Chapter 8 - A Bulletproof Alibi
“Get under the Navigator,” Declan hissed, shoving the satellite phone into Norah’s hands as he tried to drag himself upright, his hand instinctively reaching for a hidden holster beneath his jacket, only to find it empty.
“Declan, you can't fight them like this, you’re bleeding out!” Norah grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with panic.
“I’m not going to fight them,” Declan whispered fiercely, his eyes locking onto the heavy oak entrance as the lock finally clicked open. “I’m going to buy you a window. Take the ledger. Take the satellite phone. Go out through the hayloft window toward the north woods.”
“I’m not leaving you here to be executed!”
“Norah!” Declan snapped, his voice carrying a flash of the iron authority that had built his empire. “If you stay, we both die. If you run, you take the evidence Tommy killed for. That ledger is the only thing that puts him away and clears my name.”
The carriage house doors creaked open, admitting a cold gust of wind and rain along with the heavy, deliberate tread of polished leather boots.
“Declan?” Tommy’s smooth, mocking voice echoed across the cavernous room, bouncing off the brick walls. “I know you’re in here, old friend. The blood trail is remarkably easy to follow.”
Declan shoved Norah firmly backward into the dense shadows beneath the Navigator, pressing a finger to his lips. Then, using the side of the vehicle for support, he stepped out into the open aisle of the carriage house, putting himself directly in the beam of Tommy’s high-powered flashlight.
Norah held her breath, tears stinging her eyes as she clutched the ledger to her chest, watching through the spokes of the car’s wheels.
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Tommy stepped around a covered vintage Mercedes, a sleek automatic pistol held steady in his right hand. A cold, triumphant smile stretched across his sharp features.
“End of the line, Declan,” Tommy said softly. “You should have stayed retired.”
