Chapter 8 - The Road to Portland
The rain had stopped by the time we loaded into the back of a black armored SUV parked behind the estate's private garage. Roman drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, while Gabriel sat in the passenger seat tracking encrypted signals on a ruggedized laptop. Declan and I sat in the back, the silence between us heavy with anticipation.
"You shouldn't have come," Declan said quietly, not looking at me as he checked the magazine of his sidearm. "Once we cross that county line, this isn't about family history anymore. Vincent has local law enforcement on his payroll. If he intercepts us on the highway, it won't be a warning."
"If I stayed at the manor, I'd still be wondering if every knock on the door was someone coming to finish what started twenty-five years ago," I replied, my voice steady. "My mother spent her whole life looking over her shoulder, Declan. I'm not doing that."
Declan looked at me then, a faint, humorless smile touching the corner of his mouth. "You really are Elena's daughter. Stubborn to a fault."
Up front, Gabriel tapped the screen of his laptop. "Roman, we've got a tail. Two black sedans picked us up three miles back near the turnoff. They're keeping pace without lights."
Roman didn't panic. He checked his rearview mirror, his face a mask of cold calculation. "They aren't trying to stop us yet. They're waiting for us to lead them straight to the warehouse."
"Then let's give them what they want," I said, leaning forward between the front seats. "If Vincent thinks he's walking into a trap of our making, we can use his own greed against him."
Roman glanced sideways at me, a dark, assessing look in his eyes. "What do you have in mind, Maeve?"
"We don't go straight to the warehouse," I said, tapping the address on the faded deed in my lap. "We go to the old marina office next door. It's connected by the same underground drainage system my mother used when she smuggled herself out of the city all those years ago. While your men draw Vincent's tail outside, we go in through the wet dock."
Gabriel whistled softly. "She's got the family tactical streak, Roman. God help us all."
Roman didn't smile, but a muscle ticked in his jaw as he nodded. "Do it."
Forty minutes later, the dark silhouette of the Portland waterfront loomed against the gray Atlantic fog. Skeletal crane towers rose like rusted giants against the night sky, and the smell of salt water, diesel, and rotting timber filled the air as Roman cut the SUV's headlights and coasted down an unpaved access road behind the old fish cannery.
The two tailing sedans overshot the turnoff by a hundred yards, screeching to a halt on the main thoroughfare.
"Move," Roman ordered, killing the engine before it even settled.
May you like
We spilled out into the freezing coastal air, the wind whipping our jackets as we sprinted toward the crumbling concrete steps of the old marina office. Declan picked the rusted padlock in less than ten seconds, and we slipped inside into the pitch-black interior, the sound of the ocean crashing against the pilings below echoing like distant thunder.
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