Chapter 7 - THE FINAL CHASE IN THE STORMThe November rain was coming down in sheets, turning the gravel drive of Greystone Manor into a churning river of mud and black water. The estate’s private helipad, situated on a concrete promontory overlooking the jagged cliffs of the Long Island Sound, glowed with red safety beacons cutting through the swirling mist.
I handed Rosie to one of the arriving state troopers who had finally breached the front gates, then sprinted out into the storm, ignoring the freezing rain soaking through my suit.
Ahead of me, the red taillights of an ATV flickered near the edge of the cliff.
Vivienne was desperate. She had stolen my personal utility vehicle from the carriage house, and now she was racing toward the helipad where her private escape chopper—a sleek twin-engine Eurocopter—was idling against the gale-force winds, its rotor blades whipping the rain into a furious white mist.
“Vivienne! Stop!” I screamed, my voice swallowed instantly by the roaring wind.
She leaped off the ATV, scrambling frantically up the metal boarding ladder of the helicopter while the pilot fought to keep the aircraft steady against the crosswinds.
Just as her hand grabbed the cabin door handle, a dark shadow lunged out of the storm.
Marco tackled her hard against the icy tarmac.
The stolen platinum ring slipped from her finger, bouncing off the metal landing skid and disappearing forever into the churning, black abyss of the ocean below.
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Vivienne shrieked like a banshee, clawing at Marco’s face, but he pinned her wrists to the ground with the immovable force of an anchor.
I walked up slowly through the pouring rain, wiping the water from my eyes as I looked down at the woman I had almost married.
