Chapter 11 - The Final Stand in the Study
The acrid smell of cordite filled the study as empty brass casings bounced across the Persian rug. Sebastian fired another controlled round through the doorway, driving the second and third intruders back out into the second-floor corridor with injuries that ended their advance.
“That's three down,” Sebastian muttered, keeping his weapon raised toward the open door. “There are at least six more in the hall.”
Maggie didn't hesitate; she stepped past him toward the hallway threshold, holding a heavy crystal decanter of bourbon in her hand.
“Maggie, get back,” Sebastian ordered sharply.
“They're expecting a target, not a physics experiment,” she whispered, unscrewing the heavy silver top of the decanter and pouring the high-proof alcohol in a wide, slick puddle across the polished hardwood just outside the doorway. She pulled a box of matches from her pocket, struck one against the rough side, and dropped it directly into the puddle.
Flames roared upward instantly, creating a blazing wall of fire that blocked the narrow corridor and cut off the remaining intruders from advancing toward the study. Curses and shouts echoed down the hall as Malcolm's men scrambled backward to escape the sudden wall of heat and smoke.
“That buys us thirty seconds,” Maggie said, dusting off her hands.
Sebastian stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and profound awe. “Remind me never to get on your bad side in an archive.”
“You're already married to me, Sebastian,” she replied coolly. “You passed that test months ago.”
Before Sebastian could respond, his secure cell phone buzzed violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw an encrypted video call request from Malcolm Veseri himself, and accepted it, propping the screen up on the desk so both of them could see.
Malcolm's face appeared on the small screen, illuminated by the harsh blue light of a terminal inside one of the estate's wrecked security vehicles. He looked frantic, his hair disheveled and his usual calm facade completely shattered.
“You burned my men out of the hallway, Rinaldi,” Malcolm snarled through the speaker. “You think you've won? My backup is fifty yards from your front door. You won't make it to the river road.”
Sebastian leaned into the camera frame, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly quiet register that commanded absolute terror. “Look behind you, Malcolm.”
Malcolm frowned on the screen, hesitating for a fraction of a second before turning his head toward the passenger window of his vehicle.
On the live camera feed, the red-and-blue flashing lights of six unmarked federal vehicles and three state police cruisers had completely surrounded Veseri's convoy, their sirens strobing silently against the dark trees of the estate drive. Heavily armed federal marshals were already cuffing Malcolm's remaining tactical backup against the hoods of their cars.
Malcolm turned back to the phone camera, his face turning the color of ash. “You... you called the Feds?”
“I didn't call them,” Sebastian said calmly. “Maggie did, while you were busy trying to break my front windows.”
May you like
Malcolm stared at the screen in pure horror as the heavy shadow of a federal marshal fell across his window, the door of his SUV being yanked open from the outside. “No—wait, Rinaldi, we can negotiate—!”
Sebastian ended the call with a single tap of his thumb, plunging the room into silence save for the crackling of the fire in the hallway and the distant wail of police sirens outside.
