Chapter 8 - Cornered in the Shadows of Blackwood Ridge
I swung the heavy iron fire poker with every ounce of strength in my body.
CLANG!
The iron struck the man across the shoulder and forearm, knocking the suppressed pistol from his grip. It skittered across the hardwood floor, vanishing beneath the heavy oak sofa.
The man grunted in surprise, stumbling back, but he recovered with terrifying speed. He lunged forward, his gloved hand locking around my throat, slamming my spine against the log wall. The air exploded from my lungs in a sharp gasp.
"You should have died at the dinner table, bitch," the man hissed through his mask, his eyes cold and dead.
His fingers clamped tighter, cutting off my airway. Black spots danced across my vision. I dropped the iron poker, my hands frantically clawing at his wrists, his tactical vest, anything I could reach.
Noah. The thought of my son being left alone in this world with Daniel Vance fueled a sudden, violent burst of adrenaline.
I drove my right knee upward with vicious force directly between the hitman’s legs.
The man let out a choked gasp of agony, his grip loosening just enough for me to tear free. I dropped to the floor, coughing violently, grabbed the heavy ceramic table lamp beside me, and smashed it across the side of his head. The ceramic shattered into a dozen sharp shards, stunning him.
I scrambled on all fours across the floor, reaching beneath the oak sofa. My fingers brushed cold, checkered polymer. I dragged the Glock into the moonlight, spun around, and racked the slide back.
CLACK.
The hitman froze on his knees, blood dripping from his temple, staring directly down the barrel of his own suppressed firearm.
"Move an inch, and I’ll paint this cabin with your brains," I panted, holding the weapon with a rock-solid, two-handed grip.
The front door kicked open with a thunderous crash.
"POLICE! DROP THE WEAPON!" Detective Miller roared, bursting into the cabin with four tactical officers, their weapon-mounted lights flooding the room in blinding white illumination.
"He's the intruder! I have him contained!" I yelled over the chaos.
Two officers swarmed the hitman, tackling him to the floor, twisting his arms behind his back, and slapping heavy steel cuffs around his wrists.
Detective Miller rushed to my side, gently taking the firearm from my trembling hands and easing me down onto the sofa. "Sarah! Are you hurt? Where is Noah?"
"In the cellar... they're safe," I breathed, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes.
Miller walked over to the hitman, who was being hauled to his feet. Miller ripped off the man's ballistic mask.
"Well, well," Miller sneered. "Victor Vance. Daniel’s estranged ex-convict cousin. Fresh out of state prison on an early parole sponsored by Cross Holdings."
Victor spat blood onto the floor, glaring at me with venomous hatred. "You're already dead, Sarah. Daniel and Evelyn have enough money to buy this whole damn state. You’ll never make it to the trial."
"Take him out," Miller ordered coldly.
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Miller turned back to me, his jaw set in stone. "This ends tonight, Sarah. We just caught his hitman red-handed with weapons and burglary tools. But we need Daniel on tape admitting he ordered this hit. We need him completely cornered."
I wiped the sweat and blood from my face, looked Miller dead in the eye, and said, "Put a wire on me."
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