Chapter 3 - THE HIGHWAY CONVOY
The megaphone feedback screeched through the church foyer.
"THIS IS DETECTIVE MILLER, METRO ROBBERY AND HOMICIDE!"
"THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED!"
Guests began screaming.
Pews scraped against stone as one hundred and sixty people rushed toward the side fire exits.
Ren’s father grabbed her mother’s arm, pulling her toward the vestry door.
"Ren! Come on!" her father yelled.
Ren didn't move.
She was watching Julian Thorne.
Julian didn't draw a weapon.
He didn't run.
He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped a single contact.
"Miller," Julian spoke into the receiver.
"You're thirty minutes late."
"And your cruiser is blocking the driveway."
The voice on the other end crackled loudly.
"You were supposed to wait for the federal warrant, Julian."
"The target is moving early," Julian replied.
"Secure the perimeter."
"Let the guests clear out through the eastern transept."
He hung up.
Ren blinked through the chaos.
"The police... work with you?" she asked.
Julian turned to her.
"They work with the state attorney's office."
"Derek didn't just steal from me, Miss Sterling."
"He embezzled six million dollars from the city pension fund over three fiscal quarters."
"My debt was simply the string that pulled the sweater apart."
Behind them, Derek was crawling across the altar carpet toward the choir entrance.
He reached the heavy oak door.
He shoved it open and disappeared into the rectory.
Cassandra had already fled through the side door with her father.
"He's getting away," Ren said.
"He won't get past the gate," Julian answered.
Julian took her by the elbow.
His grip was firm, but he did not squeeze her bruised wrist.
He guided her down the center aisle, past abandoned bouquets and scattered programs.
They stepped through the grand stone arches into the blinding afternoon sun.
Four black armored SUVs sat idling on the church lawn, tires tearing into the manicured grass.
Uniformed officers were herding sobbing bridesmaids and confused family members toward the sidewalk.
A black umbrella was held over Ren’s head by one of Julian’s men.
"Get in," Julian said, opening the rear door of the center SUV.
"I need to go with my parents," Ren said, digging her heels into the gravel.
"Your parents are being escorted to a safe hotel in Cambridge," Julian said.
"Derek’s partners in the dock syndicate know the money is gone."
"Within forty minutes, every associate who backed his shell companies will be looking for leverage."
"You are the bride whose name is on the mortgage."
"You are the leverage."
Ren looked at the heavy ballistic glass of the SUV.
She looked at her ivory train, grayed with church dust and street dirt.
She climbed inside.
Julian slid in beside her.
The door shut with a heavy, pressurized thud that cut off the sirens and shouting outside.
The driver floored the accelerator.
The convoy tore out of the church driveway, running three red lights onto the river expressway.
Ren sat stiffly against the black leather seat.
She reached for the zipper of her wedding dress.
Her fingers were shaking.
She couldn't reach the hook at the back of her neck.
Julian leaned across the console.
His hands were bare now.
He had removed his gloves.
"Allow me," he murmured.
Before she could pull away, his warm, calloused fingers brushed against the sensitive skin between her shoulder blades.
He unhooked the brass eyelet.
He pulled the zipper down six inches, relieving the suffocating pressure on her ribs.
Ren drew her first full breath in two hours.
"Why didn't you stop the wedding yesterday?" she asked, staring straight ahead.
"Why wait until I walked down the aisle?"
Julian watched the rain begin to patter against the tinted window.
"Because yesterday, you would have believed him."
"You would have let him make another excuse."
"You would have signed the refinance documents to save him."
The truth stung worse than the betrayal.
She knew Julian was right.
For three years, she had made excuses for Derek.
The late meetings.
The unexplained credit cards.
The cold distance in his touch.
"Where are we going?" Ren asked.
"The waterfront terminal," Julian replied.
"Derek kept a secondary safe in the harbormaster’s office."
"He’ll go there before he runs for the border."
Julian’s radio crackled on the console.
A driver’s voice sounded tense:
"Boss, we have two gray Dodge Rams behind the rear escort."
"No plates."
"They just crossed the median."
Julian picked up the mic.
"Take the lower tunnel," Julian ordered.
A second later, a deafening crash shook the rear of the SUV.
The armor shuddered.
Through the rear window, Ren saw the escort SUV spin out on the wet asphalt, colliding with a concrete bridge pillar in a spray of sparks.
The two Dodge Rams accelerated, pulling up alongside Julian’s vehicle.
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The passenger window of the nearest truck rolled down.
A man in a ski mask raised a short-barreled submachine gun.
