Chapter 3 - The Safehouse on the Cliff
The black armored SUV cut through the thick Oregon rain like a ghost. Sloan sat in the leather back seat, staring out the tinted window as the city lights of Portland dissolved into the dark, towering pines of the Columbia River Gorge.
Dominic Vance sat across from her, a crystal glass of bourbon in his hand, his laptop open on his knees. He hadn't spoken a word since they left Aurelio’s through the underground alley loading dock.
"Where are you taking me?" Sloan finally asked, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine.
"A place where men with automatic rifles can't get to you," Vance said without looking up from his screen. "At least, not easily."
"I have a mother," Sloan said, panic finally bleeding through her calm exterior. "She lives in Beaverton. She has severe panic attacks. If I don't answer my phone by eight in the morning, she calls the police. If she sees the news—"
"Your mother is already being moved," Vance interrupted smoothly, turning the laptop toward her.
On the screen was a live security feed. Sloan’s stomach dropped. It showed her mother’s small suburban house. Two unmarked black sedans were parked in the driveway. Sloan watched as two men in tailored suits gently guided her mother, Ellen, into the back of a luxury SUV, carrying her favorite overnight bags. Ellen didn't look terrified; she looked confused, but safe.
"She has been told you accepted an emergency private catering contract for an international diplomat," Vance explained. "She is currently being taken to a secured estate in Sunriver. She has her medication, her favorite tea, and two full-time security officers posted outside her door. She is safer tonight than she has been in twenty years."
Sloan let out a long, ragged breath, her shoulders collapsing against the seat. "You move fast."
"Speed is the only reason I am alive to drink this whiskey," Vance said, taking a slow sip. He closed the laptop. "Now, tell me about your eyes."
"My eyes?"
"You noticed details my trained security team missed," Vance said, leaning forward, his dark gaze locking onto hers. "They missed his boots. They missed his posture. They missed the fresh ink on his badge. How?"
"I was raised by a woman who believed the world was coming to kill us every time we opened the front door," Sloan said quietly, looking down at her hands. "I learned to spot bad things before they happened. It’s not a skill. It’s an illness."
"In my world, Sloan, that illness is called a superpower," Vance said softly.
The SUV turned off the highway, ascending a steep, gravel road lined with massive Douglas firs. They reached a set of iron gates that swung open automatically, revealing a fortress of glass, steel, and concrete perched precariously on the edge of a massive basalt cliff overlooking the roaring river below.
The vehicle stopped inside an underground garage. Vance stepped out and held the door open for her.
"Welcome to the Perch," Vance said.
As Sloan stepped onto the cold concrete, a man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, thin, with silver hair cut into a military buzz cut, wearing an expensive grey suit with an empty sleeve pinned neatly to his left shoulder.
"Dominic," the silver-haired man said, his voice like grinding stones. "The shooter in the cellar isn't talking. He took a cyanide capsule behind his back tooth before Marcus could stop him."
Vance’s jaw tightened. "A professional guild unit."
"Yes," the man replied. His eyes drifted over to Sloan, sharp and assessing. "And who is this? The witness?"
"This is Sloan Mercer, Marcus," Vance said. "She’s the reason I’m breathing. And she’s going to help us figure out which of my captains paid for that hit."
Marcus frowned. "She’s a waitress, Dominic."
"She saw through a high-level mercenary in four seconds, Marcus," Vance replied coldly. "She sees what we miss. Put her in the east suite. Set two guards at her door. And bring her the security footage from the restaurant over the last month."
Sloan looked between the two dangerous men. "Wait. I didn't agree to help you investigate your mob war. I just wanted to survive the night."
May you like
Vance stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes dark with an unreadable emotion.
"You don't understand, Sloan," Vance said softly. "The man who sent that shooter knows you tipped me off. He has your name, your face, and your address. The only way you ever go back to your normal life... is if we find him first."
