Chapter 7 - The Shadow of Damon’s Partner
The north access road was shaded by towering maples whose leaves had turned brilliant shades of copper and gold.
Grace pulled her black tactical SUV to a halt behind a stalled commercial delivery truck bearing the logo of an office supply company. Two of her newly trained security guards were standing near the cab, questioning the driver, a nervous-looking young man clutching a clipboard.
"Everything alright, Miller?" asked Vance, the senior guard on duty.
"Check the manifest," Grace ordered, stepping out of the vehicle. Her eyes scanned the surrounding woodline. Something felt off. The driver’s posture was too rigid; his eyes kept darting toward the dense brush.
"Driver," Grace called out, walking slowly toward the cab. "Step down and open the back cargo doors."
"I—I told your men, the alternator blew," the driver stammered, his voice cracking. "I just need a tow."
"Open the doors," Grace repeated, her hand dropping casually near the holster concealed beneath her blazer.
The driver swallowed hard, reaching for the handle of the door.
Suddenly, the brush to the left of the road rustled violently.
Grace didn't hesitate. She threw herself sideways, drawing her weapon in a single fluid motion, just as a suppressed crack echoed through the trees.
A bullet sparked off the metal fender of her SUV.
"Ambush!" Grace screamed into her comms. "All units, take cover!"
Two more shots rang out from the tree line. Vance and the other guard returned fire instantly, pouring suppression rounds into the brush while dragging the terrified delivery driver behind the engine block of the truck.
Grace hit the ground, rolling behind a thick stone retaining wall. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her mind was ice-cold.
Damon Vance had an accomplice.
An assassin didn't work alone, and whoever had financed the hit at the engagement gala was still trying to tie up loose ends—loose ends that now included Grace Miller.
"Marcus, report!" Grace barked into her radio.
“Mobile units deploying from the main house now! Stay down, Director!”
From the tree line, a dark figure broke cover, sprinting deeper into the woods toward a waiting dirt bike hidden in the ravine.
Grace didn't wait for backup. She vaulted over the stone wall, her tactical training taking over. She sprinted through the damp autumn leaves, leaping over a fallen oak log, closing the distance between herself and the fleeing shooter with terrifying speed.
The shooter looked back, panic in his eyes, and raised a pistol.
Grace slid across the damp earth, kicking out with a devastating low sweep that caught the man behind his knees. He crashed hard into the dirt, his weapon flying from his grip.
Grace was on top of him in a heartbeat, pinning his arm behind his back with a vicious joint lock and pressing her knee firmly into his spine.
"Don't move," she hissed, her voice cold enough to freeze blood. "Or I break your arm right now."
The man groaned into the dirt. "Don't... don't kill me! I was just paid! I was just paid by Vance's lawyer!"
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Grace pulled out her radio, breathing heavily. "Marcus. Secure the suspect in the north woods. We have our second-tier conspirator."
As sirens began wailing in the distance, echoing through the maple trees of Mercer Hill, Grace stood up slowly, dusting the dirt from her trousers. The shadow of the past was finally evaporating.
