Chapter 8 - The Media Ambush
Before Nora could get another word out of the terrified apothecary, the heavy glass door of the boutique shattered inward with a resounding crash. Two men in black tactical gear burst through the fog, their faces obscured by ski masks.
“Get down!” one of them barked.
In the surveillance van three blocks away, Julian’s blood turned to ice as the audio feed erupted into screams and static. “Marcus, move! Now!” Julian roared, already shoving the van door open and sprinting down the rain-slicked pavement before his brother could even put the vehicle in drive.
Inside the shop, Dr. Aris scrambled toward the back exit, but one of the masked men leveled a taser at him, sending the apothecary convulsing to the floor. The second assailant lunged at Nora, grabbing her by the lapels of her trench coat and dragging her toward the alleyway door.
Nora didn’t scream. Remembering the self-defense moves Julian had briefly walked her through that morning, she drove her heel hard into the attacker’s instep, following it with a vicious elbow to his throat. The man grunted, his grip loosening just enough for Nora to wrench herself free. She knocked over a towering glass display of essential oils, sending thousands of dollars of fragrant glass shattering across the floor to create a slick, hazardous barrier.
The front door flew open again, and Julian Vance came charging in like a battering ram. He tackled the second masked man to the ground, his massive frame driving the assailant through a wooden display shelf. Julian’s fists flew with terrifying, primal ferocity, fueled by the terrifying thought of losing Nora the same way he had lost his wife.
Within seconds, Marcus arrived, gun drawn, securing the man Nora had incapacitated. The wail of approaching police sirens echoed in the distance—Marcus had called his FBI contacts the second the breach occurred.
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Julian pulled himself off the bruised and bleeding attacker, ignoring his own split knuckle. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled Nora into a fierce, desperate embrace. “Are you hurt? Nora, look at me! Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she breathless, burying her face in his chest, her hands trembling as she held onto him. “We got him, Julian. We got the confession on tape.”
