Chapter 6 - The Blood on the Causeway
The peace of the cape lasted less than twenty-four hours.
It was 3:00 AM on Friday when the alarm system chimed—not the loud, piercing wail of a commercial panic button, but a low, rhythmic series of amber flashes on the master console by the fireplace.
I woke instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The bed beside me was cold. Raphael was already gone.
I threw on a wool sweater and hurried down the spiral staircase into the great room. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting long, eerie shadows across the stone floor.
Gideon Pace stood by the front window, peering through a set of military-grade night-vision binoculars, his M4 carbine resting against the wall within arm's reach.
"How many?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper so as not to wake Leo, who was still sleeping soundly on the sofa.
Gideon didn't lower the binoculars. "Three Zodiac boats. Cutting across the bay from the mainland. They bypassed the underwater seismic sensors by riding the surface swell."
"Whose men?"
"Vanguard," Gideon said grimly. "The new bosses in Boston. They found out Gideon visited a charter flight service in Seattle. They traced the tail number straight to our runway."
The front door opened, and Raphael stepped back inside, shaking the freezing rain from his shoulders. He was wearing a tactical vest over his black shirt, a Sig Sauer P226 holstered at his hip, and a Remington tactical shotgun slung across his back.
He looked like the wolf of the North End—cold, lethal, and entirely in his element.
"Get Leo downstairs into the cellar," Raphael ordered, his voice flat and absolute.
"I'm not hiding, Raphael," I said, stepping forward. "I helped run a title office in Portland; I know how to handle inventory. I can load magazines."
Raphael stopped. He looked at me, his winter-blue eyes flashing with sudden, sharp anger. "This isn't a zoning dispute, Marin. These men are coming to flay us alive."
"I survived seven years of wet winters and empty bank accounts because I don't run from fights anymore," I snapped back, my chin lifting with the same stubborn fire that had made him look twice at me in Boston. "And nobody touches my son."
Raphael stared at me for three long seconds.
May you like
Then, a dark, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"Gideon," Raphael commanded, tossing a spare Glock 19 across the wooden table. "Show her how to clear the safety. If anyone makes it past the porch, put them in the dirt."
