Chapter 9 - The Siege at the Clinic
The interior of Harbor Ridge was eerie, lit only by the red emergency backup
lights that cast long, bloody shadows across the linoleum floors. Distorted
alarms chimed softly from the nursing stations. The front desk was overturned;
medical charts and shattered glass were scattered across the lobby. Two of
Mercer's hired mercenaries lay unconscious on the floor, neutralized by Roman's
advance guard.
Roman moved with lethal fluidity, his gun raised, leading Claire and Dante
toward the third-floor pediatric and young adult neurological wing. They took
the concrete stairwell, moving silently. As they reached the third-floor fire
doors, the harsh, desperate voice of Arthur Mercer echoed down the corridor.
"Where is the girl?!" Arthur was screaming. "Open this door or I'll blow your
head off!" "She's... she's in physical therapy isolation!" a terrified nurse
wailed from inside a supply room.
Claire's heart leaped into her throat. Room 312 was at the end of the hall.
Lily's room. Roman signaled Dante to take the left flank. Roman took the right.
They rounded the corner. Arthur Mercer stood in front of Room 312, his expensive
camel-hair coat drenched with melting snow, his gray hair wild, holding a heavy
revolver in his shaking hands. Two armed men stood guard beside him, attempting
to pry open the heavy electronic security lock on Lily's door with a crowbar.
"Arthur," Roman called out, his voice echoing with terrifying authority down the
hallway. Mercer spun around, terror contorting his aristocratic features.
"Roman!" Arthur shrieked, backing against the door. "Stay back! I swear to God,
I'll blow this entire wing to hell! I have five gallons of aviation fuel in the
basement!" "You don't have anything, Arthur," Roman said, walking slowly down
the center of the hall, completely unbothered by Mercer’s raised gun. "Your
helicopter pilot was arrested ten minutes ago at the Westchester airfield. Your
offshore accounts have been frozen by the Department of Justice. Your daughter
is sitting in a holding cell with a fractured wrist."
Arthur's face twisted into a mask of pure, unhinged madness. "That little maid
ruined fifty years of my family's legacy! She was supposed to freeze in that
storm!" Arthur raised his revolver, aiming directly at Claire, who stood beside
Dante. "If I'm going down, your whore dies with me!" Arthur screamed.
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BANG. A single gunshot shattered the hallway. Arthur Mercer collapsed to his
knees, screaming, clutching his shattered right shoulder as his revolver
clattered across the linoleum floor. Claire lowered her hands. The small pistol
Roman had given her was still smoking in her grip. Her hands were steady. Her
eyes were hard as diamonds. She had shot him clean through the shoulder before
he could pull the trigger.
The two mercenaries beside Mercer dropped their crowbars and threw their hands
into the air, falling to their knees as Dante and the DeLuca operators swarmed
them. Roman turned to Claire, a look of profound, breathtaking awe in his dark
eyes. "Remind me never to make you angry," Roman murmured softly. Claire dropped
the gun, rushed past the fallen mogul, and pounded on the heavy door of
Room 312. "Lily! Lily, it's Claire! Open the door, baby, it's me!"
