Chapter 13 - The Greenhouse of Shadows
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The rain had turned into a freezing sleet that rattled against the glass panes of Botanica Lux’s rear greenhouse.
The smell of damp peat moss, crushed fern fronds, and wet fertilizer filled the dark, freezing structure.
A single work lamp hung from the central iron truss, swaying slightly in the draft, casting wild, swinging shadows across the gravel floor.
In the center of the pool of yellow light, Daniel sat tied to an old wooden potting chair, his hands bound behind his back with yellow utility zip-ties.
His lip was split, a trickle of dark blood drying against his pale chin.
Standing behind him, shivering violently in a soaked leather jacket, was Ryan Gallagher.
His eyes were wild, bloodshot, dilated with cheap stimulants and raw panic.
His service Glock was gripped in his right hand, the hammer cocked back, the barrel resting against the base of Daniel’s skull.
The rusted iron door of the greenhouse squeaked as it pushed open against the sleet.
Vivien stepped inside.
She had stripped off the velvet gown and the sapphire necklace in the back of the town car, wearing dark jeans, heavy work boots, and her old green florist apron over a thick wool sweater.
Her hair was wet, plastered against her neck by the freezing rain.
“Danny,” she breathed, taking a step toward the center of the room.
Daniel’s eyes widened above the silver duct tape, thrashing his shoulders against the wooden chair, grunting frantically to warn her back.
“Stay right there!” Gallagher screamed, his voice cracking into an ugly, manic screech that echoed off the glass walls.
“Take one more step and I paint this whole damn greenhouse with his brains!”
Vivien stopped immediately, raising both hands with her palms open.
“I’m here, Ryan,” she said, her voice remarkably calm, steady, and loud over the sound of the sleet.
“I did what you asked. I came alone.”
“You think you’re smart, don't you?!” Gallagher spat, spit flying from his lips into the swaying light.
“You thought you could run to Sebastian Cross?! You thought that mobster bastard could take my life from me?!”
“Ryan, listen to me,” Vivien pleaded, taking half a step sideways to draw his eyes away from the floorboards near the potting soil bins.
“The feds have warrants for you. But if you let Daniel go, I won't testify.”
“Sebastian has private jets at Midway. I can get you fifty thousand in cash and a flight to Mexico before sunrise.”
Gallagher let out a high-pitched, hysterical cackle that ended in a ragged cough.
“Mexico?! You think I’m stupid, Vivien?!”
“The second I walk out of here, Cross has his butchers put me in a meat grinder!”
“There is no Mexico! There is no pension! There’s only forty years in a federal cage!”
He dug the barrel of the Glock deeper into Daniel’s neck, making the boy wince in agony.
“If I’m going down, I’m taking everything you love with me!”
“Look at me, Vivien!” Gallagher roared, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Look at what you did to your little brother!”
Behind the ten-foot mound of potting soil, the heavy wooden floorboards of the old root cellar shifted.
Not a sound.
Not a creak of iron or a scrape of timber.
A towering shadow rose from the black subterranean depths beneath the greenhouse.
Sebastian Cross stepped into the darkness behind the iron shelving, moving with the silent, terrible speed of an apex predator closing in for the kill.
He wore black tactical gear, his amber eyes glowing in the periphery of the swinging yellow work lamp.
Vivien locked her eyes on Gallagher’s face, raising her voice to drown out any possible whisper of movement.
“You asked me what I gave him that Tuesday, Ryan!” she yelled, stepping directly into the center of the light.
Gallagher blinked, momentarily startled by the sudden fury in her voice.
“What?!”
“You texted me!” Vivien shouted, tears and rain streaming down her face as she stepped forward.
“You asked what I slipped him with the orchid card!”
“I gave him the truth, Ryan!”
“I told him you were a pathetic, cowardly bully who couldn't win a woman without a badge and a planted gun!”
Gallagher’s face twisted into an expression of pure, murderous hatred.
“Die, you bitch—”
He swung the barrel away from Daniel’s head, aiming straight at Vivien’s chest.
May you like
He never pulled the trigger.
From the shadows behind the potting table, a hand shot out like an iron vice, grabbing Gallagher’s right wrist and twisting it backward with a sickening, wet crunch of snapping bone.
