Chapter 20 - The Blood-Stained Nursery
The foyer smelled of cordite, rain, and coppery blood.
Marcus lay semi-conscious near the grand staircase, his shoulder soaked in dark red, struggling to raise his firearm. "Upstairs..." he gasped weakly through gritted teeth. "Two men... tactical gear... they took Mrs. Margaret down..."
Panic—raw, suffocating, and blinding—propelled my feet up the sweeping marble stairs. I flew down the hallway toward the nursery, my fingernails digging into the walls for balance.
Margaret Vance lay collapsed on the hallway carpet outside the nursery door, a blooming contusion across her temple, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"Margaret! Wake up! Please, God, wake up!" I cried, checking her pulse with frantic hands. She groaned, her eyelids fluttering, but she couldn't speak.
I turned toward the open nursery door.
The room was silent. Deadly silent.
The baby blue curtains billowed wildly in the freezing gale rushing through a shattered bay window. The plush stuffed animals were scattered across the floor, trampled by muddy combat boots.
I stepped toward the center of the room, my breath hitching in my throat.
The white wooden crib was completely empty.
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Noah's small flannel blanket lay tangled on the mattress, pinned beneath a single, gleaming hunting knife. Pierced through the blade was a one-way international flight ticket to a non-extradition territory—and a photograph of me, my eyes violently crossed out in red ink.
Taped to the headboard of the empty crib, a digital burner phone began to ring, its green screen flashing rhythmically in the pitch-black room.
