Chapter 108 #26: You Look Your Best With A Gun In Your Hand
I stare into the empty space where the ledger should be, my pulse loud in my ears, each beat reminding me how quickly everything we built to protect ourselves has crumbled.
David exhales sharply beside me, the sound cutting through the silence. “Someone knew exactly where to look.”
I don’t answer right away. My mind is already racing backward, replaying the contents of the documents we confiscated from Malcolm that day.
I turn to David. “You told me the second key was somewhere no one would ever find it.”
“It was.” His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the empty box as though it might suddenly produce the ledger if he glares hard enough. “I kept one here. The other is buried under six feet of concrete in a warehouse I bought under a shell company in Jersey. No one knew about that warehouse except me. And you.”
I step back, arms folding across my chest. “You think I told someone?”
“I think someone found out.” He finally looks at me, expression unreadable. “The list of people who knew this box existed is short. Me, you, and the bank manager who set it up eight years ago and he retired three years later. That’s it.”
“Then we have a mole,” I say flatly. “Or someone got to the manager before he retired. Or the bank itself has been compromised. Pick your poison.”
David closes the box with a soft click. “We can’t stay here. Whoever took it might still be watching the building.”
I nod once, already moving toward the elevator. My mind is spinning through options, discarding most of them before they fully form. Running isn’t one I’m willing to entertain yet. Not when Lucy is at home with a man who pulled a gun on both of us less than twenty-four hours ago. Not when every instinct screams that disappearing now would only paint a bigger target on her back.
We ride up in silence. The lobby is quiet at this hour, only the night guard and the soft hum of the marble floor under our shoes. David’s hand brushes mine as we step outside, a reflex he corrects immediately, but I feel the heat of it linger.
He unlocks his car and holds the passenger door open. I slide in without comment. The engine starts with a low purr, and we pull out of the underground garage into the sleeping city.
“Why did they take the will?” I ask suddenly.
David glances briefly at me, his brow furrowed. “What?”
“Malcolm’s will was in there too,” I say, my mind spinning in circles. “If all they wanted was the ledger, why did they take the will too? What would they want with it?”
David is quiet for a moment. Then, “Did you ever check what was in it?”
I shake my head no.
After another moment, he shrugs. “They were probably in a hurry and grabbed everything at once.”
“Probably. ”I say, unconvinced. I notice David continue straight when we should’ve made a left turn. “You missed the exit.”
“I'm aware. We’re not going home just yet.”
My brow furrows. “Where to then?”
“I have a cabin upstate about three hours away... two if we push it. No one knows about it, not even Elaine. We can go pick Lucy up from school and regroup there until we can figure out our next move.”
I let out a laugh. “You want me to pack up my five-year-old daughter, pull her out of school indefinitely, leave my husband, and hide in the woods because someone stole a book of dirty secrets? That’s your big plan?”
“It’s a safe place,” he says, voice low. “We can’t go back to your apartment. At least not until we know who’s watching.”
“I’m not running, David.”
“I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to survive.”
“Surviving looks different when you have a child who needs routine and stability and a father who might be losing his mind but is still her father. I can’t just vanish.”
His fingers tighten on the wheel. “Then what do you suggest? Because whoever took that ledger isn’t going to stop at empty boxes. And Shadow still thinks you have it. They’ll come for you next. Then Lucy. Then Vincent if they think he knows anything.”
The mention of Vincent’s name makes my stomach twist. I think about the way he stood in the hallway, pointing a gun and David and me. I think about how close he was to hitting me earlier. I’m starting to suspect I don’t know him as much as I thought I did.
I push the thought aside for now. One crisis at a time.
“I want to stake out the drop point,” I say.
He glances at me. “What drop point?”
“From the logs you pulled last month. The one in Red Hook, the warehouse where Malcolm used to receive shipments. If someone is resurrecting his operation, they’ll need a central location. That place is as good a guess as any.”
David considers it for several long seconds. “It’s risky.”
“Everything is risky right now.” I turn in the seat to face him fully. “But if we’re going to do something, I want to do it on my terms. I lead the recon. You follow my lead. No arguments.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. The city lights slide across his face in slow stripes, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the faint scar above his brow that I know came from the night we raided Rhys’s compound together.
Finally he nods. “Fine. But you stay in the car unless I say otherwise.”
I smile. “We’ll see.”
The drive to Red Hook is quiet after that. The warehouse district is dark and industrial, rows of brick buildings with loading docks and rusted fire escapes. We park two blocks away in a shadowed lot between two abandoned trucks. David kills the engine, and the sudden quiet presses in.
I know this area. Dead-end streets, abandoned piers, no streetlights. Perfect place for an ambush.
The SUV slows, then stops at the edge of a pier, and both men get out.
David reaches for the glove compartment. “They’re dumping something.”
I nod.
One of the men opens the trunk, pulls out the metal case, walks to the pier’s edge, and hurls it into the black water below, the loud splash following soon afterward. Then they climb back into the SUV and speed past us, heading back toward the city.
I don’t follow. I drive straight to the pier instead.
We get out. The wind off the river is cold, tugging at my coat. David pulls a flashlight from the trunk. We walk to the spot where the case went in. The water is restless, small waves slapping against the pilings.
I stare down into the darkness. “They just threw away the only leverage we had.”
David’s voice is quiet beside me. “Or they wanted us to think they did.”
I turn to him. “What?”
“The case was too light... I watched the arc. It was empty.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Then the real ledger is still with someone.”
“And that someone knows we’re watching.” David looks out over the water. “We need to move.”
The chase comes twenty minutes later.
We’re back on the expressway, heading toward Manhattan, when headlights flare in the rear-view mirror – too close, and too fast. The same black SUV. They’ve doubled back.
I floor the gas.
The car surges forward. David twists in the seat, pulling his own weapon from the centre console. “They made us.”
“Good guess, Sherlock.”
The SUV closes the gap and a window rolls down, followed by the flash of a muzzle. The first shot punches through the rear windshield, spider-webbing the glass instantly.
I swerve hard into the right lane, cutting off a delivery truck. The blare of horns is deafening, but the SUV doesn’t slow down one bit.
“Take the next exit,” David says, his voice calm despite the situation.
I yank the wheel. Tires scream as we hit the off-ramp at speed, then blow through a red light onto a wide boulevard lined with warehouses. The SUV stays glued to our tail.
Another shot rings out. This one shatters the passenger-side mirror.
I grit my teeth, reach behind me, and pull Vincent’s gun from my waistband, then pass it to David. “I drive. You shoot.”
He takes it without hesitation.
The next shot comes from their side. David leans out the window, and fires twice. The first round sparks off the hood. The second punches through their front tire.
The SUV fishtails wildly, rubber shredding, then slams into a curb and spins out.
I don’t stop.
We race through three more blocks, then cut down a side street and kill the lights. I pull into an alley behind a row of shuttered storefronts and cut the engine.
Silence drops around us, broken only by our breathing and the distant wail of sirens.
David lowers the gun. “You okay?”
I nod, hands still tight on the wheel. “Yeah.”
He looks at me for a long moment, something soft and dangerous in his eyes. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had practice.”
We sit there in the dark for several minutes, listening for the sound of engines or footsteps. Nothing comes.
Eventually I start the car again, keeping the headlights off until we’re several blocks away.
We end up at a roadside motel twenty minutes outside the city with a faded sign, half the neon burned out, parking lot full of long-haul trucks. David pays cash. We take a room on the second floor with a view of the highway.
The door clicks shut behind us.
I drop my bag on the rickety chair and turn to him, adrenaline still singing in my veins. I cross the small room in three steps and throw my arms around his neck. He catches me instantly, banding his arms tight around my waist, then lifting me slightly off the floor and for the first time in a long time, I laugh. Not a short sarcastic laugh, but a full on hearty laugh.
David looks at me, confused.
“I didn’t think I’d ever miss the thrill of being shot at,” I say, and the words come out half-laughing, half-breathless.
He chuckles slightly. “Well, you always did look your best with a gun in your hand, Doll.”
The nickname sends a familiar warmth through me, and I realize suddenly that I haven’t kissed him in over five years.
For one long heartbeat we just hold each other, chests rising and falling in rough rhythm, the rush of the chase still burning under our skin.
David's gaze drops to my mouth. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.
And then he kisses me.