Chapter 19
The freezing, toxic waters of the East River bit into their skin like a thousand icy needles. Grace and Ethan surfaced near an abandoned industrial pier, two miles downriver from the prison complex. Both were completely soaked and shivering violently, but they had survived.
Ethan coughed up brackish water, the stench of the river making him retch, but his dark eyes burned with a fiery, unbroken resolve. Grace quickly hauled him up onto the rusted dock, pulling them both into the shadows of a shipping container.
"Mr. Caldwell, is your phone waterproof?" Grace asked urgently, wringing the freezing water from her long hair.
Ethan pulled the satellite phone from his soaking jacket. It was encased in a specialized military-grade polymer shell. The screen lit up. "It’s functional."
"Call Thomas, immediately," Grace said, her operational instincts screaming that the syndicate would not miss the opportunity to strike while Ethan was away from the estate.
Ethan dialed the number. After a few agonizing seconds of connection, a frantic voice and the terrifying sound of sustained automatic gunfire erupted from the speaker. "Mr. Caldwell! We are under heavy assault! They have superior firepower, and the outer perimeter is collapsing! I have locked Miss Lily inside the West Wing safe room, but they are bringing up thermal charges to cut through the door!"
"Hold the line, Thomas! I am on my way!" Ethan roared, the pure, unadulterated fury of a father figure entirely eclipsing the freezing cold.
He hung up, turning to Grace. "The estate is under siege. They want Lily."
Grace didn't waste a breath. She scanned the deserted pier and spotted an SUV parked near an old warehouse, likely belonging to the night-shift dockworkers.
With a swift, practiced strike using a heavy stone, Grace shattered the driver's side window, unlocked the door, and hot-wired the ignition in under fifteen seconds. The engine roared to life.
"Get in!" Grace shouted.
The SUV tore through the night, running red lights and weaving recklessly through the sparse highway traffic toward the suburbs. Ethan sat in the passenger seat, grimly loading a fresh magazine into the pistol he had salvaged from a dead assassin.
"They want to play war," Ethan gritted his teeth, the cold, ruthless composure of a billionaire willing to protect his family at any cost etched onto his face. "I am going to show them a war."
He dialed a highly classified number. "Matteo. Mobilize the corporate quick-reaction force. I want fully armed tactical helicopters over the estate in ten minutes. Anyone not wearing Caldwell colors is to be eliminated with extreme prejudice."
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Grace pushed the accelerator to the floorboards, the heavy SUV flying down the highway at terrifying speeds. Her eyes were ice-cold, her grip on the steering wheel absolute. She was returning to the battlefield, not for the paycheck of a bodyguard, but for the promise she had made to protect the fragile smile of a little girl who had once been swallowed by the dark.
"Mr. Caldwell," Grace said over the roar of the engine. "When we arrive, you go straight to the safe room and protect Lily. Leave the trash outside... to me."
