Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
The door swung open with a slow, agonizing creak.
Standing in the doorway was not one of my private security guards, and it certainly wasn't Victoria. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a dark trench coat, his face half-obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed fedora. In his right hand, he held a suppressed automatic pistol, the matte black finish catching the dim amber light of the desk lamp.
Behind him, through the gap in the doorway, I could see the lifeless form of one of my guards sprawled out on the Persian rug of the grand hallway, unmoving.
“Mr. James Vance,” the man said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sounded like grinding stones. “I told her she should have flushed that pillow days ago. Amateurs always leave the evidence behind.”
Clara gasped, stepping instinctively in front of me, but I caught her shoulder and pulled her back behind my frame. My mind raced at corporate-speed, calculating exits, weapons, and survival odds. There was a heavy brass fireplace poker just three feet to my right, but crossing that distance before a silenced bullet found my chest was an impossible gamble.
“You’re D,” I stated, keeping my voice eerily steady to mask the adrenaline surging through my veins.
The man tilted his head slightly, the brim of his hat shifting to reveal a jagged scar running from his left ear down to his jawline. “Impresario of biological curiosities, at your service. And honestly, James, you’ve been a terrible host tonight. Breaking into your own fiancée's phone? Tearing open expensive bedding? Where are your manners?”
“Where is Victoria?” I demanded, keeping my eyes locked on the barrel of the gun.
“Downstairs, packing her designer bags while she still has the use of her legs,” the man replied smoothly, taking a slow step into the study. The floorboards groaned beneath his heavy boots. “She’s realized that the billionaire playboy routine is officially over. Now we cut our losses, take the bearer bonds from the wall safe behind your desk, and catch a private flight out of Teterboro before sunrise.”
He raised the pistol just a fraction higher, leveling it directly at my forehead.
“Open the safe, James. Let's make this quick and painless. Think of it as a severance package for services rendered.”
I didn't move. My hand slid slowly down my side, grazing the edge of the mahogany desk until my fingers brushed against the cold, heavy metal of the glass paperweight resting over Leo’s pillow fragments.
Clara, sensing my intention without a single word being spoken, suddenly reached out and flicked the switch of the heavy brass desk lamp, plunging the center of the room into deep shadow while casting a blinding glare directly toward the intruder's eyes.
The man cursed, his vision momentarily compromised by the sudden shift in light.
It was all the opening I needed.
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With a roar that shook the framed oil paintings on the study walls, I grabbed the heavy glass paperweight and hurled it directly at his face, following it immediately with a savage tackle across the length of the mahogany desk.
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