Chapter 4 - The Hall of Mirrors
The heavy iron-reinforced front doors of the penthouse didn't just open; they groaned under a heavy, hydraulic breach that shattered the smart-lock mechanism in a shower of sparks and splintered steel.
Heavy, wet boots crunched against the pristine white marble of the foyer.
Lincoln pulled me backward into the shadowed alcove behind the massive stone fireplace, sliding his body in front of mine with absolute, unyielding protection. His uninjured arm held me steady against the wall, while his right hand gripped the firearm, leveled perfectly at the corner of the dark hallway.
“Clear the east wing,” a raspy, muffled voice commanded from the foyer. “Find the ledger, secure the vault, and take Frost alive if you can. The buyer wants to ask him a few questions first.”
The buyer.
So Garrett wasn't just staging a coup; he was selling out the entire organization to an outside syndicate.
Footsteps approached the library with terrifying speed. Two men in tactical gear rounded the corner, their high-lumens weapon-mounted flashlights sweeping back and forth across the mahogany bookshelves, cutting sharp beams through the dust and darkness.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified that my breathing would give us away.
Lincoln waited, his body perfectly still, breathing so softly I could barely feel it against my shoulder.
As the first operative stepped past the edge of the fireplace alcove, Lincoln moved.
He didn't shoot. A gunshot would bring the entire team down on us in seconds. Instead, he lunged out of the shadows with brutal efficiency, driving the heavy steel butt of his pistol directly into the side of the man’s helmet with a sickening crack.
The operative crumpled instantly.
Before the second man could raise his weapon, Lincoln swept his leg out in a vicious kick, catching him behind the knee and sending him crashing hard onto the glass coffee table, shattering it into a million glittering fragments.
Lincoln stood over him, pressing the barrel of the gun squarely between the man’s eyes.
“Who sent you?” Lincoln demanded, his voice a low, gravelly growl.
The man spat a mouthful of blood onto the ruined glass, grinning through split lips. “You’re too late, Frost. Garrett already has the main vault open. By sunrise, you’re just a ghost.”
Lincoln’s jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he struck the man across the temple with the pistol grip, knocking him cold.
May you like
He turned back to me, his gray eyes burning with cold fury.
“We’re moving,” Lincoln said, grabbing my hand in a grip that brooked no argument. “We need to get to the private service elevator before Garrett locks down the building.”
