Chapter 4 - THE TRACKER IN THE PINK HOODIE
Bennett threw open the door to the guest suite, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the amber glow of the bedside lamp. Maya was sleeping soundly, her small chest rising and falling rhythmically, Button the cat resting against her legs.
On a wooden chair near the wardrobe lay Maya’s pink hoodie, stained with mud from the drainage culvert.
Bennett stepped silently across the plush carpet, reaching out with gloved hands to pick up the sweatshirt. He reached his fingers into the small front left pocket.
His fingers brushed against something hard, flat, and metallic.
He pulled it out.
It was a sleek, silver tracking beacon no larger than a quarter, blinking with a tiny, imperceptible infrared light every three seconds.
Walter stepped into the room behind him, catching sight of the blinking device in Bennett’s hand. Walter’s face drained of all color.
“A micro-transponder,” Walter whispered, horrified. “Sir... if she had that in her pocket when she entered the estate—”
“Julian wasn't trying to breach my perimeter,” Bennett said, staring at the blinking light with cold, lethal clarity. “He used a six-year-old child to carry a targeting beacon past my heat sensors. He has my exact GPS coordinates for the master residential wing.”
Before Walter could respond, a low, reverberating thrum echoed through the foundation of the house.
It wasn't an explosion. It was the sound of heavy, high-rpm helicopter blades cutting through the low clouds above the estate.
“INTRUDER ALERT! ALL SECTORS, WEAPONS FREE!” the security intercom blared across the halls, its red strobe lights finally bursting into frantic life across the ceiling corridors.
Julian Moretti hadn't just placed a tracker on the child to make demands over the phone.
He had launched an immediate, airborne strike team to take the estate while Bennett was distracted by his emotions.
“Get Maya!” Bennett shouted to Walter, tossing the tracking beacon onto the floor and crushing it beneath his heavy boot into a hundred useless pieces of plastic and wire. “Get Evelyn and get them to the sub-basement panic vault now!”
Bennett drew his custom matte-black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, racking the slide with a sharp, metallic clack.
Outside the guest suite window, two heavy searchlights sliced through the rain, illuminating the private courtyard below. A black, unmarked Sikorsky helicopter was hovering thirty feet above the manicured lawn, its side doors sliding open to reveal four heavily armed men dropping down tactical fast-ropes.
Muzzle flashes erupted across the estate grounds as Bennett’s perimeter guards engaged the airborne assault force.
Maya sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, startled awake by the deafening sirens and the sound of distant gunfire echoing off the glass windows.
“Mom?” Maya whimpered, clutching her gray cat against her chest. “What’s that noise?”
Bennett turned back from the door, dropping his weapon to his side, stepping instantly to the bedside. He scooped Maya up into his arms, blanket and all, holding her tightly against his chest.
“It’s just a storm, sweetheart,” Bennett whispered into her dark hair, his large body shielding her completely from the window. “Just a little thunder.”
Maya wrapped her small arms around Bennett’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder. She smelled like baby shampoo and rain.
“Are you going to keep me safe?” she whispered, her voice small and trembling.
Bennett looked toward the heavy oak door of the suite as the sound of automatic rifle fire erupted in the main hallway downstairs. His men were holding the line, but the battle had brought the violence of his world directly into his house.
Bennett tightened his grip on his daughter, his eyes burning with an ancient, terrifying resolve that no army on earth could break.
May you like
“Maya,” Bennett murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I spent six years living in a graveyard. I’m never letting anyone hurt you again.”
Bennett carried her through the side service door, moving deeper into the concrete heart of Cedarhaven, ready to bring hell to the men who had dared to touch his child.
