Chapter 4 - SHADOWS OVER SEABRAKE
The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving Seabrake Cove blanketed in thick sea mist. Marin walked Evan to the bus stop at the edge of the staff housing complex, her fingers clutching his small hand so tightly that he finally wriggled his fingers.
"Mom, you're squeezing too hard," Evan complained, adjusting his oversized backpack.
"Sorry, baby," Marin murmured, glancing over her shoulder. The street was quiet, yet an unnatural prickle of danger ran along her spine. A sleek black SUV with tinted windows was idling near the marina crossroad—a vehicle that definitely did not belong to the resort's housekeeping or maintenance crew.
"Are we going to see that tall man again today?" Evan asked innocently, kicking a pebble into the gutter.
Marin froze. "Mr. Mercer? Why do you ask that?"
"He was nice," Evan said with the brutal honesty of an eight-year-old. "He told me that if you want a plane to fly far, you can't just throw it hard. You have to balance the center of gravity. He had cool hands, Mom. He had a scar on his thumb shaped like a crescent moon."
Marin felt the breath leave her lungs. She remembered the night Declan got that scar—shielding her from shattered glass when a drive-by shooter sprayed the restaurant where they were having dinner in Little Italy.
Before she could answer, the yellow school bus pulled up with a hiss of pneumatic brakes. Marin kissed Evan’s forehead with desperate urgency. "Listen to your teacher today, Evan. Stay inside the school gates during recess. Do not go with anyone else after school, even if they say I sent them. Do you understand me?"
"Mom, you're being weird," Evan groaned, but nodded. "Okay, I promise."
She watched the bus disappear down the foggy coastal highway. As she turned to walk toward the resort staff entrance, a sudden screech of tires tore through the quiet morning.
A silver sedan cut across the oncoming lane, screeching to a halt ten feet in front of her. Two men in dark trench coats stepped out, their postures rigid and hands concealed inside their pockets.
"Marin Callaway?" the taller one rasped, a cruel grin spreading across his weathered face. "Don Sal Rossi sends his warmest regards. We’ve been looking for Mercer’s soft spot for nearly a decade. Turns out, he left it right here on the beach."
Marin took a step back, her throat locking in terror. "You have the wrong person."
"Save it," the man sneered, lunging forward with a leather-gloved hand outstretched to grab her collar.
Before his fingers could graze her uniform, a thunderous crash shattered the morning air. A heavy armored black Suburban slammed directly into the flank of the silver sedan, crushing the passenger door inward.
The driver's door of the Suburban flew open. Declan Mercer stepped out, holding a silenced pistol. His eyes were completely black with rage, radiating a primal, terrifying fury that froze both attackers in their tracks.
May you like
"You made a mistake coming to this town, Vinnie," Declan said softly, raising the weapon.
---
