Chapter 6 - The Man in the Trench Coat
Panic exploded in Leo’s chest as the strong, calloused hand sealed his lips, cutting off his breath. He thrashed wildly, driving his sharp leather heel backward into his attacker’s shin with all his might.
A sharp grunt of pain echoed behind him, and the grip slackened just enough for Leo to duck low, twisting out of the hold. He spun around, raising his heavy brass poker defensively, ready to strike whatever nightmare had emerged from the darkness.
Standing before him in the dim halogen light was a tall, rugged-looking man in a damp trench coat, his face shadowed beneath the brim of a fedora. A thin scar ran down his left cheek, and his sharp, weathered eyes looked down at Leo not with malice, but with intense, urgent calculation.
“Whoa, easy on the skull-crushing, kid,” the man whispered, holding up both hands in a non-threatening gesture while wincing in pain from the kick. “If I wanted you dead, you’d have been unconscious before you even reached the bottom of those stairs.”
“Who are you?” Leo demanded in a harsh, furious whisper, keeping the heavy poker raised between them. “Are you working with Clara and Marcus?”
“Detective Miller, internal affairs, though right now I’m operating entirely off the books,” the man replied, flashing a brief glimpse of a weathered leather badge before tucking it safely back inside his coat. “And no, kid, I’ve been tracking your uncle’s financial syndicate for six months. They specialize in insurance fraud, fake medical declarations, and wealthy disappearances disguised as natural deaths.”
Across the cavernous room, the sound of Clara’s high heels clicking against the stone floor drew closer.
“Marcus, did you hear something?” Clara’s voice rang out, sharp and suspicious, cutting through the damp air. “I thought I heard a voice over by the eastern foundation arch.”
Detective Miller acted with lightning speed. He lunged forward, grabbing Leo by the collar of his dark suit jacket and hauling him bodily behind a massive, crumbling stone buttress just as the halogen light beam swept across the pillar where they had been standing.
Leo held his breath, pressing his face hard against the cold limestone. He could hear Clara’s footsteps halting just a few feet away, her breathing shallow and ragged.
“Must be rats,” Dr. Marcus muttered dismissively from across the room, the sound of medical instruments clinking together loudly. “The old church is infested with them. Let’s finish prepping the sedative drip so we can transfer her to the cargo van parked in the alley before the mourners finish leaving.”
Clara lingered for a long, agonizing moment, her shadow stretching long across the stone floor right beside Leo’s black shoes. Then, her footsteps slowly receded back toward the operating table.
Miller leaned close to Leo’s ear, his breath warm against the boy’s cold cheek.
“Listen to me, Leo,” the detective whispered softly. “Your mom is tied to a gurney in the inner sanctum behind that surgical wall. But we can’t take them both down right now—they’ve got armed accomplices watching the alley exit. We need a distraction.”
Leo’s hazel eyes flashed with a dangerous, brilliant determination in the dark.
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“I’ll be the distraction,” Leo whispered back, sliding his hand into his pocket and gripping the heavy iron lighter he had taken from his uncle’s desk.
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