Chapter 5 - The Safehouse
The DA knew keeping me alive until the trial was the only way they would win. Thorne moved me to a secure safehouse just outside city limits—a cabin surrounded by dense pine trees and armed guards.
But I knew Marcus’s reach. Cops could be bought; I had the ledgers to prove it.
On the third night, the rain was pouring in sheets. I was sitting in the dark living room, a loaded Glock 19 resting on my lap—a ghost from my Bureau days. The power grid suddenly failed, plunging the cabin into absolute blackness.
I didn't scream. I didn't panic. I slipped out of my chair and crouched behind the heavy oak bookshelf.
The front door didn't burst open. It swung open silently. A shadow slipped into the room, moving with military precision. The hitman. Marcus had spent a fortune.
The shadow swept the room with a suppressed pistol, stepping cautiously on the hardwood floor. He was looking for a terrified housewife cowering in the bedroom.
He stepped past the bookshelf.
I swung my leg out, catching his knee with brutal force. He buckled with a grunt, his gun firing a suppressed phut into the ceiling. Before he could recover, I drove the butt of my Glock into his temple. He collapsed in a heavy heap.
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I turned on a heavy-duty tactical flashlight, blinding him as he groaned on the floor. I knelt beside him, pressing the barrel of my gun to his forehead.
"Tell Marcus," I whispered to the bleeding man, "that his wife wants a divorce."
