Chapter 8 - Crossfire in the Corridor
The hotel hallway erupted into chaos outside our door.
Heavy boots pounded against the carpet, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the wall and the sharp shatter of a glass sconce.
“Stay behind me,” Nathaniel ordered, his voice flat, absolute, and stripped of every emotion except cold, tactical focus. He pushed me toward the small bathroom where Nurse Hallowell and six-year-old Elena were already locked inside.
“Nathaniel, no—!” I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, my fingers digging into the cotton. “If Julian’s men are out there, we’re trapped!”
“We’re only trapped if we wait for them to make the first move,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine for one fraction of a second. He reached up, his thumb brushing my cheek with a startling, tender roughness in the middle of a war zone. “Trust me, Ava. Just once more. Trust me.”
He pulled away before I could answer, turning back toward the hotel room door as a heavy kick slammed against the exterior wood.
The deadbolt held, but the wooden frame splintered inward, showering wood chips across the carpet.
Nathaniel didn't wait for them to finish breaking it down. He raised his Sig Sauer and fired three rapid shots straight through the center panel of the door.
A muffled cry echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy sound of a man collapsing against the floorboards outside.
“Cross! It’s over!” Julian Sterling’s voice boomed through the splintered wood, amplified by the hollow acoustics of the corridor. “You can’t protect the girl and your wife at the same time! Open the damn door or we burn this entire floor to the waterline!”
Nathaniel didn't reply. He crouched low near the bed, his eyes scanning the perimeter for a secondary exit. There wasn't one—just the window overlooking a thirty-foot drop into the rocky Nantucket surf below.
“Ava!” Nathaniel called out, his voice sharp.
I pushed the bathroom door open an inch, my heart in my throat. “I’m here.”
“Take Elena and the nurse through the bathroom window. There’s a fire escape ladder leading down to the maintenance alley,” he instructed rapidly, pulling a spare magazine from his pocket and slapping it into his firearm. “Get to the harbor. My launch is tied to slip fourteen. Tell the captain to take you across the sound to Cape Cod.”
“And you?” I demanded, stepping out of the bathroom instead of retreating. “What about you, Nathaniel?”
“I’m going to finish this,” he said, not looking back at me as he lined his sights up with the splintered door frame. “Julian wants a war? I’ll give him a massacre.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise of approaching footsteps outside.
Nathaniel whipped his head around, his dark eyes blazing with fury. “This isn't an art gallery negotiation, Ava! If you stay here, you die!”
“Then we die together,” I shouted back, stepping across the room and picking up a heavy porcelain lamp from the bedside table, shattering the shade against the floor so I could use the iron base as a weapon. “You don't get to lie to me for four years, drag me into a war zone, and then send me away like a package you don't want to carry anymore!”
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A slow, terrifyingly calm smile touched the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth—the same smile he had worn the day he proposed to me in the empty gallery in Atlanta.
“God, I love you,” he murmured, just as the second wave of men hit the door.
