Chapter 11 - THE MIDNIGHT BREACH
The psychological evaluation was scheduled for Friday.
Julian Thorne, however, was not a man who left things to chance.
On Thursday night, a brutal winter blizzard descended upon Chicago, burying the city under two feet of snow and howling winds. Ashcombe Manor sat isolated on its cliffside, cut off from the main city roads.
At 2:00 AM, the perimeter alarms of the estate did not ring. They were professionally and systematically disabled by high-grade military jamming equipment.
Gideon was awake in his study, nursing a glass of scotch and pouring over legal documents, when the heavy oak doors of his office burst open.
It was Owen Faust. The giant security chief had a bloody cut across his cheek, and he was holding a suppressed tactical sidearm.
"Sir. The perimeter is breached," Owen said, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Professional extraction team. Six men. They cut the primary power lines and jammed the cellular grid. They’re moving toward the east wing."
The east wing. Sage’s bedroom.
Gideon’s blood ran colder than the blizzard outside. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate. He pulled open the hidden drawer of his mahogany desk, withdrawing his own firearm, his eyes turning into black, predatory voids.
"Julian’s men," Gideon realized instantly. "If he can secure physical custody of her and fly her across international borders before the hearing, the Swiss courts will protect him. He’s trying to steal her in the dark."
"I have men engaging them in the courtyard," Owen said, moving swiftly down the darkened hallway. "But two of them slipped through the terrace doors. We need to get to Sage."
They moved through the pitch-black corridors of the manor like phantoms. The sound of muffled shouting and the breaking of glass echoed from the lower levels.
When Gideon and Owen reached the heavy mahogany doors of Sage’s bedroom, they found it slightly ajar. The lock had been professionally picked.
Gideon kicked the door open, raising his weapon into the darkness.
"Sage!" Gideon shouted, his voice cracking with a terror he had never known in his entire life.
The room was empty. The bedcovers were thrown aside. The window leading out to the balcony was wide open, freezing wind and snow violently whipping the silk curtains into a frenzy.
"They took her," Owen whispered in horror, rushing toward the open window.
"No."
Gideon’s heart stopped, then restarted with a violent, agonizing lurch as he looked at the floor near the bed.
The gray suitcase was gone.
"Gideon?"
A tiny, trembling whisper came from the darkest corner of the room, behind the massive antique cedar wardrobe.
Gideon dropped his weapon onto the carpet and fell to his knees.
There, squeezed into the narrow gap between the heavy wood and the wall, was Sage. She was clutching her gray suitcase to her chest like a shield, her eyes wide with terror, shivering uncontrollably in the freezing wind.
"Sage! Oh, God, sweet girl," Gideon gasped, reaching his arms into the gap and pulling her out.
He wrapped his massive frame around her small, trembling body, shielding her from the cold and the dark. She buried her face into his neck, her tiny hands gripping the lapels of his shirt with desperate, agonizing strength.
"I heard the glass break," Sage sobbed into his chest. "I remembered what Owen told me. If bad men come in the dark, you hide where they can't see you. I grabbed my suitcase so they couldn't take mommy's letters."
She hadn't frozen. She hadn't screamed. This brave, brilliant eight-year-old girl had remembered her training, protected her mother's memory, and hidden herself from a team of professional mercenaries.
Gideon squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears of absolute pride and profound fury burning against his cheeks.
"You did perfectly, Sage," Gideon whispered fiercely, kissing her hair. "You are so brave. You did perfectly."
He looked up over Sage’s head. Owen was standing near the doorway, holding one of the extraction team mercenaries by the throat, pinning the man violently against the wall with his forearm.
May you like
Gideon’s eyes locked onto the mercenary. The billionaire’s gaze promised an eternity of suffering.
"Owen," Gideon commanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating absolute. "Take him to the basement. I want to know exactly which plane Julian Thorne was planning to use tonight."
