Chapter 7 - The Trap Closes
Nora’s breath hitched. She shoved the flash drive into her pocket, slammed the wall panel shut, and sprinted toward the French doors just as the study handle began to turn.
“Hey! Who’s in there?!” a gruff security guard shouted from the hallway.
Nora threw herself against the glass door, tumbling out onto the stone patio just as the interior lights flooded the room. Shouts erupted behind her. Heavy boots pounded across the parquet floor.
“She’s out back! Get the dogs!”
Nora scrambled over the low stone retaining wall, tearing her palms on the rough granite, and raced across the moonlit lawn toward the rusted maintenance gate. The sharp yelp of a guard dog cut through the night air, followed by the terrifying sound of heavy paws thundering across the grass behind her.
“Marcus!” she screamed into her comms unit as she ran, her lungs burning with fire. “They’ve got dogs!”
“Hold your line, Nora! Twenty yards to the fence!” Dante’s voice roared through her earpiece, stripped of all aristocratic calm, raw with predatory fury. “Marcus, blow the diversion!”
A deafening BANG echoed from the front gates of the estate—a controlled flash-bang grenade detonated by Dante’s extraction team, sending the estate’s security guards rushing toward the front entrance in a panic.
The guard dog behind Nora hesitated, barking frantically at the distant explosion.
Nora didn't hesitate. She threw herself headfirst through the rusted opening of the maintenance gate, rolling across the wet asphalt of the alleyway just as a pair of matte-black SUVs screeched to a halt beside her.
The rear door flew open. A strong, calloused hand caught her by the tactical vest and hauled her bodily inside as the vehicle accelerated away into the night at breakneck speed.
The door slammed shut, locking automatically.
Nora collapsed against the leather seat, gasping for air, clutching her bruised ribs and bleeding palms.
Sitting directly across from her in the dimly lit cabin was Dante Alatorre. He wasn't looking at a tablet now. He was looking straight at her, his icy grey eyes burning with an intense, proprietary heat.
Without a word, Dante reached out, took her trembling right hand in his large, warm palm, and inspected the bloody scrapes across her knuckles.
“You’re an absolute fool, Nora Bennett,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle as he pulled a clean linen handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the dirt and blood from her skin. “You could have been killed.”
“I got the drive,” she whispered, her chest heaving as she pulled the tiny black flash drive from her pocket and dropped it into his open palm.
May you like
Dante looked down at the drive, then back up into her eyes. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“Yes, you did,” he said softly. “And because of that, Richard Vance’s empire just crumbled to dust.”
