova, Odessa thought, taking the metal stairs three at a time. Just hold on.
When she reached the basement service level, the heavy steel doors were swinging open. The corridor was empty, save for the rhythmic hum of the massive industrial boilers.
"Nova!" Odessa called out, her voice echoing off the concrete walls.
From behind a row of industrial storage crates, a muffled sound caught her ear.
Odessa raced toward it. There, tied to a metal support pillar with zip-ties and with a heavy roll of packing tape over her mouth, was Nova. Her eyes were wide with terror.
Odessa dropped to her knees, tearing at the tape and pulling the zip-ties apart with shaking hands.
"Nova! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Nova gasped for air, coughing as the tape came away. "Des—watch out! Marcus has—"
Before Nova could finish her sentence, a heavy shadow fell over them.
Odessa spun around just as a heavy metal wrench came flying through the air. She ducked, but the blow grazed her shoulder, sending her crashing against the concrete floor.
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Marcus Vance stepped out from the shadows of the boiler room, his face twisted into an ugly, desperate snarl. He had a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and a thick metal pipe in the other.
"Curiosity," Marcus spat, walking slowly toward them, "has been a very expensive hobby for the Callaway family today."
