Chapter 3 - Blood on the Iron Fire EscapeThe bathroom was empty.
Garrett blinked, staring at the porcelain tub, the bare sink, and the white shower curtain swaying gently in the draft from the open window.
"What?" Garrett muttered, turning back toward Elena with a furious scowl. "Where did he go? The window is too small—"
"I told you," Elena said, her voice ringing out crisp and clear as she pulled a heavy canister of pressurized medical oxygen and a surgical laser scalpel from beneath the counter, keeping them concealed behind her back. "You're chasing ghosts, Garrett. Just like you always do."
One of the tactical officers patrolling the room called out from the kitchen corner. "Detective! Look at this!"
Garrett spun around. The officer was kneeling beside the kitchen window, shining a high-powered tactical flashlight along the metal frame and down onto the iron rungs of the fire escape outside.
A fresh smear of dark crimson stained the rusted iron railing where the rain was washing it away into the puddles below.
"He went out the back," the officer reported, standing up. "He can't have gotten far. He's bleeding out."
Garrett’s face twisted into an ugly, triumphant grin. He turned his cold blue eyes back to Elena.
"Looks like your little boyfriend didn't appreciate your hospitality," Garrett mocked, stepping toward the door. "And as for you, Elena... harboring a fugitive, obstruction of justice, aiding a criminal syndicate. We're taking you back to North River in cuffs. Let's see how well your medical license holds up in a federal penitentiary."
He lunged forward, grabbing her arm roughly, twisting her wrist behind her back to snap a pair of cold steel zip-ties around her wrists.
Elena didn't scream. She didn't beg.
Instead, as Garrett pulled her toward the doorway, she let out a sharp, piercing whistle that echoed off the alley walls below.
Garrett stopped, shaking her arm. "What the hell was that?"
From the shadows of the rain-drenched alleyway directly beneath the third-floor fire escape, a heavy metallic clang rang out.
Two men in dark tactical gear—men who wore no police badges, whose faces were masked in tactical balaclavas, and whose automatic rifles were fitted with professional suppressors—stepped out from the cover of the brick overhang.
Before Garrett’s subordinates could draw their weapons, the alley erupted in silent, devastating precision. Two suppressed shots shattered the overhead security lights, plunging the hallway and the street into absolute darkness, illuminated only by the frantic beam of tactical flashlights.
"Ambush!" one of the North River officers yelled, drawing his sidearm.
"Hold your fire!" Garrett roared, shoving Elena against the wall as he drew his own pistol, his eyes darting wildly toward the stairwell. "Secure the perimeter! Call for backup—"
"You don't have backup in this town, Detective," a deep, controlled voice echoed from the stairwell shadows.
Out of the darkness stepped Lucian Moretti.
He was pale, his left arm clamped tightly against his bandaged ribs, blood soaking through his makeshift dressing, but in his right hand, he held a heavy Sig Sauer P226 pointed with absolute, unwavering steadiness directly at Garrett Hale’s chest.
Behind Lucian stood Dante, his most trusted lieutenant, flanked by four armed operatives who had locked down the exits before the North River cops even realized they were in a trap.
Garrett froze. The color drained completely from his face as he stared down the barrel of Lucian’s gun.
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"Moretti," Garrett breathed, his voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming terror. "You... you're supposed to be dead."
"Conversations about my death have been greatly exaggerated," Lucian said coldly, his dark eyes fixed on Garrett with a lethality that sent a chill through the entire room. He took another step forward, ignoring the pain radiating from his side. "And as for trespassing in my associate's home... that was a very expensive mistake."
