Her First Day as a Prosecutor Should Have Been a Triumph—Then She Opened a Case Tied to Her Brother

"Down!" Knox roared.

In a fraction of a second, the vulnerable, grieving brother vanished, replaced by the terrifyingly lethal warlord who had survived a dozen underworld purges.

Knox tackled Felicity to the damp earth just as a high-powered rifle bullet shattered the bark of the maple tree right where her head had been a second before. Splinters sprayed across their coats.

A second shot tore through the shoulder of Knox’s wool coat, drawing a jagged line of blood.

He didn't even flinch. He rolled, dragging Felicity behind the thick, ancient trunk of the maple, shielding her body entirely with his own.

"Are you hit?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the rooftops across the street.

"No! Knox, you’re bleeding!"

"It's nothing," he snarled.

From across the intersection, two black Chevrolet Suburbans screeched around the corner, their tires smoking against the asphalt. Men in tactical vests with unmarked assault rifles jumped out, taking up firing positions behind open vehicle doors.

These weren't common street thugs. They moved with military precision.

"Federal Marshals?" Felicity gasped, reaching for her badge.

"No," Knox said, pulling a custom Sig Sauer P226 from beneath his arm. "Nelson Gould’s personal cleanup crew. Hail’s syndicate owns them. They didn't come to arrest me, Rosie. They came to make sure neither of us leaves this schoolyard alive."

Gunfire erupted. A hail of 5.56mm rounds chewed through the wood of the maple tree, showering them with bark and dirt.

Felicity drew her service weapon. Her training took over. She leaned around the base of the trunk and fired three controlled shots, shattering the windshield of the lead Suburban and forcing two gunmen to duck behind the hood.

"Nice grouping," Knox said with a grim, proud smirk. "Father would have approved."

"Shut up and tell me what the plan is!" she shouted over the deafening cracks of gunfire. "We have twenty rounds between us and they have automatic rifles!"

"The plan," Knox said calmly, checking his watch, "was for Colton to draw their surveillance away and give Perry forty-five seconds to arrive."

Right on cue, a massive armored dump truck with the Mercer Construction logo emblazoned on the steel side roared around the opposite corner at fifty miles per hour.

It did not slow down.

The four-ton steel beast smashed directly into the side of the first Suburban, crushing it like an aluminum soda can and sending it spinning across the asphalt into a brick wall.

Automatic fire raked the dump truck's armored cab, but the reinforced glass held.

Perry Shaw kicked open the passenger door, firing a short-barreled shotgun with brutal efficiency, driving the remaining gunmen back toward the second vehicle.

"Knox! Get her in the back!" Perry bellowed.

Knox grabbed Felicity by the arm, keeping himself between her and the shooters, and sprinted through the smoking debris toward an idling black armored sedan that had pulled up right behind the truck.

Bullets sparked off the pavement at their heels. One round clipped the heel of Felicity's boot, nearly sending her sprawling, but Knox caught her around the waist, lifting her bodily and throwing her into the back seat of the sedan before diving in after her.

"Drive!" Knox shouted.

The armored sedan surged forward, tires screeching, leaving the smoking ruins of St. Mary Kindergarten behind.

Felicity lay panting on the leather seat, her hands trembling, covered in mud, bark, and Knox’s blood. She looked at Knox, who was calmly wrapping a clean linen handkerchief around his grazed shoulder.

"Nelson Gould," she whispered, her voice hollow with shock. "Nelson ordered that."

"Gould was Warren Hail’s law clerk thirty years ago," Knox said, his voice dropping into a lethal, arctic register. "Hail funded his campaign for the judiciary. He put him in the SDNY to bury Mercer cases. And when you showed up with my name on your desk, Gould thought he had found the perfect weapon."

Knox leaned back against the headrest, his gray eyes locking onto hers.