Chapter 4 - The Shadows At The Window
""Don't turn on any lights,"" I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Marcus was already packing the external hard drives into his canvas bag, his movements quiet and methodical despite the obvious panic hanging in the air. Vanessa was on her feet, standing between the window and the sofa where Lily was blinking sleepily, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
""Mommy?"" Lily whimpered. ""Is it the gray jacket man?""
""Shh, baby, stay down,"" Vanessa hushed her, sliding the girl behind the solid oak sofa frame.
A heavy knock rattled the front door. Three slow, measured thuds.
""Ms. Morgan,"" Graham’s voice drifted through the wooden door, calm, polite, and thoroughly chilling. ""We know you're inside. We saw the station wagon pull up two hours ago. Let's not make this difficult. Arthur just wants to talk.""
Caroline looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. ""Leslie, there’s no cell service out here. The storm knocked down the regional tower.""
""There's a landline in the master bedroom,"" Vanessa whispered frantically. ""An old rotary phone connected to the copper line.""
""Go,"" I instructed Vanessa and Caroline. ""Take Lily into the back bedroom. Lock the door. Call the local sheriff. Tell them there are armed intruders on the property.""
Vanessa grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. ""Leslie, you can't stay out here alone.""
""I have Marcus, and I have the files,"" I said, looking her straight in the eye. ""Now go. Protect Lily.""
Vanessa swallowed hard, kissed my cheek, and pulled Lily toward the back hallway, disappearing into the dark corridor with Caroline following close behind.
Crack.
The sound of shattering glass echoed from the kitchen. Someone had thrown a heavy brick through the rear window. A cold blast of autumn air flooded the house, carrying the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves.
""Marcus, the flash drive,"" I hissed, turning toward the table.
Marcus pulled the small black USB drive from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. ""I uploaded the raw image to an offsite secure server thirty minutes ago. If they destroy this physical copy, it doesn't erase the evidence. But they don't know that.""
""I do,"" a voice said from the kitchen doorway.
A tall man in a dark rain slicker stepped over the broken glass on the kitchen floor, holding an iron crowbar in his gloved hand. Behind him, the front door handle jiggled violently, followed by the heavy thud of a shoulder ramming the wood.
The brass deadbolt groaned under the impact.
""Give me the bag,"" the man in the slicker demanded, stepping into the living room.
Marcus stepped forward, placing his broad frame between the man and me. ""This is breaking and entering. The police have already been notified.""
The man didn't waste words. He lunged forward, swinging the crowbar toward Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus dodged, but the blunt metal struck his collarbone with a sickening thud, knocking him against the wall with a sharp gasp of pain.
""Leslie, run!"" Marcus groaned, sliding to the floor, clutching his shoulder.
I didn't think. Instinct took over. I grabbed a heavy iron poker from the fireplace hearth, turning around with both hands on the blackened handle, swinging it through the air with every ounce of fury that had built up inside me over the past three days.
The heavy iron caught the intruder across his forearm with a loud crack. He dropped the crowbar with a howl of rage, stumbling backward into the kitchen counter, knocking over a ceramic cookie jar that shattered across the linoleum.
At that exact moment, the front door gave way.
Graham stepped into the room, his umbrella discarded, his expensive suit soaked with rain. But he wasn't holding a weapon. He was holding a modern radio transceiver.
""Enough,"" Graham said sharply to the man in the kitchen, who was clutching his bruised arm and swearing under his breath. Graham looked at me, his gaze dropping to the iron poker in my hands, then to the black USB drive resting on the table behind me.
""Ms. Morgan, lower the iron,"" Graham said calmly, stepping forward. ""Nobody needs to get hurt tonight. Arthur just wants what belongs to him.""
May you like
""Nothing here belongs to Arthur,"" I breathed heavily, holding the poker high. ""Not the money, not my sister, and certainly not that little girl.""
Graham smiled thinly, reaching into his trench coat. But before his hand re-emerged, the piercing wail of police sirens tore through the night air, echoing across the valley from the main access road.
