Chapter 176: CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SIX

Moonlight danced off the cobblestones as Isabella Hartley and Christian Vanderbilt lofted through Geneva's narrow thoroughfares. Isabella's knuckles paled around the leather satchel, its contents the capstone of months of hopeless disquisition. Christian's hand noway left hers, their breaths ragged in the small, stolen auto they'd commandeered from a vacated alley.

Structures blurred past — ancient gravestone facades that had witnessed centuries of history now glinted only in their hinder-view glass. Isabella's heart thundered like a timpani as Gabriella's voice crepitated in her earpiece. "You're not safe yet. Victoria still has abettors out there."

A distant temptress wailed, its echo bouncing off stucco walls, but it offered little comfort. They had bought, addressed, and overreached guards to reclaim the substantiation Victoria had hidden down. Now, with the audio recordings and documents proving her long crusade of manipulation, they were a twinkle from exculpation.

Christian darted on the headlights. "We'll lose it if we keep hiding. Let's get to the lodge." The plan was simple: cross the border into France and rendezvous with Daniel at a safe house.

Isabella jounced, sweat dampening her brow. Every shadow held peril. Every fleeting auto might carry another of Victoria's henchmen.

Suddenly, a black SUV roared from a lateral road, tires squealing. Christian slammed the thickets. The auto jounced to a halt as the SUV nearly cropped the passenger door.

He jerked the wheel, sinking to the contrary sidewalk. Isabella's bag sloped, nearly slipping from her grasp, but she held on. Her palpitation pounded in her cognizance louder than the machine's rev, louder indeed than the enchantresses now closing in.

The SUV swung around. Its dark windows reflected their headlights like vigilant eyes. Isabella swallowed hard. "They set us up."

Christian's jaw set. He shifted into the rear. "Brace yourself." The machine's scowl was nearly drowned by a fresh surge of enchantresses — police or backup, he couldn't tell. Isabella leaned forward, pressing her satchel to her casket as Christian fought for traction on the wet monuments.

The gap closed. The SUV's caff shone like a bloodsucker's gullet in the headlights. Granite walls impended. No alley to escape this time.

Christian murmured under his breath. " Hold on." He stomped the boscage. Tires protested. The auto slid and banged against the sidewalk's edge.

Isabella's breath caught as they came to a jarring halt. The SUV's taillights glowed elevation down. Through the windshield, a dozen masked numbers revealed out, their outlines punching holes in the moonlit road.

Christian's hand tensed over Isabella's. Her heart pounded so fiercely she felt she might shatter. In that breathless moment, the stolen substantiation felt both heavier and more precious than ever.

And also, one masked figure stepped forward, headlights glinting off the barrel of a silenced dynamo.

The night closed in around them.

Sword ‐ Argentinian dawn was still hours down when the masked men girdled the auto. Headlights cut through the fog as Isabella and Christian sat firm, eyes wide, hands clamped together. Rain glistened on the asphalt, reflecting the red boscage lights like angry embers.

One figure approached the passenger window, dynamo leveled at Isabella's side. " Hand over the lines," he snarled, voice muffled behind a balaclava. " Do it, and we'll let you live."

Isabella's triumphs slick against the leather of her jacket. She glanced at Christian; his jaw was a hard line. "Not a chance," she said, voice low but steady.

The man's cutlet twitched over the detector. Conterminous numbers banged out, cutting off any escape. Rain spattered against the windshield. Each drop echoed like a preamble.

Steps pounded on wet pavement. Isabella's palpitation matched the meter. Christian leaned forward. " Talk to them. Distract them."

She drew in a pulsing breath. "You'll lose whatever influence Victoria thinks she has." Her voice chimed out, crisp in the biting air.

The man laughed, a harsh scrape. "You know nothing about her. She has musketeers in high places." He glanced over his shoulder — for the first time, Isabella glinted at the urgency in his movements.

The distant wail of enchantresses grew nearer, incorporating the scowl of machines. Isabella's heart soared. Provisory had arrived, but was it theirs or theirs alone? Through the haze, the enchantresses sounded nearer than ahead. A police sport fisherman? Or another force summoned by Victoria?

Suddenly, headlights swept history, submerging the road. The masked men set. The lead marksman cursed and bolted toward the sidewalk — too late.

From around the corner, a satiny black hydrofoil screamed to a halt. The door flew open. An altitudinous man in an acclimatized fleece paraded forward, slow despite the chaos. His face was partially ‐ lit by passing headlights Vincent Calloway.

"Everyone stand down," he said, voice silky calm. The masked men dithered, glancing at their fireballs and also at Calloway's steady aspect.

The marksman lowered his armament. Rain dropped from his mask as he rumored into a concealed earpiece. A tense beat passed.

Christian released Isabella's hand. "Vincent," he breathed.

Calloway's lips twisted. "You're welcome."

For a moment, only the rain pointed the hush — also, enchantresses resolved the silence, and Isabella realized he hadn't called real backup. He'd brought himself.

Vincent leaned against the hydrofoil's cushion, hands in pockets, unruffled by mizzle glistering on his fleece. Isabella and Christian faced him under the sodium gleam of a streetlamp, soaked through but resolute.

He jounced toward the satchel lying open on the wet pavement. "Those lines you risked everything to secure — hand them over, and I'll make this all vanish. Victoria's reach extends far beyond courts and contracts."

Isabella's eyes burned. "You're pretending."

Vincent's dark eyes glinted. "Am I?" He produced a slim recording device and placed it beside the documents. "This dupe will end up where it matters unless you misbehave."

Christian's jaw gripped. "You work with her."

" Let's say we have a common adversary," Vincent replied coolly. He glanced at the masked men melting back into the mist. "They'll be gone in twinkles. So will I. You'll suppose you're safe — until the morning captions decide else."

Isabella swallowed, heart pounding. The substantiation in that satchel was their lifeline. Lose it then, and months of struggle would unravel in hours.

Christian took a step forward. "You're just her pawn."

Vincent's chortle was low, amused. " maybe. But I make my own rules." He tapped the satchel. " Give me the lines."

A distant temptress, now surely their own backup, roared nearer. Isabella seized Christian's hand. "No," she said, voice establishment. "You don't get to hold our verity hostage."

Without warning, she dipped the documents and slung them into a nearby trash caddy, where embers of a discarded cigarette smoldered. Dears licked the substantiation nearly incontinently, the papers entwining in the orange gleam.

Christian goggled, astonished. Vincent's boo faltered for the first time. He paraded forward, but the caddy's small conflagration crepitated, casting murk across his face.

Isabella's casket heaved as she backed down. " Find your own way to silence us," she said, voice echoing in the damp night.

Vincent's eyes narrowed. He tore off his rain-gyroplane fleece, tossing it away. "You may have ruined my plan," he muttered, "but this war is just beginning."

He turned on his heel, fading into the fog before the police arrived. Enchantresses closed in, and Isabella and Christian changed a look — victorious yet cautious, knowing the peril had only strengthened.