My Parents Skipped the Funeral of My Husband and Two Children for My Sister’s Birthday, but Six Months Later, One Headline Made Them Panic When They Discovered What I Had Done. / Chapter 15 / 121

Chapter 15 - The Law of Wolves

They didn't use sirens. They didn't use emergency lights.

The two Suburbans stopped fifty yards from the porch, flanking the circular driveway, their heavy engines rumbling with a low, diesel hum that vibrated through the windowpane. Four doors clicked open in near-unison.

Four men stepped out into the deluge. They wore dark tactical windbreakers, ball caps pulled low against the rain, and heavy utility belts. Two of them carried short-barreled pump shotguns; the other two kept their hands tucked inside their jackets.

I didn't turn on a single lamp. I had lived in this house for seven years. I knew every knot in the pine floorboards, every doorway that creaked, every angle where the moonlight—when there was moonlight—cast a silhouette. Tonight, the storm gave me absolute darkness.

I walked to the gun cabinet in Ethan's study.

The Remington 870 was already loaded with double-aught buckshot. Beside it sat Ethan’s precision bolt-action rifle, a Bergara B-14 chambered in 6.5 Creedmoor, which he used for target shooting out at the club. In the bottom drawer, locked behind a heavy steel combination dial, was Ethan’s old service weapon from his four years in the Marine Corps: a Sig Sauer P226, completely clean, with three twenty-round magazines.

I took the Sig, racked the slide to chamber a hollow-point round, and shoved two spare magazines into the pockets of my canvas trousers. Then I picked up the Remington.

Footsteps took the front porch steps. Two heavy treads, then a pause.

A gloved fist hammered against the solid oak. Three heavy, authoritative strikes.

"Mrs. Holloway?" a voice called out, smooth, deep, practiced in the art of institutional intimidation. "This is Sergeant Miller, Georgia State Patrol. We have a report of a dangerous fugitive in the area, a former state employee who escaped from custody. We need you to open the door immediately so we can secure the premises."

I stood in the shadows of the mezzanine landing, looking down through the banisters at the foyer.

"Show your badge to the exterior security camera, Sergeant," I called out, my voice flat, cold, and entirely devoid of fear.

A short silence followed. Through the frosted side-glass of the front door, I saw the two figures exchange a glance.

"The power grid is down throughout the county, ma'am," the voice responded smoothly. "Your cameras are offline. Please open the door, or we will be forced to breach under emergency public safety statutes."

"You take one step through that wood, Miller," I said, "and you better pray to whatever god you bargain with that your vest can stop three-inch magnum buckshot."