Chapter 6 - THE RETRIBUTION
Daniel took a menacing step toward me, brandishing the burning flare like a torch. The heat from the crimson spark was intense, singeing the air between us.
“Move!” he roared.
Instead of retreating, I ducked beneath his swinging arm, driving my shoulder hard into his ribs.
Daniel stumbled backward, surprised by my sudden aggression. He collided heavily with the weakened structural frame of the outer wall. The heavy metal casing in my fist struck his wrist with full force.
Daniel howled in pain, and the burning flare slipped from his fingers, falling into a puddle of water near the boat slip, where it hissed violently and died out in a cloud of black smoke.
“You crazy bitch!” Daniel screamed, lunging at me with both hands outstretched.
He caught me by the collar of my jacket, slamming me against the heavy wooden support beam. My head cracked against the timber, sending white spots dancing across my vision. But twelve years of working alongside homicide detectives had taught me one fundamental truth: in a physical fight for your life, you don't fight fair.
I brought my heel down with full force onto his instep, driving my elbow upward into his nose.
There was a sickening crunch of cartilage. Daniel let out a wet gasp, dropping his grip as blood spouted from his nose.
He stumbled backward, clutching his face, his boots slipping on the wet, gasoline-slicked planks of the deck.
He reached out wildly to catch himself, grabbing the outer guardrail—the exact same section of rotten wooden railing where Lily had stood four days ago.
The wood groaned under his six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound frame.
CRACK.
The splintered timber snapped completely off its iron mountings.
Daniel’s eyes went wide with sheer, unadulterated panic as his feet lost their grip. For one split second, his hand reached out toward me, his fingers brushing the sleeve of my coat.
“Claire! Help me!” he shrieked.
I stood there on the solid wood of the deck, six inches beyond his reach.
I didn't reach out my hand. I didn't move an inch. I simply stared down at him with cold, absolute detachment.
Daniel tumbled backward over the edge, disappearing into the dark void below.
A heavy, sickening crash echoed off the rock wall, followed by a loud splash into the violent waves of the lake.
Seconds later, heavy footsteps thundered down the wooden walkway.
“Claire!” Elena shouted, kicking open the boathouse door with her gun drawn, flanked by the two troopers.
She took in the scene in a fraction of a second—the spilled gasoline, the broken railing, the bloody puddle on the floor, and me standing at the edge of the drop.
Elena ran to the edge and shined her heavy tactical flashlight down into the dark water fifteen feet below.
The beam of light cut through the rain, revealing Daniel lying twisted among the sharp, jagged granite rocks at the base of the cliff. The freezing waves were washing over his body. He was groaning weakly, his left leg visibly broken at an unnatural angle, completely pinned beneath a heavy fallen timber.
“Troopers, call an ambulance and rescue squad!” Elena ordered into her shoulder radio. “Subject is down on the rocks! Suspect secured!”
Elena turned to me, wrapping her heavy police jacket around my shaking shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said, my voice barely audible above the storm.
May you like
I looked down at the dark water where Daniel lay whimpering in the freezing cold, surrounded by the very rocks where he had left my daughter to die.
“It wasn't an accident, Elena,” I said quietly, turning my back on the edge and walking toward the door. “It was justice.”
