Chapter 7 - The Compromised Shield
Lena’s finger remained locked on the heavy metal trigger. The red laser sight from Miller’s sidearm rested directly over her sternum, painting a glowing crimson circle on her gray hoodie.
"You're working for them," Lena said, her voice dropping to a harsh, cold whisper. "The ambush on Route 9 wasn't an escape. You let him out."
Miller didn't deny it. His face remained expressionless, professional, stripped of the comforting detective persona he had worn at the hospital.
"Arthur is a valuable asset, Lena," Miller said calmly, taking half a step forward into the room. "And you are an unacceptable variable. Put the gun down. You have never fired a weapon in your life; the safety is still engaged."
Lena glanced down for a split second. Miller lunged.
Instead of trying to shoot, Lena threw the heavy sidearm straight at his face. The steel slide caught Miller across the cheekbone, throwing off his aim just as he squeezed off a round. The bullet tore through the floorboards inches from Lena’s leg.
Eleanor surged from the bedroom darkness, brandishing an iron fire poker she had grabbed from the decorative hearth. With a desperate shriek, she swung it into Miller’s forearm, knocking his weapon skittering across the hallway outside.
"Out! Now!" Eleanor screamed, shoving Lena toward the rear bedroom where the fire escape window was finally forced open.
Cold night air blasted Lena's face as she tumbled out onto the rusted metal grating of the fire escape. Behind them, Miller roared in fury, struggling to his feet.
Lena scrambled down the iron stairs two at a time, her sneakers clattering against the metal framework. Eleanor followed close behind, but on the second landing, her foot slipped on a patch of wet oil. With a sickening gasp, Eleanor fell forward, her ankle twisting violently beneath her weight as she tumbled against the railing.
"Mom!" Lena skidded to a halt, reaching down to pull her up.
"Leave me, Lena! Run!" Eleanor gasped, clutching her swelling joint. "Take the alley behind the diner—go to St. Jude’s clinic! Ask for Dr. Jordan’s personal locker! He has the original blood samples!"
Above them, the window frame splintered as Miller thrust his body through the opening, raising a backup revolver.
May you like
"Move, Lena!" Eleanor screamed, throwing her arms around Miller’s ankles from beneath the rusted grate as he tried to descend.
A shot rang out through the narrow alleyway. Eleanor slumped backward onto the metal platform, her cardigan blooming with dark, crimson warmth.
