Chapter 2 - The Breach
My breath hitched. I slid my hand over Noah’s mouth, making a sharp shushing motion with my index finger. His eyes widened, but he nodded, freezing completely.
The brass door handle of the patio glass door turned slowly, inch by inch. I looked frantically around the room. The guesthouse was an open-concept studio space—sleek modern art, floor-to-ceiling windows now hidden by drapes, and minimal furniture. There was nowhere to hide except the attached bathroom.
I leaned down and whispered into Noah’s ear. "Noah, I need you to crawl into the bathtub. Silently. Do not make a sound, no matter what happens."
He nodded, slipping off the leather sofa like a shadow. I guided him into the tiled bathroom, squeezed him into the cast-iron tub, and pulled the heavy velvet shower curtain across.
A sharp impact shattered the lock on the patio door. Glass clattered onto the hardwood floor.
I ducked behind the solid oak writing desk in the corner, my fingers wrapping tightly around a heavy bronze paperweight—the only weapon within arm's reach.
Heavy footfalls crossed the threshold. The intruder was moving with methodical, practiced precision. Through the gap in the desk, I caught sight of tactical boots and dark clothing. It wasn't one of Ethan's men. Marcus and Leo wore tailored suits; this man wore an unmarked Kevlar vest and carried a suppressed pistol.
"Clara," a voice rasped, muffled through a neck gaiter. "Make this easy. We don't want the boy dead. We just need him out of the picture before Ethan turns Margaret over to the federal authorities."
My chest heaved. They weren't just covering up a medical crime; this was a coordinated corporate and criminal hit. Margaret wasn't acting alone.
The tactical boots moved toward the leather sofa, checking behind the cushions. "I know you're in here, Miss Reed. A pediatric specialist shouldn't throw herself into the middle of a war she doesn't understand."
He turned toward the bathroom door.
Desperation surged through me. As his back turned, I stepped out from behind the desk and hurled the bronze paperweight with all the force my shoulder could generate. It struck him square between the shoulder blades.
He grunted, spinning around with his gun raised, but the distraction gave me the two seconds I needed. I lunged forward, throwing my entire body weight into his waist, sending us both crashing into the glass coffee table.
The glass shattered in a terrifying explosion of sound. He struck me across the jaw with the butt of his pistol, sending white light flashing across my vision. Pain flared in my face, but I pinned his arm down, screaming at the top of my lungs: "MARCUS! ETHAN!"
The intruder growled, shifting his weight to pin me down, raising his weapon directly toward my chest.
BANG.
The heavy wooden front door of the guesthouse shattered off its hinges. Ethan Caldwell stepped into the room, his eyes burning with a terrifying, demonic fire. Before the mercenary could pull his trigger, Ethan took three massive strides, grabbed the man by his neck, and threw him through the shattered glass door out onto the lawn.
Ethan didn't chase him outside. He turned immediately toward me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his hands framing my face, checking the bleeding cut on my chin.
"No—no," I gasped, clutching my chest. "Noah's in the bathroom. He's safe."
Ethan swept past me, pulling the shower curtain back. Noah looked up from the tub, trembling, but physically unharmed. Ethan lifted him out in one smooth motion, crushing his son against his chest.
"They came for him," I said, wiping blood from my lip. "Ethan, Margaret has people inside your inner circle. Who sent that man?"
May you like
Ethan looked out toward the main house, where sirened vehicles were now wailing in the distance, tearing down the long driveway of the Caldwell estate.
"The same man who pays Margaret's offshore accounts," Ethan said softly. "My brother."
