Chapter 3 - Escape from the Shore
The basement of the mansion was a cavern of concrete and exposed pipes, smelling of damp earth and motor oil. The laundry chute had been tight, but Hunter had managed to slide down with Leo unharmed, while I dropped down the service stairs, clearing the landings one by one.
The garage was silent. My collection of armored sedans and sports cars sat in neat rows under the dim emergency lights.
"Over here," I whispered, guiding Hunter toward a nondescript black SUV in the corner. It wasn't my usual armored convoy vehicle; it was a standard utility truck used by the estate’s gardening staff. It was the last vehicle my cousin’s men would expect me to take.
I bypassed the ignition, hotwiring the truck in seconds. The engine roared to life with a low, reassuring rumble.
"Get in the back. Lay on the floor," I ordered.
Hunter scrambled into the footwell of the back seat, curled protectively over Leo. The baby was silent, exhausted from the feeding and the sudden movement, but his breathing was steady.
I slammed the truck into reverse, flooring the gas pedal. The tires shrieked against the concrete as we flew backward out of the garage doors, smashing through the wooden security gate that blocked the driveway.
As we cleared the tree-lined perimeter of the estate, I saw three pairs of headlights flash in my rearview mirror.
"They're on us," I muttered, steering the truck onto the winding, rain-slicked roads of the Long Island shore.
The chase was relentless. The black sedans behind us were heavier and faster. One of them pulled up beside us, the passenger window rolling down as a rifle barrel emerged.
"Hold on!" I shouted.
I slammed my foot on the brakes. The SUV skidded violently, the chasing sedan shooting past us. I locked the steering wheel and rammed our front bumper into the sedan’s rear quarter panel. The pit maneuver was flawless; the sedan spun out of control, flipping over the guardrail and crashing into the rocky ravine below in a ball of fire.
But the remaining two cars were closing the gap.
"Lorenzo!" Hunter cried from the back. "The baby... his chest is rattling. He needs to eat again, his blood sugar is dropping!"
I looked at the dashboard clock. The neuro-paralytic was wearing off, but the physical toll on Leo's tiny, starved body was reaching a critical limit. If we didn't get him to a safe, clean environment soon, his organs would begin to fail from sheer exhaustion.
"There's a private medical clinic in Queens," I said, pushing the engine to its absolute limit. "It’s owned by an old family doctor who owes me his life. Julian Halloran is dirty—he’s the one who gave me the forty-eight-hour warning. He was in on it, Hunter. He was the one supplying the poison to the nurse."
"Then where are we going?" she asked, her voice tight with panic.
"To the one place they will never look," I said, a dark smile playing on my lips. "The Eastbridge Community Center. The place you told me about."
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"But that's a public shelter!" Hunter protested. "It’s not safe for a man like you!"
"Exactly," I said, turning the truck onto the highway ramp toward Denver. "My cousin thinks in terms of hotels, penthouses, and private docks. He will never search a soup kitchen in a broken neighborhood. And right now, the only thing that matters is keeping that boy alive."
