Chapter 5 - A Dangerous GameMy hands shook so violently I could barely grab the heavy brass handle of the French doors.
I knew the smartest thing I could do was run, find Mrs. Gable, and lock ourselves in the panic room or call the police. But as I thought of Daniel—the man who had looked at me with such fierce, unexpected tenderness just ten minutes ago—I knew I couldn't just stand there and watch him walk into an ambush.
I pushed the heavy glass door open just an inch.
The cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and river water.
Outside, the man with the gun hissed at Victor, “Tell Brooks the Russian syndicate doesn't negotiate terms. If the North Pier isn't signed over by midnight, the next body we drop won't be a warning—it’ll be his.”
Victor choked out a rough, defiant laugh. “Boss will skin you alive before midnight even hits.”
The gunman raised the butt of his pistol, preparing to strike Victor across the face.
Without thinking, my foot caught on the heavy velvet curtain rod near the door, sending a brass decorative paperweight crashing onto the stone tiles of the patio with a sharp, echoing clang.
Both men froze.
The gunman whipped his head around, his dark eyes locking instantly onto the open French door—and onto me standing in the dimly lit library.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, my blood running cold.
The gunman shoved Victor aside, letting the groaning man collapse onto the wet stones, and began sprinting directly toward the open French doors with terrifying speed.
Fear paralyzed my legs for a split second, then survival instinct kicked in with the force of a freight train. I grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker from the hearth just as the intruder lunged through the doorway.
He lunged for my throat, his face twisted in a cruel, jagged snarl.
I swung the heavy iron poker with every ounce of adrenaline-fueled strength in my body, catching him squarely across the shoulder and sending him stumbling backward against the mahogany bookshelf.
Before he could recover his balance, the double doors of the library burst open behind me.
Daniel stood in the doorway, his face pale with fury, holding a customized SIG Sauer pistol leveled with absolute, dead-eyed precision at the intruder's chest.
“Drop the weapon,” Daniel’s voice rang out like a gunshot, echoing off the stone fireplace with enough raw, lethal authority to freeze hell itself.
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The intruder stared down the barrel of Daniel’s gun, realized he was completely outmatched, and dropped his pistol to the floor, raising his hands slowly into the air.
“Well, well,” Daniel whispered, stepping into the room like an apex predator stalking a wounded deer. “Looks like the trash decided to take itself out tonight.”
