Chapter 13 - Blood on the Snow
Z
The wind howled through the pines as I sprinted across the deep snow toward the eastern perimeter of the house. The temperature had plunged below zero, but the adrenaline surging through my veins burned like liquid fire.
Near the giant white propane tank, a shadow stood hunched over in the snow, clutching a heavy black transmitter box with a blinking red LED light.
It was Marcus Vance. He was wearing an expensive cashmere coat now ruined by snow and dirt, his face twisted into a grotesque, desperate mask of madness.
"It's over, Julian!" Marcus screamed over the roar of the blizzard, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. "You thought you were so smart with your corporate spreadsheets and bank transfers! But without this house, without your precious little family, you're just a broken rig worker sitting in the dirt!"
"Drop the detonator, Marcus," I said, stepping slowly out of the shadows, holding the sidearm level with his chest.
Marcus let out a wild, barking laugh, his thumb hovering directly over the large red button. "If I press this, the whole eastern structure goes up in a fireball! Your wife, your son... reduced to ashes in seconds!"
"You didn't wire the main valve properly, Marcus," I said, taking another calm, deliberate step forward, my voice steady as stone.
Marcus froze, his eyes darting nervously down to the brass fittings on top of the fuel tank. "What are you talking about?! I connected the receiver directly to the solenoid!"
"You're a lawyer, Marcus. Not an engineer," I replied, pointing toward the tank with my free hand. "That's an industrial high-pressure safety line. The emergency shutoff valve automatically trips when the external pressure drops below thirty PSI. You connected your charge to the dead relief vent. All you're going to do is set off a tiny spark that won't even singe the paint."
Marcus’s hand trembled violently. Panic flooded his eyes as he looked from the tank back to me. "You're lying! You're bluffing!"
"Try it," I challenged him, stepping closer. "Press the button. See what happens when a lawyer tries to do a mechanic's job."
Doubt—fatal, paralyzing doubt—seized him. Marcus looked down at the detonator box, his thumb wavering over the button for one crucial second.
That second was all I needed.
I closed the distance in three explosive strides, grabbing his wrist and twisting the transmitter out of his hand, throwing it far into the deep snowdrift. Marcus shrieked in rage, clawing wildly at my face, but I grabbed him by the collar of his expensive coat and slammed him down into the freezing dirt.
I pinned his arm behind his back, pressing his face into the snow until his thrashing slowed to desperate, gasping sobs.
A second later, bright red and blue emergency lights flashed through the thick snowfall as three county sheriff cruisers tore up the long driveway, followed closely by David’s pickup truck.
Sheriff Miller stepped out of his vehicle, his service weapon drawn, stepping up to the kneeling figure of Marcus Vance.
"Marcus Vance," Sheriff Miller announced loudly, pulling steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, domestic terrorism, and violation of federal bail conditions."
May you like
As the deputies hauled Marcus up from the snow, his face covered in ice and mud, he glared at me with pure, pathetic hatred. "You ruined me, Mercer! You ruined my whole family!"
I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, looking down at him with utter disdain. "No, Marcus. You ruined yourselves the day you decided my family was an easy target."
