Chapter 3 - Inside the Lion’s DenThe sound of automatic gunfire echoed across the marble corridors of the east wing like rolling thunder. Glass shattered somewhere near the grand foyer, followed by the dull, rhythmic thud of combat boots stomping across antique rugs.
"Prescott, get to the panic room in the basement! Secure the children's medical suite!" I ordered, unholstering my customized SIG Sauer P226 as I sprinted toward the armory alcove behind my desk.
"I'm not leaving you to fight a private army alone, boss!" Prescott shouted over the roar of a flashbang detonating down the hall.
"Do it!" I roared, racking the slide of the pistol.
Before Prescott could argue further, Elena stepped past us both, moving with a cold, predatory grace I hadn't expected from someone who looked so frail. She snatched a tactical shotgun off the armory wall rack, checked the chamber with a fluid, expert snap, and tossed a spare magazine of submachine gun rounds directly at Prescott.
"If you want those kids to see tomorrow, Mr. Hale, you'll stop arguing and cover the western stairwell," Elena commanded. Her tone brooked zero argument—it was the voice of a general on a battlefield.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. "You handle weapons like a veteran."
"In another life, Lawson, I cleaned up messes for people much more dangerous than you," she muttered, not looking back as she swept around the corner into the hallway.
I followed her close, my heart hammering against my ribs. Rounding the corner toward the main gallery, two of Crosby Vane’s mercenaries dressed in full black tactical gear emerged from the shadows, raising their carbines.
Before I could squeeze the trigger, Elena moved. She fired the shotgun from the hip with devastating precision. The double blast caught the lead mercenary square in the chest, sending him crashing backward through a priceless stained-glass window. The second mercenary swung his barrel toward her, but I dropped him with a double-tap to the center mass.
"Clear!" I barked, stepping over the fallen body.
"Keep moving," Elena urged, her eyes darting down the corridor toward the private medical wing. "Vane's primary objective isn't the safe, and it isn't your offshore accounts. It's the infusion pumps in Jonah and Blythe's room."
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My blood ran hot with pure, unadulterated fury. "Why? What do my children have to do with Vane?"
"Everything," Elena said, reloading her weapon with practiced speed as we reached the heavy reinforced door of the medical suite. "They aren't sick from a natural leukemia strain, Lawson. They're being used as living incubators for the counter-agent your wife was trying to expose. And Vane wants the formula back before it can be synthesized."
