Chapter 10 - The Alleys of Lake Shore Drive and the Ghost in the Rain
The armored transport tore out of the underground parking garage, blowing
through the security gate in a shower of sparks and splintered fiberglass.
The Chicago night was freezing, a relentless sleet coming down sideways off Lake
Michigan, turning the asphalt of Lake Shore Drive into a black, treacherous
mirror.
In the backseat, I held Noah clamped against my chest, his face buried in my
neck. Through the rear tinted window, I watched the upper floors of the Voss
Tower burning against the low gray clouds, a pillar of smoke and fire rising
into the winter storm.
"Kieran..." I whispered, the name tearing out of my raw throat. "Lev, turn
around! We have to go back for him!"
"Mr. Voss gave an absolute order, ma'am," Lev said through clenched teeth, his
knuckles white against the steering wheel as he weaved the heavy vehicle through
late-night traffic at eighty miles per hour. "My only mission is to get you and
the boy to the Waukegan airstrip."
"He stayed behind to die!"
"He stayed behind to ensure you lived," Lev corrected grimly. "Respect his
sacrifice, Nurse Hartley."
The words hit me like a physical blow. His sacrifice.
Before I could speak, a massive black heavy-duty pickup truck with an iron
bull-bar blew through a red light at the intersection of Grand Avenue, slamming
directly into our rear quarter panel with bone-crushing force.
The armored transport spun violently across three lanes of traffic, tires
screaming against the wet asphalt, before crashing sideways into the concrete
retaining wall of the abandoned rail yard beneath the expressway overpass.
The impact blew the side airbags.
My head slammed against the window frame, a sharp, blinding flare of white light
exploding behind my eyes.
"Mommy!" Noah’s scream brought me clawing back to consciousness.
"I'm here, baby, I'm here," I gasped, tasting blood from a split lip.
In the front seat, Lev was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious, blood
dripping from his temple onto the deflated airbag.
Through the shattered front windshield, headlights cut through the sleet.
The black pickup truck had stopped twenty yards away. Four men in tactical gear
stepped out, weapons drawn, accompanied by a low, sleek sedan.
Garrett Voss stepped out of the passenger side of the sedan.
He was bleeding from his arm, his face soot-stained, but he was alive. And
beside him stepped Lorenzo Thorne—an older, silver-haired man in a bespoke
cashmere coat with the cold, dead eyes of a reptile.
"Get the boy!" Thorne barked at his men. "Kill the nurse!"
"No," I whispered.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, hot and chemical, drowning out the pain in
my skull. I unbuckled Noah, kicked open the damaged rear door of the transport,
and pulled him out into the freezing mud of the rail yard.
"Noah, run!" I whispered, grabbing his small hand.
We sprinted into the labyrinth of rusted boxcars and abandoned shipping
containers beneath the concrete overpass. The sleet soaked through my scrubs
within seconds, freezing to my skin, but I didn't stop.
Behind us, heavy boots splashed through the freezing puddles, accompanied by the
sharp beams of high-powered tactical flashlights cutting through the mist.
"Split up!" Garrett’s voice echoed beneath the concrete bridge. "She can't get
out of the yard! The northern fence is barbed wire!"
I ducked behind the iron wheel assembly of a rusted coal hopper, pulling Noah
between my knees, clamping my hand gently over his mouth.
"Shh, baby," I breathed against his ear. "Don't make a sound. Mommy's right
here."
Noah looked up at me, trembling so hard his teeth clicked, but he nodded, his
little fingers gripping my thumb with all his strength.
A flashlight beam swept across the rusted steel six inches above our heads.
Heavy footsteps stopped directly on the other side of the train car.
"I have tracks over here," a mercenary called out, the mechanical click of a
shotgun chambering echoing in the quiet. "Footprints in the slush. Heading
toward the fence."
I closed my eyes. There was nowhere left to run. Behind us was a twelve-foot
chain-link fence topped with razor wire; in front of us were four armed killers
with thermal scopes.
I reached into my pocket, my fingers wrapping around the brass surgical scalpel
handle I had shoved into my scrub pocket back at the penthouse medical suite.
If they were going to take my son, they would have to step over my corpse to do
it.
The mercenary rounded the edge of the coal hopper, his shotgun leveling directly
at my face.
"Found them," he smirked.
Before he could pull the trigger, a gloved hand shot out from the shadow beneath
the railcar coupler behind him.
The movement was soundless, fluid, and terrifyingly lethal.
The hand clamped around the mercenary's jaw, twisting violently with a sharp,
sickening CRACK.
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The man collapsed into the mud like an empty sack.
Standing behind him in the freezing rain, silhouetted against the amber sodium
lights of the expressway above, was Kieran Voss.
