Chapter 5
The second ring of the doorbell was accompanied by the heavy splintering of the doorframe as a battering ram struck the wood. Marcus didn't hesitate. He slammed the hidden pantry panel shut, snatched the satellite phone, and bolted toward the rear exit that led straight into the overgrown backyard.
The sliding glass door shattered behind him just as he hit the damp grass, the sound of heavy tactical boots stomping over hardwood echoing in the night air. "Suspect moving toward the rear fence!" a voice roared through a bullhorn, instantly washing the yard in blinding white light from a mounted helicopter overhead.
Marcus dropped low, scrambling under the low-hanging branches of the massive weeping willow that dominated his back property line. The rough bark scraped against his shoulders, tearing the grey tank top as he squeezed through the narrow gap in the wooden slats leading directly into the drainage easement.
Mud sucked at his white sneakers with every step as he dropped into the concrete culvert. The rushing sound of storm runoff muffled his breathing. He ducked his head, running hunched over through the cavernous concrete pipe that stretched beneath the entire subdivision.
Water splashed against his shins, freezing and fast-moving. Up ahead, the faint glow of a streetlamp filtered through a rusted storm grate. That was near the municipal supply depot—and dangerously close to Officer Vance’s patrol car if it had been moved.
He slowed his pace, wiping mud and sweat from his forehead. The satellite phone vibrated violently in his hand. He clicked answer without looking at the screen.
"Marcus, you idiot, get out of the drainage system now," Vance’s voice hissed through the speaker, low and panicked.
Marcus pressed his back against the damp concrete wall, his breathing ragged. "You told me to take the key, Vance. You said your partner was murdered."
"My partner was murdered, but not by the department—by the guys who are currently kicking down your front door!" Vance yelled over the sound of shouting voices in the background. "The feds aren't real marshals, Marcus. Look at the tactical vests in the courtyard footage if you have any feed left. They're private security contractors hired by the syndicate."
Marcus froze. "Syndicate? What are you talking about?"
"The money missing from Precinct Four wasn't police corruption," Vance said, his voice cracking with genuine terror. "It was laundering money for the cartel using municipal accounts. And you were the auditor who caught the discrepancy before you transferred out."
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A bright beam of light suddenly pierced the darkness of the culvert just twenty yards ahead of him. Heavy boots splashed through the water, heading straight toward his position.
"We got movement in sector four!" a harsh voice shouted from the grate above.
