Chapter 5 - The Alleyway Ambush
The silent figures on the security monitor moved with terrifying, tactical precision.
Heavy black tactical gear, obscured faces, and suppressed automatic weapons glinted under the amber glow of the alleyway security light. They weren’t local thugs or bill collectors sent by Richard. They were professionals.
James was out of his chair before the third man even hit the pavement.
“Grace,” he said, his voice dropping into a chilling, absolute command. “Take Chloe. Right now. Go through the pantry doors behind the kitchen prep station. There’s a private freight elevator that drops straight down into the underground parking sub-level. My car is parked in stall twelve. The keys are in the ignition.”
My blood ran cold. The warmth of the moment shattered instantly, replaced by the raw, primal terror of survival. “What? No—what’s happening? Who are they?”
“People who aren't looking for Richard,” James said, his jaw clenching as he reached beneath his tailored vest and pulled a sleek, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from a concealed shoulder holster.
The sight of the gun made me gasp, stumbling backward against the booth. “James—!”
“Go, Grace!” he shouted, the front glass of the restaurant suddenly exploding inward in a deafening shower of glass and splintered wood.
Bang! Bang!
The sharp cracks of suppressed gunfire ripped through the dining room, sending chunks of plaster flying off the walls.
I didn't hesitate. I scooped Chloe up into my arms, wrapping my coat around her head as she woke up screaming in blind panic. I bolted toward the kitchen, my boots slipping on the spilled ice near the soda machine.
Behind me, James fired two rapid, controlled shots toward the front entrance, shattering the remaining glass partitions and cutting off the first wave of intruders.
“Down!” James roared over the chaos.
I dove through the swinging stainless-steel doors of the kitchen, slamming my body against the heavy pantry exit. My hands shook so violently I dropped the heavy metal latch twice before finally catching it and throwing the door open.
The freight elevator was right there, dim and flickering.
I hit the down button frantically, holding Chloe tight against my chest as she sobbed hysterically, her little arms locked around my neck.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open. I stumbled inside, hitting the sub-level button with the palm of my hand. As the heavy steel doors slowly began to close, I looked out through the narrow gap into the kitchen.
James was kneeling behind the prep island, reloading his weapon, blood staining the white cuff of his shirt.
Through the doorway, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the kitchen light, wearing a heavy winter coat and holding a customized rifle with a thermal scope.
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The man stopped, lowering his weapon slightly, and spoke into a comm-link with a cold, mocking smirk that sent a freezing chill straight to my marrow.
“Tell Whitmore,” the man’s voice echoed across the tile, “the board sends its regards.”
