Chapter 16 - The Lake at Midnight
Lake Mercer was forty miles north, an abandoned recreational reservoir surrounded by dense pines and rotting summer cabins that hadn't seen maintenance in a decade.
Sheriff Miller wanted to wait for state police backup and a signed warrant, which would take until morning. But the hearing was at nine, and if Julian had a boat ready at dawn, Leo would disappear into the black market network Julian had spent the last six months cultivating in the shadows.
"We can't wait," Marcus said in the police precinct parking lot, checking the tactical light mounted beneath his sidearm. "Miller is bound by red tape. I’m not."
"I'm coming with you," I said, standing tall beside his truck.
"Clara, this isn't a boardroom," Marcus said, turning to face me, his voice sharp with worry. "Julian is cornered. A cornered rat doesn't fight by the rules."
"That little boy in that cabin is Lily’s half-brother," I said, my voice unwavering in the dark. "Julian tried to steal my daughter’s future. Now he’s trafficking his own blood to save his skin. I am not sitting in a warm kitchen waiting for a phone call while another child pays for Julian’s sins."
Marcus searched my eyes for five long seconds. He didn't see panic or hysteria. He saw the cold, diamond-hard resolve of a woman who had walked through the fires of hell and come out forged in steel.
He nodded once, opening the passenger door. "Keep your phone in your pocket. Do exactly what I say when we hit the perimeter. Not a sound."
We drove in pitch darkness, the truck’s headlights cutting through the thick pine woods along a narrow dirt trail that had deteriorated into muddy ruts. The rain had ceased, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence broken only by the drip of pine needles onto the roof.
Marcus killed the engine and the lights half a mile out.
May you like
We moved through the wet brush on foot. Marcus walked like a ghost, his boots making almost no sound against the damp moss. Ahead, through the black silhouettes of the trees, a single yellow bulb glowed from the porch of a weather-beaten wooden boathouse hanging half-over the black waters of the lake.
From inside the cabin came the faint, unmistakable sound of a baby crying—thin, exhausted, and terrified.
