Chapter 5 - SURROUNDED
"Ethan!" Patricia gasped, her hand shaking violently as she swung the snub-nosed revolver around.
The barrel wobbled in the air, pointing first at Clara, then at my chest, then wavering dangerously toward the open door where Sophie was standing, completely frozen in terror.
"Daddy?" Sophie whimpered, her voice tiny, her small body paralyzed as she looked at the shiny metal weapon in Patricia's hand.
"Sophie, get down!" I roared, my hand flashing inside my coat.
Before I could draw my own weapon, Clara moved with an instinct that defied human speed. She didn't hesitate. She didn't calculate her survival odds. She threw her entire body across the marble island, placing herself directly between Patricia’s gun and my five-year-old daughter. She swept Sophie into her arms, tackling the little girl behind the reinforced oak base of the kitchen island just as Patricia’s finger tightened on the trigger.
BANG.
The deafening report of the .38 shattered the quiet house. A cloud of plaster dust erupted from the doorframe right where Sophie had been standing a split second before.
I drew my customized Sig Sauer P226 in one fluid motion, bringing the sight line directly onto Patricia’s chest. "DROP IT!" I screamed, my voice vibrating with an absolute, lethal promise. "DROP IT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL SPRAY YOUR BRAINS ACROSS THIS KITCHEN!"
Patricia’s eyes were wild, her pupils dilated to tiny black pins. She looked at the heavy, dark steel of my military-grade handgun, then at the blood dripping from Clara’s shoulder where the bullet had grazed her uniform, and finally at me.
"You don't understand, Ethan!" Patricia shrieked, her voice cracking into a manic register. "Voss has the entire perimeter! You're already dead! If I don't give him the flash drive, he’s going to kill me too!"
"DROP THE GUN!" I stepped forward, closing the distance, my finger putting three pounds of pressure on my fifteen-pound trigger pull.
Patricia sobbed, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and dropped the nickel-plated revolver onto the tile floor. It clattered loudly, spinning across the ground until it hit the toe of my leather boot.
I kicked the revolver under the refrigerator, never taking my sights off her heart.
"Clara," I growled, my eyes locked on Patricia. "Are you hit? Is Sophie hurt?"
"We're okay!" Clara called out from behind the island. Her voice was strained, heavy with pain, but solid. "Sophie is unhurt. The bullet caught my arm, but it's just a graze. Keep her down!"
Outside, the heavy, thunderous rumble of multiple high-displacement V8 engines roared up the long asphalt driveway. The tires squealed violently as three heavy vehicles pulled up directly onto the front lawn, tearing up the turf.
The heavy glass windows of the kitchen shattered inward as a spray of automatic rifle fire tore through the room.
RAT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT!
"DOWN!" I screamed, lunging forward, grabbing Patricia by her silk collar and yanking her down to the floor as drywall, glass, and wood splinters exploded above our heads.
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The high-end copper cookware hanging above the island crashed down in a metallic cascade. Pendant lights exploded into showers of sparks.
Voss’s mercenary team had arrived, and they weren't here to negotiate. They were here to sanitize the entire estate, leave no witnesses, and secure the evidence that could send Lionel Voss to death row for the rest of his natural life.
