Chapter 8 - Blood on the Hardwood
Mark moved with terrifying speed, pushing past Clara and taking the stairs three at a time. The heavy thud had come from the kitchen, but the sound of shattering glass ricocheted through the open-concept living room.
"David!" Clara screamed, stumbling down the stairs behind Mark, her red slip dress tangling around her ankles.
Mark hit the bottom landing, his tactical instincts overriding any hesitation. He dropped low, clearing the corner of the kitchen archway with his hands raised and empty.
David was sprawled across the kitchen floor, surrounded by jagged shards of a broken glass and a spreading puddle of water. Standing over him, pinning David’s shoulders to the linoleum with a heavy tactical boot, was a man in a tailored charcoal suit. The intruder held a silenced pistol pointed directly at David’s forehead.
Through the open kitchen window, the shattered screen hung limply in the autumn breeze.
"Don't move," the suited man commanded, his voice cold, flat, and devoid of any regional accent. He didn't look at Clara as she burst into the kitchen screaming; his eyes were locked entirely on Mark.
"How did you find me so fast?" Mark asked, his voice disturbingly calm as he took a slow step into the kitchen, his hands raised palms-out to show he was unarmed.
"You left a very sloppy paper trail at the embassy handoff, Captain," the man in the suit replied, the barrel of the pistol shifting slightly from David to center on Mark’s chest. "The department didn't appreciate you walking out of the debriefing facility in Frankfurt. And they certainly didn't authorize you to come home and disrupt domestic tranquility."
"Get away from him!" Clara shrieked, making a lunge toward the intruder.
"Clara, stay back!" Mark barked, his voice cracking like a whip.
The suited man flicked his gaze toward Clara for a fraction of a second—a fatal hesitation.
Mark exploded forward across the kitchen floor, his boots sliding through the puddle of water as he closed the distance between them. The intruder swung the pistol back toward Mark’s face, but Mark grabbed the slide of the gun with his right hand, twisting it violently downward just as the weapon discharged.
Crack.
The silenced shot punched a smoking hole straight through the linoleum floorboards, inches from David’s ear. David yelled in absolute panic, thrashing backward against the cabinets.
May you like
Mark slammed the intruder’s wrist against the edge of the kitchen island, forcing the man to drop the pistol. With a brutal, practiced sweep of his leg, Mark kicked the man's knees out, sending him crashing hard onto the broken glass.
---
