Chapter 6 - BLOOD DOESN’T MAKE A FAMILY
James moved in front of me.
Sullivan laughed.
“There it is. Thornton loyalty.”
“You're bleeding,” James said.
“Observant.”
“What happened?”
“Mercer.”
Sullivan lowered the gun slightly.
“Turns out our old friend has become ambitious.”
“You kidnapped Eleanor.”
“I did.”
My hands curled.
“Where is she?”
“I lost her.”
“You lost my grandmother?”
“Mercer took her.”
I wanted to kill him myself.
Sullivan saw it.
“You have Thomas Thornton's eyes when you're angry.”
“Apparently I have enough Thornton relatives already.”
James looked at me.
I couldn't process it.
Daniel Thornton.
My father.
The man my mother had refused to discuss.
I had always been told he died before I was born.
“Is Daniel alive?” I asked.
Sullivan's expression changed.
“No.”
“How did he die?”
Silence.
James turned.
“Patrick.”
Sullivan looked at him.
“Your father killed him.”
The words landed like a bullet.
James went still.
“No.”
“Thomas discovered Daniel was feeding information to my father.”
“That's a lie.”
“Ask Eleanor.”
I stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Both men looked at me.
“I am done listening to men tell me what my family did thirty-seven years ago while pointing guns at each other.”
Sullivan actually smiled.
“Definitely a Thornton.”
“Put the gun down.”
His smile vanished.
“Evelyn—”
“Down.”
To my surprise, he obeyed.
James didn't lower his.
“James.”
“No.”
“He knows where Mercer might take Grandma.”
Sullivan nodded.
“The girl is smarter than you.”
James glared.
“Continue talking and we'll test that theory without you.”
I turned to Sullivan.
“Where?”
“Old Saint Agnes Seminary.”
“Why?”
“Mercer used it years ago.”
James knew the place.
An abandoned religious school near the river.
Sullivan stepped toward the files.
James blocked him.
“Don't.”
“Those records belong to my family.”
“They belong to the people your family destroyed.”
Something dark crossed Sullivan's face.
“My father was a monster. You'll get no argument from me.”
That surprised us both.
“Then why do you want them?” I asked.
“Because some of those accounts are mine.”
“Money.”
“Survival.”
Sullivan looked at James.
“If Mercer gets those account codes, he can buy every corrupt official from here to Washington.”
“Then we stop him,” I said.
James turned to me.
“We?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“James.”
“You stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This isn't your auction stunt anymore.”
“My grandmother is there.”
“And Mercer wants you.”
“Exactly.”
James stared at me.
I stepped closer.
“You told me I'm the final piece. Use me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don't use people I care about.”
Silence.
Sullivan looked between us.
“Well.”
James's eyes stayed on mine.
Neither of us moved.
“You care about me?” I whispered.
“This is an inconvenient time.”
“You think?”
Sullivan sighed.
“I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but Mercer has Eleanor.”
James looked away first.
We made a plan.
Sullivan would call Mercer and claim he had captured me.
James's men would surround Saint Agnes.
I would remain in an armored vehicle.
That last part was James's plan.
Not mine.
Saint Agnes appeared through fog beside the river.
Broken windows.
Collapsed bell tower.
Sullivan entered alone.
We listened through his microphone.
Mercer's voice echoed.
“You disappoint me, Patrick.”
“Frequently.”
“Where is Evelyn?”
“Safe.”
“I asked where.”
“You get her after I see Eleanor.”
A pause.
Then my grandmother's voice.
Weak.
But alive.
“Patrick…”
I grabbed the door handle.
James stopped me.
“Wait.”
Mercer spoke.
“Bring Evelyn inside.”
Sullivan laughed.
“You think I'm stupid?”
“Yes.”
Gunfire erupted.
James's men moved.
I shoved the door open.
“Evelyn!”
I ran.
James cursed and followed.
Inside, smoke filled the corridor.
Men shouted.
I saw Sullivan behind a pillar.
“Upstairs!”
“Grandma?”
“Mercer took her!”
I ran toward the staircase.
James caught my waist.
“You promised.”
“I absolutely did not.”
We reached the second floor.
A door slammed.
I followed.
The room beyond was an old chapel.
Mercer stood near the altar.
My grandmother sat in her wheelchair beside him.
A gun pressed to her head.
“Stop.”
I stopped.
James raised his weapon.
Mercer smiled.
“Put it down.”
James obeyed.
“Evelyn,” Grandma whispered.
I almost cried.
“I'm here.”
Mercer looked delighted.
“Now we can finally finish.”
“Finish what?”
“The transfer.”
I stared.
“What transfer?”
“The Blackwell accounts.”
“I don't know any accounts.”
“No.”
Mercer reached into his coat.
“But your father did.”
He removed a small recorder.
Pressed play.
A man's voice filled the chapel.
Eleanor, if anything happens to me, my daughter must never know what I left her until she is ready.
My heart stopped.
Mercer watched me.
“That is Daniel Thornton.”
My father.
The recording continued.
The accounts require three things. The Blackwell codex. My bloodline. And the phrase Margaret chose for our daughter.
Mercer smiled.
“You're the bloodline, Evelyn.”
He cocked the gun against Grandma's temple.
May you like
“So tell me.”
“What phrase did your mother whisper to you every night before she died?”
