Chapter 5 - The Raid on Queen AnneThe black SUV tore through the wet Seattle streets, its headlights cutting through the heavy midnight fog. In the backseat, handcuffed to a bolted metal ring, Claire felt like she was suffocating.
"You can't do this!" she screamed as the car turned sharply onto Queen Anne Hill. "There's a child in that house! My daughter is sleeping!"
Agent Vance sat in the front passenger seat, not even bothering to turn around. "Collateral damage, Doctor. If Moretti hid the ledger with you, his enemies know it too. Which means right now, my men aren't just raiding your house to search it... they're protecting it from people who kill children without a second thought."
Claire’s breath hitched. A cold wave of absolute terror washed over her.
Enemies.
If Dante's rivals knew he was alive, and if they thought the ledger was with her—
"If anything happens to my daughter," Claire whispered, her voice trembling with a lethal, terrifying promise, "I will personally rip your throat out with my bare hands."
The SUV screeched to a halt in front of the craftsman-style house.
To Claire’s absolute horror, the front door of her house was wide open. The porch light flickered brokenly. Two federal unmarked cruisers were parked haphazardly on the lawn, their doors swinging open, but there were no agents standing guard.
"Stay in the car," Vance barked, drawing his service weapon as he pushed his door open.
"Let me out!" Claire screamed, rattling the handcuffs against the metal ring until her wrists bruised. "Let me out of here!"
Ignoring her, Vance slammed the door shut and sprinted toward the open front door, signaling his backup.
Claire watched through the rain-streaked window in sheer agony. She saw shadows moving inside the house. She saw the flash of a tactical flashlight. Then, a sharp, muffled pop echoed from the backyard—the distinct, unmistakable sound of a silenced gunshot.
Pop. Pop.
"No!" Claire sobbed, throwing her entire weight against the locked door.
Suddenly, the rear door of the SUV was yanked open from the outside.
It wasn't Agent Vance.
It was a man in a dark tactical turtleneck, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, holding a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters.
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Before Claire could scream, the man snapped the handcuffs off her wrists with a single, practiced crunch of the metal.
"Get out, Dr. Callahan," the man growled, his voice deep and urgent. "Boss wants you safe. Now."
