"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
~~~~
Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to Nacht_Owl for an invaluable comment. Thank you!
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Cambridge, Massachusetts
June 2024
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The familiar voice close to my ear churns my stomach. "Get slowly back into the car and keep your hands where I can see them."
I laugh under my breath. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do, Marcel? Shoot me right here in front of your neighbors and your kid?"
"Trust me, I can make it look like self-defense in a robbery gone wrong."
Knowing how he can spin a lie, I don't doubt it. I open the door of the Toyota and get behind the wheel. With a few looks to his left and to his right, he joins me in the passenger seat.
"Drive."
I put on my seatbelt. The barrel of the semi-automatic is pointed right at my stomach and his finger is on the trigger; for now, I'll have to play along. "Where to?"
"Just fucking start the car and go."
"What about your seatbelt?"
He snorts.
"The alarm will go off. The beeping drives me nuts."
"Fine."
I don't take my eyes off the gun as he wrestles with the seatbelt to feed it behind his back. Just one second of him losing his focus will be enough . . .
My plan doesn't work. The latch plate of the belt clicks into the buckle and he angles himself with his back resting against the door to have optimum control of the weapon. "There. Now drive or I will shoot you."
I start the engine and pull out into the road. In the rearview mirror, his house disappears behind a bend.
His glare drills into the side of my head. "Why are you here? I told Jackson that the money was gone."
After I saw the house, the cars, and his neighborhood, it's another thing I don't doubt. "It was never about the money."
He cranes his neck to glance out the back window. "Take a right at the light and then keep straight. In about one point five miles, follow the signs to the transit station."
Sure thing.
With a gun pointed at me, I don't have much of a choice. I signal and make the turn; the street is four lanes but still fairly empty at this time of night. Marcel turns the rearview mirror toward him to keep an eye on the traffic behind us. The silence in the car is so charged that a spark could set off an explosion.
For a breath, I take my eyes off the road and stare at him. His face is tense, but his hand is steady. Years of training with the Disciples have ensured that not much can rattle him. He is a trained killer and with the stakes as high as they are, my chances to overpower him are nil. If I want to make it out of the car alive, I'll have to come up with another plan.
