Chapter 10 - Extraction
The helicopter searchlights transformed the dark concrete wasteland into a blinding amphitheater. Through the shattered windows, sniper fire from the hovering choppers began raining down on Volkov’s men with devastating accuracy, cutting off their retreat toward the stairwell.
"Vance air support! Down on the deck!" Reynolds roared to the remaining guards as the tide of the battle shifted instantly.
Julian didn't wait for the gunfire to cease entirely. He sprinted back across the exposed floor to the central pillar, sliding onto his knees beside Clara. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and a thin line of blood was dripping down his left forearm from a ricochet graze, but his eyes were bright, fierce, and entirely focused on her.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, running his hands rapidly over her shoulders, her arms, checking the children in the stroller. "Clara, look at me! Are any of you hurt?"
"No," she gasped, her hands shaking as she touched his bleeding arm. "You’re bleeding—"
"It’s nothing," he cut her off, grabbing the handles of the stroller with one hand and lifting Clara to her feet with the other. "The roof is secure. We’re moving to the choppers right now while the strike team cleans up the rest of this garbage."
Surrounded by a fresh perimeter of heavily armed tactical operators who had rappelled from the helicopters, Clara and the triplets were escorted up the final flights of stairs to the windswept roof landing pad.
The downdraft from the rotor blades whipped Clara’s hair across her face as Julian helped her climb into the cabin of the lead helicopter. He strapped the children into custom safety harnesses with practiced ease, then sat down directly beside Clara, pulling her close against his side as the aircraft lifted off the skyscraper, leaving the police sirens and flashing lights far below them.
As the helicopter banked over the dark waters of the western harbor, heading toward the rugged cliffs of the northern coastline, Clara finally let her head fall against Julian’s shoulder. She was exhausted, her body running on the absolute dregs of adrenaline.
"Where are we going?" she asked over the hum of the rotors.
"My fortress," Julian said softly, his arm tightening around her waist. "An eighty-acre estate on the bluffs. High security, no public access, and twenty guards on the perimeter twenty-four hours a day. Volkov will never get within five miles of you again."
Clara looked down at the triplets. They had all fallen asleep during the flight, their small heads nodding against their padded straps, entirely unbothered by the chaos they had just survived because they were finally near the two people who mattered most.
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"Julian," Clara said quietly, looking up at his sharp profile in the green glow of the cockpit instruments. "When we get to this estate... what happens to me? Do you write me a check? Do I become the nanny? How does this work?"
Julian looked down at her, his amber eyes intense and uncompromising. "You aren't a nanny, Clara. And I don't buy the people I love. You are the mother of my heirs. You are staying in my house, at my side, until we dismantle every single person who played a part in tearing this family apart."
