Chapter 5 - The Glass House
Panic surged through me like an electric shock. “Marcus! They have Rose! They’re threatening to kill her!”
“Listen to me,” Marcus said, pulling a compact tactical flashlight from his pocket and clicking it on. The thin beam cut through the dark corridor. “The blackout wasn’t a utility failure. They jammed the hotel’s auxiliary generator. They’re cutting off communications to isolate the venue.”
“We have to get Rose out!” I cried.
“I’m going into the ballroom to pull Rose and Julian into the security vault behind the manager’s office,” Marcus commanded, grabbing my shoulders tightly. “You need to get Noah and drive straight to the precinct. Don’t go home. Don’t stop for red lights.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the end of the service hallway crashed open.
Two men clad in dark tactical gear stepped through the threshold, their heavy boots thudding against the polished floor. They carried high-intensity flashlights mounted to silenced sidearms.
“Clara Bennett,” one of the men rasped, his voice unnaturally flat, modulated through a radio headset. “Step forward and hand over the key, or we clear this hallway.”
Marcus didn’t hesitate. He thrust me behind his back, raised his firearm, and fired two precise shots into the ceiling sprinkler system.
The emergency fire alarm shrieked into life, deafeningly loud, as freezing water began to rain down from the ceiling fixtures.
“RUN, CLARA!” Marcus roared, hurling his weight into the nearest guard, tackling him through the drywall into the catering kitchen.
I turned and ran for my life, blinded by water and flashing alarm lights, sprinting through the emergency exit into the torrential downpour outside. I stumbled across the wet pavement toward the VIP parking row, my lungs burning, my heart screaming for my son.
“Noah! Noah, Mommy’s here!” I yelled, wiping rain from my eyes as I reached my sedan.
I grabbed the door handle, but my hand froze.
The driver-side window was completely shattered, glittering glass littering the wet asphalt. The door swung open loosely in the wind.
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The car was empty. Noah was gone.
On the leather passenger seat lay a small, red-illuminated tracking tag, pulsing in the dark like a tiny, cruel heartbeat. And beside it, written in bold black sharpie across a paper napkin:
