Chapter 8 - The Race to Harbor Ridge
Claire instantly tried to sit up, ripping the oxygen cannula from her nose.
"Lily!" Claire gasped, her voice cracking with terror. "He's going to hurt
Lily!" Roman caught her by the shoulders, gently holding her against the
mattress. "Claire, listen to me! I have four armed guards outside her room
already." "Arthur knows the director of that facility!" Claire sobbed,
panicking, tears streaming down her face. "He funded the south wing! He has
bypass codes! He'll take her, Roman! Please!"
Roman looked at Dr. Rossi, who was shaking his head in warning. "Her lungs can't
handle the cold outside, Mr. DeLuca—" "Prepare a mobile oxygen unit and heavy
thermal gear," Roman cut Rossi off instantly. "She is coming with me. She won't
rest until she sees her sister with her own eyes." Roman looked down at Claire.
"We are going together. Nobody touches your family ever again."
Within ten minutes, Roman had wrapped Claire in a thick thermal suit topped with
his own floor-length fur-lined cashmere coat. He lifted her into the back of his
customized, heavily armored SUV. The blizzard was still raging across the
tri-state area, but Roman’s convoy of four black SUVs was equipped with
reinforced snow tires, heavy plows, and high-intensity storm spotlights. Roman
sat beside Claire in the backseat, holding her close against his side to keep
her warm, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. Claire rested her head
against his chest, clutching the black ledger in her lap like a shield.
"Dante," Roman spoke into the radio console on the dashboard. "What's the status
at Harbor Ridge?" "The storm knocked out their primary power grid twenty minutes
ago," Dante’s voice crackled through the speakers. "Our two men on site reported
seeing three black sedans breach the front gates. They engaged in gunfire, but
Mercer’s men bypassed the main lobby and entered through the service elevators."
Claire gasped, burying her face in Roman’s coat. Roman tightened his grip on
her, his jaw set like granite. "Step on the gas. Ram through any roadblocks."
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The convoy tore across the icy Connecticut highway at blinding speed, cutting
through the swirling whiteout like a pack of hunting wolves. Twenty-five minutes
later, the iron gates of Harbor Ridge Rehabilitation Center appeared through the
blinding snow. One of the security gates had been smashed open. A black sedan
sat abandoned near the entrance, smoke rising from its engine block. "Form a
perimeter," Roman ordered over the radio as their SUV skidded to a halt in front
of the main doors. "Shoot to kill anyone bearing Mercer identification."
Roman turned to Claire, pulling up the hood of her heavy coat. "Stay behind
Dante until the hallway is cleared," Roman told her. "I'm coming with you to her
room," Claire said, her eyes burning with determination. Roman looked at her,
saw the fierce lioness protecting her cub, and nodded. He pulled a small,
compact pistol from his ankle holster and pressed it into Claire's hands.
"Safety is off," Roman said. "Point and squeeze if anyone touches you." Claire
took the cold steel weapon, gripped it with both hands, and stepped out into the
raging storm.
