Chapter 26 - The Hostage Game
The wind screamed across the frozen expanse of Whispering Pines Lake like a wounded beast. By the time the Suburban crawled through the private fire trail onto the crest overlooking the old cedar cottage, the first gray light of dawn was beginning to bleed into the stormy eastern sky.
From our vantage point behind the dense pine grove, the scene below was chilling.
Two massive black luxury transport vans were idling near the boat ramp. On the wooden dock extending out over the frozen black water, Douglas Sterling stood wrapped in a full-length cashmere coat, leaning on his silver-tipped cane, watching his men tear the cottage apart.
Furniture was being hurled through shattered picture windows onto the snow. Antique dressers were broken into firewood; family heirlooms were smashed across the flagstone terrace.
Near the shoreline, bound to an iron mooring ring by heavy zip-ties, Brenda was kneeling in the slush, her face bruised, her expensive winter coat soaked through with freezing water.
"Where is it, Brenda?" Sterling’s voice carried across the freezing water with venomous clarity. "You spent five years playing the aggrieved, jealous aunt, taking your little sixty-thousand-dollar allowance checks, and all the while you were skimming off the escrow ledger!"
"I don't have it!" Brenda sobbed, shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering so hard they were clicking like dice. "Arthur never gave me the access codes! He only gave me the key to the physical safe in the boathouse! Claire has the rest! She’s the only one who knows!"
Douglas stepped closer, raising his cane and pressing the sharp silver tip hard against Brenda’s collarbone, forcing her head back against the frozen dock piling. "Then she will bring it to me. Because while you were whimpering in the snow, my scouts spotted her truck entering the park gate five minutes ago."
My blood went cold.
I turned around instantly. Emma was huddled low behind the passenger seat of the SUV, holding Arthur’s old pocket watch tightly against her chest.
"Mommy," Emma whispered, pointing through the rear window.
Emerging silently from the tree line fifty yards behind us were two mercenaries in white tactical winter camouflage, their suppressed carbines raised and pointed directly at our vehicle.
We hadn't ambushed them. Douglas had set a perimeter dragnet the moment he arrived.
The driver’s side door of the Suburban was suddenly wrenched open. A gloved hand gripped my jacket collar, dragging me out into the knee-deep snow, while the second mercenary pulled open the rear door and hauled Emma out, lifting her kicking and screaming into the freezing air.
"MOMMY! MOMMY!"
May you like
"Emma! Don't touch her! TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF HER!" I fought with feral intensity, kicking and thrashing, but the mercenary pinned my arms behind my back with iron strength, twisting my wrist until the cold steel of Arthur’s pistol slipped from my coat pocket and clattered harmlessly into the snowbank.
"Well, well," the mercenary grunted, kicking the gun away. "The little mother brought the bird to the cage after all. Move. Mr. Sterling is waiting on the ice."
