Chapter 3 - THE RAT IN THE BASEMENT
The footsteps were ascending the east wing stairs with chilling discipline. Two by two, pacing their breaches.
"Clara," Gabriel’s voice was low, steady now, the chemical fog burning away under a torrential flood of pure adrenaline. "Open the closet. The bottom panel behind the cedar rack."
I didn't ask questions. I lunged across the hardwood, throwing open the enormous walk-in wardrobe. I shoved past the rows of tailored cashmere suits, reached the rear wall, and tore through the false wood paneling. Inside lay a locked steel gun safe with a biometric thumbprint scanner.
"Roll me over there," he commanded.
"You can't bear weight on that lumbar segment yet," I warned, running back to the examination bed.
"Roll me, Clara. Now."
I grabbed the handles of the mobile bed, kicked off the wheel locks, and swung him around with practiced precision. As soon as the bed kissed the closet threshold, Gabriel reached out, his trembling, scarred thumb pressing firmly against the illuminated sensor.
A green light flashed with an electronic chirp. The heavy steel door popped open.
Inside rested two modified FN Five-seveN handguns, several high-capacity magazines, and a heavy tactical shotgun. Gabriel didn't reach for the heavy weapons; he seized both handguns with the effortless familiarity of a master craftsman picking up his tools. He ejected the magazine of the first, checked the chamber with a flick of his wrist, slapped it back home, and racked the slide against the edge of the mattress.
"Can you shoot?" he asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"I can hit a coyote at fifty yards," I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the ice sliding down my spine.
He handed me the second pistol. "Two shots center mass. Don't look for their eyes. Look for their sternum."
Down the hallway, the heavy hallway door splintered off its hinges.
"Check the primary suite!" a gruff voice barked. "Hale said the dosage was complete, but the remote signal died! Find the body!"
Gabriel gestured with two fingers. I understood immediately. I stepped behind the reinforced mahogany door of the bedroom, concealing myself in the blind spot, while Gabriel remained on the bed, pulling the white sheet up to his chest, closing his eyes, and letting his jaw slacken into a sickeningly convincing imitation of a corpse.
Two men in black tactical gear and ski masks rounded the bedroom corner, their carbines raised. The first man took one step into the room, saw the ruined mattress, saw Hale bound on the floor, and opened his mouth to shout an alert.
He never got the word out.
From the bed, Gabriel fired through the white linen sheet.
Two muffled pops tore through the fabric. The lead mercenary took two high-velocity rounds through the neck and dropped like a felled ox, blood spraying across the wallpaper. The second gunman spun his barrel toward the bed, but I stepped out from behind the door, raised the heavy pistol with both hands, leaned into my stance, and pulled the trigger twice.
The recoil bucked against my palms. The rounds punched clean through the man’s tactical vest at close range. He stumbled backward into the corridor, gasping, before collapsing against the banister.
Silence fell over the second floor, broken only by the crackle of the mercenaries' shoulder radios.
“Team Alpha, report. Did you secure the boss? Marco wants confirmation before the convoy arrives at the docks.”
Gabriel looked toward me. In the dim light of the snowstorm, his face was carved from granite, but beneath the lethal composure was something else—a dark, simmering reverence as his eyes swept over me.
"You didn't hesitate," he murmured.
"ICU nurses don't freeze," I replied, my hands shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was cresting, but my grip on the gun remaining firm. "Now what? That radio means Marco is expecting a call, and more men will be here within minutes."
"Not just more men," Gabriel said, dragging himself upright against the headboard, his brow coated in cold sweat as his damaged spine protested the movement. "Marco thinks I am dead. Tonight was supposed to be the end of the line. The family elders are gathering at the harbor warehouse in two hours to sign the transfer of the shipping terminals over to him."
He reached down, grabbing Dr. Hale by the hair, hauling the doctor’s head backward until the man cried out in terror.
"Who supplied the toxin, Richard?" Gabriel asked softly. The gentleness in his tone was infinitely more terrifying than any scream. "Tell me, or I will let Nurse Bennett here demonstrate what happens when an untrained hand performs a tracheostomy with a dull pen."
"D-Donati!" Hale sputtered, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "The Donati family! They gave Marco the synthetic blend through a lab in Zurich! Marco promised them the southern shipping lanes once you were in the ground! Please, Gabriel... I was just a contractor! Marco threatened my family!"
"You took an oath to preserve life, Doctor," Gabriel whispered, his eyes void of mercy. "And you charged me two hundred thousand a month to dig my grave."
Gabriel raised his pistol and struck Hale behind the ear with the heavy steel frame. The doctor went limp, collapsing unconscious onto the floor.
"We have to move," Gabriel said, looking at me. "The underground garage beneath the east wing. There is an armored Mercedes. But my legs... the nerve blocks Hale injected haven't fully cleared."
"I told you," I said, stepping forward and sliding his massive arm over my shoulders, bracing my hip against his side. "I don't leave my patients behind. Lean on me."
As his weight pressed against me, hot and heavy, Gabriel paused for a fraction of a second. His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my cheek, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw with an intensity that had nothing to do with violence.
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"If we survive this night, Clara," he growled softly, "I am going to give you the world."
"Keep your world, Moretti," I retorted, tightening my arm around his waist and taking the first heavy step toward the service elevator. "Just don't bleed on my shoes."
