Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Docks
The library fell into a terrifying, suffocating silence.
Josie stood up from the sofa, her hands trembling as she stared at Viktor, then at Constantine. "What?! No! Constantine, I swear to you, I haven't touched a computer in this house! I don't even know where your vault is!"
Viktor pulled out his tablet, showing the digital log on the screen. "The access code belonged to Phil Callahan—the owner of the pub where Miss Morrow worked. The federal logs show an incoming wire transfer of two million dollars into an offshore account registered under the name of Liam Morrow forty-five minutes ago."
"My brother?!" Josie gasped, tears bursting from her eyes as she backed away toward the fireplace. "No! Liam is in a hospital bed! He can barely walk! Someone framed us! Constantine, please! You have to believe me!"
Constantine stood frozen beside the leather sofa. His jaw was clenched so tightly a vein bulged at his temple. His dark eyes searched her face—looking for deceit, looking for fear, looking for the betrayal that had destroyed his family eight months ago.
"Boss," Viktor urged, drawing his sidearm. "The federal convoy is five minutes from the outer gates. We have to move you and the princess to the escape tunnel now. We need to secure Miss Morrow."
Constantine walked slowly toward Josie. She didn't run. She stood by the roaring fire, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, looking straight into the eyes of the most dangerous man in Boston.
"Look at me, Constantine," Josie sobbed softly. "If you think I used your daughter... if you think I used your trust to destroy you... then shoot me right now. But I will never lie to you. I love Mila. And I... I love you."
Constantine stopped inches from her face. He raised his hand, his large palm gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
"I know," Constantine whispered softly. "I know you didn't do it."
He turned sharply to Viktor. "It wasn't Josie. Phil Callahan was heavily indebted to Vincent Moretti’s crew. Moretti used Callahan’s old access codes from years ago to hack our secondary network and route the digital footprint through her room to split us apart."
"How do you know, Boss?" Viktor asked, stunned.
"Because a snake leaves a trail of grease, Viktor," Constantine growled, pulling his coat on and checking his sidearm. "And Phil Callahan smells like cheap beer and grease. He’s at the Boston Harbor docks right now waiting for Moretti’s boat to take his payment."
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He grabbed Josie’s hand, pulling her along as he barked orders into his earpiece. "Viktor! Get Mila into the armored Maybach through the subterranean exit! Drive her to the safehouse in New Hampshire! Josie, you are coming with me!"
Ten minutes later, the high-powered engines of Constantine's twin-turbocharged Dodge Charger roared as they burst through the rear gates of the estate, tearing into the dark, rain-soaked night toward the industrial docks of Boston Harbor!
