Chapter 8 - The Cold Clearing
The biting cold hit my bare skin like a thousand needles.
The blizzard was howling, whipping blinding sheets of white snow across the manicured lawns. In the distance, down the winding two-mile driveway, a chaotic line of red brake lights snaked toward the main road as terrified party guests fled into the night.
Vance carried me toward the carriage house, his boots crunching deeply into the fresh drifts.
Another contraction ripped through me. I cried out, digging my fingers into the heavy wool of his coat, the pain threatening to split me in two.
"Hold on, Serena," Vance grunted, his breath billowing in white clouds. "We're almost at the secondary garage. My SUV is parked behind the tree line."
"Arthur..." I gasped, shivering violently against the arctic wind. "The tunnel... it exits near the carriage house."
Vance stopped.
Through the swirling snow, thirty yards ahead of us, the exterior storm cellar doors of the carriage house were thrown open.
Two figures stumbled out into the whiteout.
Arthur Dre and Fiona Vale.
Arthur was clutching a heavy, fireproof aluminum briefcase to his chest—the bearer bonds and offshore transaction ledgers he had pulled from the vault before the detonation. Fiona was shivering uncontrollably in her torn evening gown, clutching his arm just as she had clutched Matthias's two hours ago.
They hadn't seen us. They were running toward a black, unmarked Mercedes SUV parked beneath the pine trees, its engine idling, exhaust plumes billowing into the blizzard.
Suddenly, Arthur stopped.
He looked back at the main house. The grand estate of his ancestors was a raging inferno, the roof caving inward, black smoke blotting out the stars.
There was no remorse on his face. Only the cold calculation of an old spider who had survived another winter.
"Arthur!" Fiona screamed over the wind, pulling at his arm. "Get in the car! The local authorities will be here in twenty minutes!"
Arthur turned to her.
He didn't move toward the passenger door. Instead, he calmly opened the rear door of the SUV, placed the aluminum briefcase on the leather seat, and stepped back.
"Arthur?" Fiona cried, shivering, confused. "What are you doing? Unlock the front!"
Arthur pulled a small, sleek pistol from the pocket of his overcoat.
He didn't say a word. He didn't offer a monologue. He simply raised the barrel and pointed it directly at Fiona’s chest.
"Arthur, no!" she shrieked, backing into a snowdrift, her hands flying up in desperate surrender. "I did everything you asked! I set the bypass! I controlled Matthias! You promised me—"
"You're a witness, Fiona," Arthur said, his voice barely carrying over the howling wind, cold and detached. "And witnesses don't fit into acceptable parameters."
"Hey!"
Vance’s voice cut through the storm like a thunderclap.
Arthur spun around, startled.
Vance had set me down gently against the sheltered wall of the stone garden shed. He stepped into the clearing, his pistol raised in a two-handed tactical grip, the snow swirling around his broad shoulders.
"Drop the weapon, Arthur," Vance commanded. "It's over."
Arthur stared at Vance through the blizzard. Then, he looked past Vance and saw me, sitting in the snow, clutching my stomach, alive.
A terrifying, hollow laugh escaped Arthur’s lips.
"It’s never over, Mr. Vance," Arthur said, his eyes gleaming with mad defiance. "Do you think a frozen bank account stops men like me? I own the judges. I own the port authorities. By dawn, I will be forty miles offshore on a Panamanian tanker, and this country will remember me as a grieving father who lost his entire family in a tragic gas explosion."
"You're not getting to the water," Vance said, taking a slow step forward.
Arthur smiled coldly. "Watch me."
He didn't fire at Vance.
He turned the gun toward Fiona and squeezed the trigger.
The muffled crack of the gunshot was swallowed by the storm. Fiona gasped, a spray of crimson blooming across the front of her ivory gown, and she collapsed backward into the pure, white snow.
Before Arthur could pivot his weapon toward Vance, Vance fired twice.
Two heavy rounds struck Arthur in the center of his chest.
The old man stumbled backward, his eyes widening in shock as the impact drove him into the side of the idling Mercedes. He slid down the dark metal door, his blood smearing against the cold paint, before slumping motionless into the snowbank.
Silence fell over the clearing, save for the hum of the car engine and the crying of the wind.
Vance rushed to Arthur, checked the pulse at his neck, and kicked the weapon away. "Target down."
He moved to Fiona. She was lying on her back, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, her crimson blood melting a dark crater into the snow. The diamond necklace was still clasped around her throat, glittering mockingly beneath the vehicle’s taillights.
She looked up at me as I crawled forward on my hands and knees through the freezing slush.
"Serena..." she whispered, blood bubbling at the corner of her lips. "I... I thought he was going to save me..."
"He only saved himself, Fiona," I whispered back, my teeth chattering from the cold and shock.
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Another vicious, agonizing spasm tore through my pelvis. I cried out, falling forward onto my elbows. My water had broken. The warm fluid soaked through my dress, freezing instantly against the arctic air.
"Vance!" I screamed. "The baby is coming! Now!"
