Chapter 8 - Blood on the Snow
"Clara," Julian gasped, dropping his weapon to the wet gravel. He fell to his knees beside the shattered station wagon, his hands reaching out to pull her from the broken glass. "Clara, look at me. Are you hit? Did they touch you?"
She stumbled into his arms, her entire body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors. When his large, heavy frame enveloped her, the sheer familiarity of his scent—sandalwood, rain, and gunsmoke—broke through her shock. She pressed her face against his armored chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater.
"I'm okay," she sobbed, tears finally spilling over her cold cheeks. "I'm okay, Julian. You're here."
"I'm here," he whispered fiercely, burying his face in her dark hair, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. "I swear to God, I will never let you go again. I am so sorry, Clara. I am so sorry."
"Sir! We have to move right now!" Gabriel shouted, running over from the harbor entrance, his assault rifle raised. "Local law enforcement will be here in three minutes, and our intercepts show Sterling has a backup extraction team blocking the main highway south! We can't use the chopper—the fog is closing in too fast for aerial navigation!"
Julian instantly transitioned from terrified husband back into the ruthless tactical commander. He stood up, pulling Clara with him, shielding her body with his own.
"Where is the secondary extraction vehicle?" Julian demanded.
"Armored Land Rover parked at the north pier," Gabriel reported. "We can take the back logging roads through the White Mountains into New Hampshire. We have a secure, off-the-grid safehouse located in the high timber near Mount Washington. Nobody knows it belongs to the Montgomery holdings."
"Do it," Julian ordered. He turned to Clara, his bloodied hands cradling her pale face. "Can you run?"
She nodded firmly, wiping the tears from her eyes, her old pride surging back to steady her limbs. "Lead the way."
They sprinted down the freezing alleyway, escorted by Gabriel and three surviving operatives. They reached the armored Land Rover just as the first distant wail of police sirens began echoing off the Camden hills.
Gabriel jumped into the driver’s seat, roaring the heavy vehicle to life. Julian pushed Clara into the spacious rear cabin, climbing in directly behind her and slamming the heavy ballistic steel door shut as the tires tore into the gravel, speeding into the dark, freezing wilderness of the Maine interior.
As the SUV hurtled down the unpaved logging roads, the adrenaline began to fade from Clara’s system. She looked over at Julian in the dim light of the dashboard. He was leaning his head back against the leather seat, his breathing shallow and ragged, his right hand pressed tightly against his left side.
"Julian?" she whispered, leaning closer.
She gasped. Beneath his tactical vest, the thick wool of his dark sweater was saturated with a warm, dark, sticky wetness that was spreading rapidly across his ribs.
May you like
"You're bleeding," she cried in horror, reaching out to touch his side. Her fingers came away stained crimson. "Gabriel! Julian's been shot!"
"It's a through-and-through," Julian grunted, his face turning an ashen gray in the shadows as he closed his eyes, fighting the wave of unconsciousness dragging him down. "Just a ricochet off the brick... don't stop driving, Gabriel. Just get her to the timber."
