Chapter 41 - TICKING CLOCK IN THE SNOW
The sound cut through my marrow—*beep... beep... beep...*—each pulse faster, shriller, shaving away what little remained of our lives.
"Out! Out right now!" Marco roared, kicking his driver’s side door open with explosive force.
He didn't wait for me to process the horror. His arm reached back, his massive hand clutching the collar of my thick wool coat, wrenching me forward while his other hand tore at the quick-release clasp on Hope’s car seat.
"Marco, the buckle—!" I screamed, my fingers slipping against cold plastic, paralyzed by sheer animal panic.
The red diode inside Daniel’s dark green binder transitioned from a staccato blink to a solid, blinding glare. A high-pitched, deafening whine filled the enclosed luxury cabin.
Marco didn’t waste breath on words. With a savage twist of his wrist and the blade of his pocketknife flashing in the morning light, he severed the seat harness in a single slash. He scooped baby Hope against his broad chest with his left arm and lunged across the center console, violently shoving me through the open passenger door just as my feet found the slippery gravel shoulder.
"Run! Don’t look back, Sarah!"
We hit the icy embankment together. I tumbled down the snowy ravine, the freezing slush burning my cheeks, tearing at my palms. Above us, the black sedan shuddered.
A sound like thunder splitting a mountain ripped through the quiet morning air.
The shockwave slammed into my back like an invisible freight train, lifting me and slamming me hard into the frozen earth. Fire tore through the sky, painting the pines in violent orange and black smoke. Shards of glass, twisted chrome, and flaming upholstery rained across the snowbank like meteorites. Heat scorched the back of my neck, followed instantly by the bitter bite of the upstate chill.
"Hope!" I choked out, coughing through thick black acrid smoke, dragging myself upward on shredded hands. "Marco! Where is she?!"
A low groan answered me from beneath a canopy of snow-laden hemlocks ten yards down the slope.
Marco was curled in a tight defensive sphere, his broad back turned toward the burning wreckage. Embedded in his leather jacket were glowing embers and jagged pieces of aluminum. Slowly, his shoulders uncurled.
From within the cocoon of his coat came a tiny, furious wail.
Hope was crying. Strong, indignant, alive.
"She’s whole, Sarah," Marco rasped, his voice raw and gravelly. He spat a mouthful of blood into the crimson-stained snow. "She doesn’t have a scratch on her."
I scrambled toward them on hands and knees, tears freezing instantly against my cheeks as I gathered my infant daughter against my thumping heart. She was shivering, but her small face was intact, her chest heaving with healthy rage.
"Marco... your back," I whispered, horrified.
A four-inch piece of shrapnel protruded from the meat of his shoulder, blood already soaking through his thermal fleece and dripping onto the snow.
"Salvatore's fail-safe," Marco gritted through clenched teeth, leaning heavily against a frost-coated birch. He stared up at the burning remains of the SUV on the highway above. "The son of a bitch didn't just want Daniel's ledgers buried. He set a proximity trigger wired to cellular dead zones. The moment our satellite link to Vincent dropped below ninety percent... the detonator armed."
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He looked down at me, his eyes dark, hard, and hyper-vigilant.
"Vincent didn’t save us with that call, Sarah. The signal pinging Vincent's phone is what started the final five-second countdown. And worse... that blast is a flare in the dark. Salvatore’s cleanup crews are already coming."
