Chapter 6 - THE GIRL IN THE BOATHOUSE
“The boathouse?” I gasped.
Marcus had said Lily was at the shipyard.
“A diversion,” the gunman sneered. “Elena moved the kid an hour ago. She’s locked in the boathouse at the edge of the lake. The water intake valves are open. In ten minutes, the room hits the ceiling.”
My blood ran cold.
Lily wasn't across town. She was here. On the estate grounds. Drowning.
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He didn’t try to negotiate.
He dropped his handgun onto the rug.
“Take the ledger,” Dominic said, raising his hands.
The gunman smirked. He shoved Daniel to the floor and stepped forward to pick up the book.
That was his final mistake.
As the gunman bent down, Dominic kicked the heavy brass fire poker resting on the hearth. It spun across the floor, sweeping the gunman’s legs out from under him.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic lunged.
He grabbed the gunman’s rifle, twisted it upward, and fired a single shot into the ceiling. The deafening blast disoriented the second man just long enough for Dominic to pivot and strike him across the jaw with the rifle stock.
The second man crumpled.
Dominic aimed the rifle at the first man, who was scrambling for his dropped weapon.
“Don’t,” Dominic ordered.
The man froze.
Dominic looked at Daniel. “Cut your ties. Secure them. Lock the study doors.”
“Yes, boss,” Daniel gasped.
Dominic grabbed the ledger, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the French doors leading to the gardens.
“We have less than eight minutes,” Dominic said.
We ran.
The storm had rolled in off Lake Michigan. Rain lashed against my face as we sprinted across the sprawling manicured lawns. My ankle was bleeding freely now, every step a blinding flash of agony, but I didn’t care.
Lily was in the dark. In the cold water.
We reached the edge of the estate. The boathouse was a massive stone structure built directly over the lake.
The heavy steel doors were chained shut from the outside.
I could hear the rush of water pouring in from the open intake valves beneath the floor.
“Lily!” I screamed, throwing myself against the steel doors. “Lily, Mommy is here!”
There was no answer over the roar of the water.
Dominic didn’t waste time with the chains. He raised the assault rifle and fired point-blank into the heavy brass padlock.
Sparks flew. The lock shattered.
Dominic kicked the doors open.
Water flooded out, washing over our shoes. The interior of the boathouse was completely submerged. The water level was already waist-high and rising fast.
“Lily!” I waded into the freezing water, frantic.
Dominic waded in beside me, using his flashlight to sweep the dark corners.
There were empty boat slips. Floating debris.
But no little girl.
“She’s not here!” I sobbed, the water freezing my bones. “They lied!”
Dominic splashed toward a small maintenance platform in the back corner.
“Emma. Look.”
Sitting on the edge of the metal platform, perfectly dry, was a small pink winter coat.
Lily’s coat.
I scrambled onto the platform, clutching the coat to my chest. It smelled like her shampoo. I buried my face in it, a guttural cry tearing from my throat.
Dominic stood in the waist-deep water, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a terrifying, absolute resolve.
He reached out and gently touched my shoulder.
“Check the pockets,” he said softly.
I pulled back, confused.
I slipped my trembling hand into the right pocket of the tiny pink coat. My fingers brushed against a piece of stiff paper.
I pulled it out.
It was a ferry ticket.
A private charter departing from the Navy Pier.
I looked at the departure time printed in bold black ink.
11:00 PM.
May you like
Dominic checked his heavy silver watch.
It was 10:45 PM.
