Chapter 6 - THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE
BLOOD IN THE SNOW: A Mother's Instinct vs. A Killer's Cold Heart!
The gunman stared at her through the darkness, the red laser dot of his rifle sight dancing on her cream coat.
“You think you can buy me off?” the killer sneered. “Marcus is paying us five million to clean this up.”
“Marcus is paying you in stock options and dirty offshore accounts that will be frozen the second the SEC files their indictment,” Catherine said, her voice cool and mocking. She stepped closer, ignoring the gun. “I know his financial structure. I built it. I know he doesn't have five million in liquid cash right now. He’s leveraging everything on the IPO. If James’s data gets out, the IPO is dead, and Marcus is bankrupt. He can’t pay you.”
The gunman hesitated. Catherine saw the subtle shift in his posture—the slight lowering of the rifle barrel. It was the same hesitation she exploited in rival executives when she exposed their hidden liabilities.
“But I can,” Catherine continued, her eyes locked onto his. “I have twelve million in a private trust in Switzerland. Unregulated. Immediately transferable. I will give you half right now, from my phone, if you walk away and tell Marcus the job is done.”
“And what about the kid?”
Catherine’s heart stopped.
A second figure stepped into the cabin doorway.
He was holding a small, shivering bundle in a sparkly red dress.
Melody.
They had found her.
“Look what I found hiding in a log,” the second gunman said, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He threw Melody onto the floorboards. She whimpered, curling into a ball, clutching the wet wool scarf Catherine had given her.
“Daddy...” Melody cried out weakly, seeing the silhouette of James lying in the corner.
The first gunman’s face hardened. He realized he had been lied to. He raised the rifle again, aiming it directly at Catherine’s head.
“You’re good, lady. Real good. But Marcus’s instructions were clear. No survivors. No loose ends.”
In that split second, Catherine didn't see a corporate empire, a career, or her bank accounts. She saw a little girl who had trusted her. She saw a father who had risked everything to save his child from a monster.
She didn't think about strategy. She acted on pure instinct.
Catherine lunged forward. She grabbed the hot barrel of the rifle, forcing it upward just as the gunman pulled the trigger.
The deafening roar of the gunshot shattered the small cabin. The bullet tore through the wooden ceiling.
Catherine slammed her weight into the gunman, driving him back against the wall. With her other hand, she reached into her pocket, pulled out the heavy metal first-aid shears she had taken from her SUV’s kit, and drove them deep into the killer’s shoulder.
The man screamed, dropping the rifle.
At the same moment, James, using the last of his strength, dragged himself forward and tackled the second gunman’s legs, pulling him to the ground.
“Melody, RUN!” Catherine screamed.
The cabin erupted into a chaotic, violent struggle in the pitch black.
Catherine was thrown to the floor, her face hitting the hard wood, the taste of copper filling her mouth. The first gunman, bleeding from his shoulder, stood over her, his eyes wild with murderous rage. He drew a heavy tactical knife from his vest.
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“You smart-mouthed bitch,” he spat.
He raised the knife.
