Chapter 90 - The Midnight Return
Julian’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked involuntarily toward the garage exit ramp behind him, searching for the sirens that hadn't yet arrived.
That half-second was all I had.
I hurled the heavy tape recorder straight at his face.
Julian flinched, raising his left arm to deflect the plastic casing. The suppressed pistol discharged with a sharp *thwack*, the round tearing through the sleeve of my parka and sparking violently off the concrete pillar behind me.
I threw my entire body weight into him, driving my shoulder into his chest just as I had done to Hoffman on the ice. We crashed onto the hood of the idling sedan, the metal groaning under the impact.
Julian was older, but he possessed the wiry, desperate strength of a man fighting to keep a multi-million-dollar empire from crumbling to dust. His fingers clawed at my throat, his thumb pressing violently into my windpipe.
"You... little... ungrateful..." he hissed, his face inches from mine, his polished mask completely stripped away to reveal the feral predator beneath.
I couldn't breathe. Black spots flared across my vision.
With my free right hand, I reached into my pocket, closed my fist around the heavy, serrated brass edge of the safety-deposit key *SL-7702*, and drove it directly into the soft flesh of his forearm.
Julian screamed—a high, undignified shriek of agony. His grip broke as blood welled through his fine cashmere coat.
I rolled off the hood, scrambling toward the driver’s side of the idling cruiser. I lunged through the open door, slammed my foot down on the lock, and grabbed the gear shift.
Julian threw himself against the driver’s window, smashing the butt of his pistol against the reinforced glass, spiderwebbing the surface into a thousand white fractures. His face was twisted in bloody, murderous rage. "Emma! You will never leave this city alive!"
I slammed the transmission into reverse. The tires shrieked against the concrete, smoking as the cruiser leaped backward, clipping Julian’s hip and sending him sprawling across the garage floor.
I threw the wheel hard, shifted into drive, and floored the accelerator toward the daylight of the exit ramp.
Behind me, the sirens of four tactical RCMP cruisers finally screamed down the concrete incline, their red and blue flashers illuminating Julian as he struggled to rise from the floor, cornered like a rat in his own tomb.
May you like
I didn't stop to watch them cuff him. I broke through the garage gate into the blinding New Year's sunshine of Montreal, driving straight toward the safehouse where my daughter was waiting.
***
