Chapter 6 - Pursuit in the Dark
The rain had begun to fall again—a cold, driving drizzle that turned the gravel pathways of the estate into slick mud.
Adrian sprinted across the sprawling lawn behind the mansion, ignoring the biting chill of the wind and the dull ache in his jaw from the basement fight. The beam of a distant security searchlight cut across the darkness, sweeping over the trimmed hedges and ancient oak trees.
Ahead of him, the path sloped downward toward the lake.
Through the veil of rain, the silhouette of the old wooden boathouse loomed against the dark, churning water of the lake. A single yellow light burned above its sliding double doors.
The door was cracked open an inch.
Adrian slowed his pace, moving silently through the shadows of the weeping willows that bordered the shore. He crept up to the side of the boathouse, pressing his back against the weathered cedar planks.
Inside, he could hear the muffled, frantic roar of a boat engine idling in the slip.
Vroom—hiss.
Madison’s voice cut through the sound of the motor.
“Damn it! Work, you stupid piece of trash!”
Adrian peered through a small, grime-covered window near the door.
Inside the dimly lit slip, Madison stood aboard the sleek, black mahogany Chris-Craft speedboat. Her elegant midnight-blue gown was torn at the hem, her hair plastered to her face by rain and sweat, and her hands were frantically working the ignition wires beneath the dashboard.
She wasn't just trying to escape; she was terrified. She knew that once the state troopers cordoned off the roads, her multi-million-dollar fraud and murder scheme would unravel completely in a federal court.
Adrian slipped quietly through the side door of the boathouse, keeping low behind a stack of spare oars and life jackets.
“Looking for a ride, Madison?” Adrian’s voice cut cleanly through the roar of the engine.
Madison froze.
Slowly, she turned around from the helm. In her right hand, she held a small, black-steel Walther PPK pistol she must have retrieved from the estate’s tactical safe. Her eyes were wide, manic, and desperate.
“Adrian,” she breathed, a twisted, hysterical laugh escaping her lips. “You just don't know when to stay dead, do you?”
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“Put the gun down, Madison,” Adrian said, stepping out from the shadows into the harsh light of the boathouse. “The perimeter is locked. The police are on their way down the path right now. There’s nowhere left to run.”
“Run?” Madison sneered, raising the pistol until the barrel was pointed directly at his chest. Her hand shook slightly, but her intent was unmistakable. “I’m not running, Adrian. I’m finishing what I started three years ago.”
