763 Shadows of the Fleet: Secrets, Scars, and the Captain’s Vengeance

"Get down!" Admiral Reed roared, his hand grabbing my shoulder and violently shoving me to the side as a heavy round shattered the marble pillar inches from where I had been standing.

Stone chips exploded into the air, raining down like sharp gravel. The federal agents immediately dropped into defensive crouches, drawing their sidearms and sweeping their flashlights upward toward the second-floor veranda.

"Code Red! Shooter on the upper terrace!" an agent shouted into his shoulder mic, diving behind the reinforced stone balustrade of the porch.

Richard stumbled backward, tripping over his own expensive shoes and sprawling hard onto the hardwood floor of the foyer. "I didn't—I didn't order this!" he screamed, his face white with terror as he covered his head with his hands. "I swear to God, I didn't know anyone was armed!"

On the upper balcony, a dark figure clad in tactical black scrambled across the wrought-iron railing, holding a suppressed assault rifle. The beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the fog, illuminating a scarred, hardened face that I hadn't seen since my last deployment in the South China Sea.

Viktor Vance. Not the Senator—his younger brother, a dishonorably discharged mercenary who had been running black-market weapons logistics for my father’s offshore accounts.

"You picked the wrong family to cross, Captain!" Viktor shouted down from the balcony, his rifle barrel tracking downward to acquire a target in the courtyard.

Before he could squeeze the trigger, a bright flash erupted from the side lawn. A secondary tactical unit positioned near the greenhouse returned fire, sending a volley of non-lethal breaching rounds slamming into the balcony wall. Chunks of plaster and iron shrapnel rained down around Viktor, throwing off his aim. The bullet punched harmlessly into the lawn twenty feet away.

"Covering fire! Keep him pinned!" I yelled, pulling my own sidearm from my holster and vaulting up the stone steps toward the grand side entrance, ignoring the frantic shouts of the agents telling me to fall back.

"Evelyn, get back here!" Admiral Reed barked, drawing his weapon and following right behind me with a speed that defied his years.

We breached the side service door, bursting into the grand hallway where servants were cowering behind mahogany cabinets and crystal chandeliers tinkled from the vibrations of the gunfire outside.

"He’s heading for the roof access!" I called out, sprinting toward the private mahogany staircase that led to the third-floor master suite and helipad.

My lungs burned, and the old scar tissue across my back pulled tight with every explosive stride, but adrenaline burned hotter than the pain. For five years, they had hunted me, lied about me, and tried to bury my reputation in an unmarked grave. I wasn't about to let the last rat slip away through a rooftop escape hatch.

I hit the top of the stairs, kicked open the reinforced fire door leading to the roof terrace, and burst into the freezing night wind.

Viktor was already fifty yards away, sprinting across the flat gravel roof toward a waiting twin-engine helicopter whose rotors were already spinning up, kicking up a blinding gale of dust and loose debris.

He spun around, leveling his rifle directly at my chest, a cruel, desperate grin splitting his scarred face.