Chapter 2 - The Ambush in the Dark
The shift ended at midnight. The rain had turned from a steady drizzle into a relentless Chicago downpour, slicking the asphalt of North LaSalle Street and turning the city lights into blurred smears of neon red and yellow. Emma pulled the hood of her black canvas coat over her head, jammed her hands into her pockets, and started the four-block walk toward her cramped third-floor apartment.
She kept her head down, but her instincts—honed by a childhood spent listening to her father look over his shoulder—were screaming.
Footsteps. Heavy, rhythmic, and too close behind her.
Emma quickened her pace, turning sharply down a narrow, dimly lit alleyway that cut through to Dearborn Street, a shortcut she had used a hundred times. The scent of damp brick and overflowing dumpsters filled the damp air.
"Going somewhere in a hurry, sweetheart?"
A man stepped out from the shadow of a brick fire escape, blocking the exit. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a cheap trench coat that dripped with rainwater. Two more figures materialized behind her, sealing off the entrance to the alley. One of them flicked a silver lighter, illuminating a cold, dead-eyed smile.
"I don't want any trouble," Emma said, her voice dropping an octave as she backed away, her hand sliding into her pocket to wrap around her heavy brass keychain. "Take my bag. Just leave me alone."
"Mr. Kessler sends his regards," the man in the trench coat muttered, stepping forward with a malicious grin. "He doesn't like girls who spill water on his clothes. And he definitely doesn't like waitresses who stare at his ring too long."
Emma didn't hesitate. As the man lunged forward to grab her shoulder, she whipped her hand out of her pocket and drove her heavy set of brass keys straight into the soft flesh beneath his eye.
The man howled, stumbling backward into a brick wall. But the other two were already on her. One of them grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her back while the second raised a heavy fist. Emma closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.
Suddenly, the night air exploded with the deafening roar of a firearm.
Bang.
The man holding Emma froze. A dark, wet stain bloomed instantly across the front of his jacket, and he collapsed to the asphalt like a felled tree. The second attacker whipped around, drawing his own pistol, only to catch a brutal, blinding round of gunfire straight to the chest.
Footsteps pounded heavily against the wet concrete, and a deep, commanding voice barked out from the mouth of the alley.
"Get in the car. Now."
Emma opened her eyes, gasping for breath. Standing beneath the amber glow of a flickering streetlamp was Adrian Vale. His charcoal suit was soaked, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, and a heavy Glock 19 was still smoking in his right hand. His green eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity.
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"Adrian?" she choked out.
"If you want to live to see tomorrow morning, Emma Lawson, you will get into that black SUV right behind me."
