Chapter 3 - The name echoed through the warehouse.“BENNETT!”
I pressed myself against the pavement.
Daniel crawled behind the SUV.
Another shot punched through the vehicle's rear window.
I didn't panic.
Panic was noise.
Noise got people killed.
I looked beneath the SUV.
Two sets of boots.
One man near the sedan.
One moving left.
I whispered, “How many?”
“Three.”
“Guns?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
Daniel looked at me.
“You've been retired too long.”
“No.”
I glanced toward the warehouse.
“I've been pretending.”
The third man stepped into view.
He was carrying something under his coat.
Daniel whispered, “We need to move.”
“No.”
“What?”
“They're herding us.”
He looked toward the alley.
I pointed.
“They want us to run that direction.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it's the only obvious exit.”
Daniel stared.
Then smiled faintly.
“You really never changed.”
“Neither did you.”
I grabbed a loose piece of metal from the ground.
A pipe.
Daniel looked at it.
“You're going to fight three armed men with a pipe?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Distract them.”
I threw the pipe toward the opposite side.
It crashed through a stack of empty barrels.
All three men turned.
Daniel moved.
I followed.
We ran behind the warehouse.
A bullet struck the brick beside my head.
We rounded a corner.
A chain-link fence blocked the path.
Daniel grabbed it.
“Over.”
I climbed.
He followed.
We dropped into darkness.
A drainage ditch.
We crawled through wet mud until the sounds behind us disappeared.
Ten minutes later, we reached the river.
Daniel sat against a concrete wall.
“Still think you're retired?”
I ignored him.
“Who are they?”
He wiped blood from his cheek.
“The Whitmores.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Not Grant.”
“Then who?”
“Grant's father.”
I frowned.
“Victor Whitmore.”
Daniel nodded.
The name meant nothing to me.
He continued.
“Victor isn't just a developer.”
“What is he?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Cleaner.”
“That doesn't answer anything.”
“He buys problems.”
I stared at the river.
“You're telling me a billionaire hired people to chase me because of something that happened twenty years ago?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I'm telling you the thing from twenty years ago made his family rich.”
Silence.
My mind went backward.
Operation Black River.
Afghanistan.
A convoy.
An intelligence package.
A missing financial ledger.
The official report said the money trail had disappeared before we arrived.
But I had always believed someone had removed it.
Daniel pulled out another photograph.
He handed it to me.
The image showed six soldiers standing outside a compound.
I recognized every face.
I recognized myself.
Daniel.
Marcus Reed.
Thomas Vale.
Anthony Briggs.
And one more man.
Someone I hadn't thought about in twenty years.
Colonel Adrian Cole.
I stared at his face.
Daniel said, “Look at the back.”
I turned the photograph over.
A handwritten note.
One of them sold the route.
My throat tightened.
“Who wrote this?”
“Marcus.”
“Marcus is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then when?”
“Three days before he died.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Because the person who received the money had political protection.”
“Who?”
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
I looked at the photograph again.
Six soldiers.
One traitor.
Three dead.
Two survivors.
And me.
I whispered, “You think it's one of us.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Daniel leaned forward.
“I think one of us was framed.”
My phone suddenly vibrated.
One message.
From Evan.
Mom, why is there a man inside the house?
I stood so quickly Daniel flinched.
“What?”
I called.
No answer.
I called again.
Voicemail.
Then a third time.
Nothing.
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
“Claire.”
I pulled away.
“My son is home.”
“We need a plan.”
“No.”
I looked toward the road.
“We need a car.”
Daniel stood.
“Mine is being watched.”
“Then we'll take another.”
“You can't just steal a car.”
I stared at him.
“Watch me.”
Twenty minutes later, we were speeding back toward Juniper Hollow.
The neighborhood looked normal.
Too normal.
The mailboxes stood untouched.
Sprinklers watered lawns.
A dog barked.
My house sat at the end of the street.
The front door was open.
I slammed the brakes.
Daniel reached for the dashboard.
“Claire.”
I was already out.
I ran through the doorway.
“EVAN!”
Silence.
The kitchen was empty.
Living room empty.
Bedroom empty.
Then I saw his backpack.
On the floor.
Blood beside it.
Not much.
But enough.
My knees nearly gave way.
A piece of paper rested on the table.
I picked it up.
Five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED RETIRED.
Underneath was a photograph.
Of me.
Taken that morning.
Standing in the street.
Wearing the MMA gloves.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
ROUND TWO STARTS TOMORROW.
Related Stories
