Chapter 7 - The Twelve-Second Interval
"Get Posie," Cain commanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl near her ear. "Now, Sloan. Do not go down the main hall. Go through the service closet in the master bathroom. There’s a manual crawl space that leads to the forty-third-floor ventilation shaft. Go there and do not open the door until you hear my voice."
Sloan didn't ask questions. Survival instinct, trained by years of avoiding the worst corners of the city, took over her muscle memory. She turned and sprinted through the dark toward her daughter’s room, her bare feet making no sound on the expensive rugs.
She burst into Posie’s room just as the little girl was sitting up, rubbing her eyes in the absolute blackness.
"Mommy? The snow sugar lights went out," Posie mumbled.
"Shh, baby. Grab Buttons," Sloan whispered, scooping her five-year-old into her arms and pulling her tight against her chest. "We’re going to play the storage-room game again. Remember? Touch nothing. Say nothing."
"Is the pretty lady coming?"
"No," Sloan said, stepping into the master bathroom and kicking open the small wooden door of the linen closet. "But we have to be very quiet."
Behind them, in the main living space of the forty-fourth floor, the heavy oak doors of the private elevator groaned as they were forced open with a hydraulic jack.
Three silhouettes stepped through the gap, their faces covered by black tactical masks, their weapons equipped with long, cylindrical silencers that looked like iron pipes in the dim light coming from the rain outside.
Julian Falco led the way, his silver crow pin removed, his weapon held at high-ready.
"Find the kid," Julian whispered to the man on his left. "Leave the mother. Brennan is mine."
A single flash of light cut through the room.
It didn't come from a flashlight. It came from the muzzle of Cain Brennan’s gun.
The first shot took the man on the left directly through the center of his forehead, his body collapsing backward into the elevator shaft with a wet, heavy thud.
The remaining two men instantly opened fire, a hail of silent, high-velocity rounds tearing through the walnut furniture, smashing the crystal decanters and sending shards of expensive glass raining down onto the Persian rug.
Cain moved like a shadow through his own house. He knew every corner, every pillar, every creak in the floorboards. He slid behind a massive marble pillar near the fireplace, his gun barking twice more in the dark.
The second intruder let out a choked gasp, dropping his weapon as he fell sideways across the sofa, his blood soaking into the cream-colored silk.
Then the room went entirely quiet again, save for the sound of the rain starting to pick up outside, beating against the cracked glass of the terrace door.
Julian Falco was alone. He was crouched behind the kitchen island, his heart hammering against his ribs as he realized his override codes hadn't caught Brennan off guard. The man had been waiting for them in the dark.
"Brennan!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking with a manic, desperate energy. "You think you can keep this city? You’re a ghost! Your brother was a ghost! You’re protecting a janitor’s brat because you’re soft! You’ve always been soft!"
No answer came from the dark.
Julian crawled backward toward the corridor that led to the bedrooms, his gun swept out in front of him. He saw the door to the child’s room left slightly ajar. A small, blue cashmere blanket lay on the floor near the entrance.
A cruel, desperate smile broke across Julian’s sharp face. He stood up and lunged through the doorway, his gun aimed at the center of the small bed.
The bed was empty.
"Looking for me, Julian?"
Julian turned, but he was twelve seconds too late.
Cain Brennan was standing in the doorway, his black shirt covered in soot, his face completely expressionless. He didn't use his gun. He reached out with his left hand, caught Julian by the throat, and slammed him flat against the concrete wall behind the drywall with a force that cracked the plaster.
The gun flew from Julian’s fingers, clattering into the corner of the room.
"You were at the restaurant," Cain whispered, his fingers tightening around Julian’s windpipe until the younger man’s eyes began to roll back into his head. "You stood behind your uncle while Eli was bleeding on the floor."
"Cain... please..." Julian choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at Cain’s iron wrists.
"My brother didn't get to ask for please, Julian," Cain said.
May you like
With a single, powerful twist of his shoulders, Cain drove his knee into Julian’s ribs, then threw him through the floor-to-ceiling glass window.
The pane didn't just crack; it shattered completely into ten thousand glittering teeth. Julian Falco fell forty-four floors through the gray Chicago morning, his body disappearing into the dark waters of the river below before the first siren could even echo off the concrete.
