Chapter 3 - The Ghost Hunt
The realization of what my wife had endured for the past three years hit me like a physical blow. She hadn't abandoned us. She had traded her brilliant career, her identity, her motherhood, and her dignity to keep a bullet out of my head and our son’s.
"Why Charlotte?" I asked softly, reaching over to wipe a tear from her cheek. "If you had to disappear, why stay so close?"
"Because I couldn't bear to be a continent away from you," she confessed, her voice breaking. "I lived in shelters, under bridges, moving constantly. But every few months, I would risk walking near Miles' school or sitting outside your office building just to catch a five-second glimpse of you both. Seeing you alive was the only thing that kept me from throwing myself into the river."
Suddenly, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed through the concrete parking structure. Two men in dark suits and sunglasses entered our level, looking methodically into parked cars.
"It’s them," Tessa gasped, shrinking down into the footwell of the passenger seat. "Vance’s clean-up crew. They must have flagged my location from the security cameras near the food hall."
"Get down, Miles," I commanded, throwing my jacket over my son in the backseat.
I started the engine. The roar of the Volvo’s V6 engine echoed loudly in the enclosed space. The two suits instantly spun around, drawing suppressed firearms from beneath their jackets.
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"Hang on!" I yelled, slamming the car into reverse. The tires shrieked as I backed out of the space, narrowly dodging a concrete pillar. One of the men fired. A silent, high-impact thud shattered my rear windshield into a spiderweb of cracks.
I threw the car into drive, flooring the gas pedal. We roared down the exit ramp, tires squealing around the tight corners. The men ran toward a black SUV parked near the entrance, but we had a head start. We burst through the parking garage exit barrier, smashing the wooden arm into splinters, and rocketed into the chaotic Charlotte traffic.
