Chapter 3 - The Cold North
The snow was falling heavily over Montreal when Gabriel’s Gulfstream touched down on a private tarmac. The bitter Canadian wind cut straight through his heavy wool coat, but he felt nothing beneath the numbness of his own determination.
Luca opened the door of the waiting SUV, handing him a tablet displaying a localized thermal signature and traffic camera still. "We found her, boss. She’s renting an isolated farmhouse twenty miles outside the city, near the Laurentian Mountains. She's using an alias, but the local contact verified a woman matching her description bought infant supplies yesterday."
"Move," Gabriel said, sliding into the backseat.
The drive was agonizingly slow through the blizzard-swept highway. Every mile stretched like an eternity, dragging up memories of Norah—quiet, steadfast Norah—sitting by the window of their grand Chicago home, reading poetry while he worked late into the night, ignoring her presence because he assumed she would always be there, a permanent fixture of his success.
When the SUV finally crunched down the snow-covered gravel driveway of the farmhouse, the lights inside were dim. A single yellow glow emanated from the kitchen window.
Gabriel flung the door open before the vehicle came to a complete stop. He strode across the snow, ignoring Luca’s warnings, and kicked the wooden front door wide open with a deafening crash.
"Norah!" he roared, drawing his weapon as he swept into the dark living room.
The house was warm, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and baby powder.
At the sound of his voice, a figure emerged from the kitchen doorway. It wasn't Norah.
It was an elderly Canadian woman wrapped in a thick wool cardigan, holding a wooden spoon, staring at him with wide, unfazed eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" the woman demanded sharply in French-accented English. "Breaking into a home like a wild animal!"
Gabriel lowered his gun slightly, scanning the empty room. "Where is she? Where is Norah Costa?"
"She left," the woman said coldly, crossing her arms. "She knew men like you would come sniffing around sooner or later. She left yesterday afternoon with the babies. Headed deeper into the woods, toward the maritime border."
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Gabriel grabbed the edge of the wooden table, his fingers digging into the grain. "You're lying."
"Believe what you want, Mr. Costa," the old woman spat, recognizing the name instantly. "She told me if a man with dead eyes and expensive shoes ever came looking for her, to tell him this: You cannot cage what you refused to water. Now get out of my house before I call the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
