Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE STORM
David swept the beam of his heavy tactical flashlight across the cistern. In the stark, blinding light, I could see his hulking silhouette. He was wearing a dark, waterproof trench coat dripping with rain from the lake, and in his right hand, he casually held a heavy, iron crowbar. The casual way he swung it, tapping it against his leg, sent a wave of nausea crashing through me. He wasn't just here to capture Sophie; he was here to eliminate a witness.
Grayson, crouched beside me in the suffocating darkness of the alcove, went completely rigid. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the suppressed, violent rage of a brother watching a predator hunt his family. He shifted his weight, preparing to lunge.
I grabbed Grayson’s wrist, my fingernails digging into his skin, and shook my head frantically in the dark. Not yet, I mouthed. David had the weapon, the light, and the element of surprise. If Grayson attacked blindly, David would crush his skull with that crowbar. We needed a distraction. We needed to be smart. Being emotionally unstable had taught me how to read the room, how to anticipate panic, and how to use it.
"Sophie," David coaxed, his voice dripping with a sickly-sweet, venomous charm. He took a step deeper into the cistern, his boots splashing in a shallow puddle of stagnant water. "It's cold down here, sweetheart. Don't you want to go home? Your stepmother is very worried about you. If you just give me the papers you took from my briefcase, I promise I'll buy you that pony you always wanted."
The papers from his briefcase. The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Sophie hadn't just witnessed something; she had stolen something. Evidence. Whatever David and Eleanor were plotting—forging grandfather's will, stealing our inheritance—Sophie had the physical proof. That was why they couldn't just kill her immediately. They needed to find where she hid the documents first.
David turned his back to our alcove, sweeping the light toward the old stone basin.
It was now or never.
I reached to the ground, my fingers brushing against a heavy, loose brick from the crumbling foundation. I picked it up, feeling its rough, solid weight in my palm. I locked eyes with Grayson in the dim ambient light bouncing off the stone walls. I pointed to the far corner of the room, then pointed to myself, mimicking a throwing motion. Grayson nodded, understanding instantly. He braced himself like a sprinter in the starting blocks.
I hurled the brick with all my strength toward the opposite side of the cistern. It smashed against a rusted iron pipe with a deafening CLANG, echoing wildly in the cavernous space.
David whipped around, cursing violently, throwing his flashlight beam toward the sound. "Gotcha!" he snarled, raising the crowbar and charging toward the noise.
The moment his back was fully turned, Grayson exploded from the alcove. He crossed the damp stone floor in three silent, massive strides. He hit David like a freight train, driving his shoulder squarely into the older man's kidneys.
David roared in pain and surprise as they both went crashing to the floor. The flashlight flew from his grasp, spinning across the wet stone and coming to rest against the wall, casting crazy, elongated shadows across the battling men.
"Harper, run!" Grayson yelled, grappling desperately with David in the shallow water.
I didn't run. I wasn't going to be the helpless, emotional teenager anymore. I scrambled out of the alcove, diving for the discarded flashlight. My fingers closed around the cold metal cylinder just as David managed to land a brutal, sickening punch to Grayson's jaw.
Grayson reeled back, dazed, and David surged upward, raising the heavy iron crowbar to deliver a crushing blow to my brother's head.
"Hey!" I screamed, my voice tearing through my throat.
David turned toward me. I aimed the heavy, tactical flashlight directly at his face and hit the strobe button. The blinding, rapid flashes of high-intensity light hit his eyes, entirely disorienting him. He stumbled backward, shielding his face with a curse, swinging the crowbar blindly through the air.
Grayson, recovering his senses, didn't hesitate. He swept David's legs out from under him. As David crashed to the stone floor a second time, his head struck the edge of the stone basin with a hollow, sickening thwack.
David went completely limp, the crowbar clattering to the ground beside him.
I kept the strobe light on his face for five agonizing seconds, my chest heaving, waiting for him to move. He didn't.
Grayson scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily, wiping a streak of blood from his split lip. He kicked the crowbar away into the darkness, then leaned over David, checking for a pulse.
"He's out cold," Grayson panted, looking at me with a mixture of shock and awe. "Nice move with the light, Harp."
"Tie him up," I ordered, my voice shaking with adrenaline. I pulled the heavy, braided nylon cord from the hood of my sweatshirt. "Tie his hands behind his back. If he wakes up, we don't want him following us."
Grayson quickly secured David's wrists, dragging his unconscious body into the deep alcove where we had hidden.
I picked up the flashlight, turning off the strobe and switching it back to a steady beam. I aimed it down the dark, stone tunnel leading toward the boathouse. The roar of the storm outside was louder here, the wind howling like a wounded animal through the prohibition-era smuggling route.
"David said she ran this way," I said, my voice trembling as I looked into the abyss. "She has the papers. She's heading for the boathouse."
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"Then that's where we go," Grayson said, standing beside me, his jaw set with grim determination. "Let's finish this."
We stepped over the threshold of the iron-bound door, plunging into the tunnel beneath the lake, racing against the storm, and racing to save the little girl who had outsmarted them all.
