Chapter 7 - The Battle for North Shore
The magnesium flare struck the dripping diesel fuel with a blinding, white-hot flash.
A massive wall of fire erupted across the center lanes of the bridge, engulfing two of Vance’s tactical vans instantly. The shockwave knocked Vance off his feet, sending his weapon skidding across the wet asphalt.
“Move!” I roared, leaping from the lower support girder onto the roof of a parked SUV below.
I hit the roof, rolled, and came up firing. My .45 barked three times, taking down the two mercenaries guarding the rear of the medical transport.
Frank landed beside me, his weapon clearing the left flank as police sirens finally began to wail in the distance—dozens of cruisers responding to the emergency call, closing in from both ends of the bridge.
Victor Vance scrambled up from the pavement, covered in soot and blood, crawling toward his dropped submachine gun.
I stepped on his hand before his fingers could touch the metal. The bone crunched beneath my heavy boot.
Vance screamed in agony, rolling onto his back, staring up at me with terror in his eyes. The great kingpin of New England was broken, bleeding, and trapped.
“It’s over, Victor,” I said, pointing the barrel of my gun directly between his eyes.
“Do it,” Vance spat, blood pooling in his mouth. “Kill me, Carter! You’re no better than me! You’re just a criminal in an expensive suit!”
I felt my finger tighten on the trigger. Everything inside me—every instinct of the cold, ruthless man I had been for ten years—demanded that I pull it and end his life right here on the rain-drenched pavement.
“Michael! Stop!”
Emily ran up beside me, her hands catching my arm. She didn't look at Vance; she looked at me.
“If you execute him in cold blood, you prove him right,” Emily said softly, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. “Noah doesn't need a ruthless mobster for a father. He needs the man who dropped to his knees and begged for his life. Let the law take him. Let my father’s memory be cleared the right way.”
I looked down at Vance, then at Emily.
Slowly, I lowered the gun.
Detective Frank Vance limped out from behind his overturned cruiser, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, holding a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. He dropped to one knee and slammed Vance’s hands behind his back, clicking the cuffs shut with brutal satisfaction.
“Victor Vance,” Detective Vance growled. “You’re under arrest for attempted murder, domestic terrorism, and the murder of Dr. Richard Thorne. You’re going away for the rest of your life.”
I turned away from Vance and sprinted to the rear doors of the armored medical transport.
I grabbed the heavy handles and yanked them open.
Inside, sitting in the arms of a terrified paramedic who had shielded him with her own body, was Noah.
He was completely unharmed. When he saw my face, his small eyes lit up, and he let out a happy, babbling laugh, reaching his tiny arms out toward me.
I pulled him into my arms, holding him against my chest so tightly I could feel every beat of his small, healthy heart.
Emily stepped up beside us, resting her hand gently on Noah’s back. Noah looked at her, letting out a soft coo, and reached out to grab a lock of her damp dark hair with his tiny fist.
May you like
Emily let out a soft, tearful laugh, leaning her head against my shoulder.
I wrapped my free arm around her waist, pulling her close against us as the rain finally stopped, giving way to the soft, golden light of dawn breaking over the Atlantic horizon.
