Chapter 16 - The Boathouse on the Black Water
The rain was a solid wall of falling water, blinding and freezing, whipping through the ancient pine woods that separated the main estate from the private lake. Mud sucked at Ethan’s boots, branches clawed at his face, but he felt none of it. His senses were dialed to an agonizing pitch. Every snap of a twig, every rush of the wind was evaluated, cataloged, and discarded.
Through the dense curtain of trees, the outline of the old Victorian boathouse emerged. It sat on rotting wooden pilings over the black, churning water of Lake Pocotopaug, its green paint peeling, its roof sagging under the weight of decades. A single, faint amber light flickered from the second-story loft.
Ethan slowed his pace, dropping into a low combat crouch. He circled around the perimeter, avoiding the gravel pathway where footsteps would crunch. As he approached the rotten wooden dock, he spotted two black SUVs hidden under camouflage netting beneath the weeping willows.
Two armed sentries stood on the wraparound porch, smoking cigarettes beneath the overhang, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. They clearly didn't expect Ethan to arrive so fast, or on foot through the thick woods.
Ethan moved like a ghost through the shadows. Slipping his combat knife from its sheath, he stepped onto the dock silently as a crash of thunder masked all sound. Before the first sentry could turn his head, Ethan drove the heel of his boot into the back of his knee, clamping a hand over his mouth, and driving the blunt pommel of his knife into the base of the skull. The man went limp instantly.
The second sentry spun around, his eyes widening in shock, raising his rifle. Ethan lunged forward, grabbing the barrel and forcing it skyward while driving a brutal palm strike directly into the man’s throat. The guard choked, dropping his weapon, and Ethan followed up with a vicious knee to the ribs, sending him over the wooden railing and splashing into the freezing lake below.
Ethan retrieved his suppressed Glock. He stepped over the fallen guard and approached the heavy, waterlogged oak doors of the boathouse. The door was slightly ajar.
From inside, drifting down from the loft, came a voice.
It was a voice that chilled Ethan to the marrow of his bones—because it sounded identical to Caroline’s. But where Caroline’s tone was filled with warmth, this voice was laced with an oily, triumphant malice.
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"Do you know why your mother died, Lily?" the voice purred. "She died because she tried to keep what belonged to me. And now, you’re going to give it back."
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