Chapter 8 - The Red Tail-Lights
The sedan’s tires screeched against the wet asphalt, the rear end fishtailing before Clara managed to correct the steering wheel. Miller gripped the dashboard with one hand while keeping his other arm stretched protectively across the back seat toward Lily.
"What are you doing?!" Miller shouted over the roaring engine. "Keep moving! If Vance's security team catches us here, we're dead before we hit the highway!"
"Look!" Clara pointed with a trembling finger toward the rearview mirror.
A sleek, matte-black SUV had just pulled out of the alleyway they had vacated thirty seconds ago. Its high beams cut through the driving rain like twin laser pointers, locking directly onto their license plate. But what made Clara’s blood run cold wasn't the SUV itself—it was the driver.
Even through the tinted windshield and the sheet of rain, the silhouette behind the steering wheel was unmistakably Arthur Vance. The CEO hadn't stayed behind to clean up the mess; he was hunting them personally.
"He's closing the distance," Miller muttered, his eyes narrowing as he checked his Sig Sauer pistol, sliding a fresh magazine home with a sharp clack. "That bastard is playing with us."
"Why didn't he just shoot us in the house?" Clara cried, tears of frustration mingling with the rain splashing through the cracked driver's window. "He had us cornered!"
"Because he wants the girl alive, and he wants to know who helped us," Miller replied coolly, turning to look back through the rear window. "If he kills us right here, the decryption key dies with Lily. He needs to extract the data from her brain first, and he knows I’m the only one who knows where the offline server is hidden."
"What offline server?" Clara snapped, throwing the car into a sharp, illegal left turn that sent them sliding down a narrow industrial street lined with shipping containers.
"Focus on driving, Clara!" Miller barked. "Turn off your headlights! Kill the lights right now!"
Without hesitation, Clara reached out and twisted the dial on the dashboard. Total darkness enveloped the sedan. The only illumination came from the sporadic flashes of lightning slicing across the storm clouds above. Guided entirely by muscle memory and pure adrenaline, Clara navigated the maze of industrial warehouses, her heart hammering against her ribs like a sledgehammer.
Behind them, the black SUV overshot the turn, its powerful headlights slicing past the mouth of the side street. For a few seconds, the world went quiet, save for the steady drumbeat of the rain on the roof.
"Did we lose him?" Clara whispered, easing her foot off the gas pedal, letting the car coast in neutral to quiet the engine.
"People like Arthur Vance don't lose targets," Miller said quietly, leaning back to check on Lily. He gently pressed his fingers against the little girl's neck. "Her temperature is dropping. We have maybe twenty minutes before the neurological reset becomes irreversible."
Clara slammed her hands against the steering wheel. "We need a hospital! There has to be a doctor who can reverse this!"
"No hospitals," Miller said firmly. "Vance owns every major medical board in this state. If you walk into an emergency room, you're walking straight into his trap."
"Then where are we going?" Clara demanded, turning to face him in the dim gloom of the car.
Miller held her gaze, his scarred face grim in the lightning flash. "We're going to the person who built the algorithm in the first place—the man Arthur tried to bury three years ago."
May you like
Before Clara could ask another question, the passenger-side window exploded inward. A gloved hand reached through the broken glass, grabbing Miller by the collar of his trench coat and yanking him violently toward the door.
---
