Chapter 2 - The Gun in the Water
The suppressed pistol was aimed squarely between my eyes.
The man holding it wore the uniform of the Whitmore security detail.
But security guards do not draw weapons on the people trying to save them.
The rushing water slammed into the side of the SUV, making his aim unsteady.
I did not wait for him to pull the trigger.
I dove off the side of my wrecked truck into the freezing, muddy current.
A bullet hissed through the air exactly where my head had been a second before.
I hit the water and let the brutal undertow drag me down.
Debris battered against my ribs and tore at my clothes.
I swam beneath the surface, navigating by the blurred shape of the submerged SUV.
I surfaced on the blind side of the vehicle, gasping for air.
The security guard was frantically scanning the wreckage for my body.
He yelled into a waterproof radio strapped to his chest.
He reported that the primary target was secure, but the driver was interfering.
The primary target.
He was not talking about protecting the Whitmore family.
He was talking about capturing or killing someone specific.
I climbed up the rear bumper and launched myself at his back.
We crashed into the flooded interior of the SUV.
The man was strong and heavily trained in close-quarters combat.
He smashed an elbow into my jaw, sending a flash of white light across my vision.
I tasted copper and felt the cold water rushing into my mouth.
He pushed my head beneath the rising floodwater.
My lungs burned as I thrashed against his iron grip.
Thirteen years of hauling freight had given me raw strength, but not tactical skill.
I blindly reached down and found his tactical knife sheathed on his belt.
I ripped it free and drove the handle hard into his kneecap.
He roared in pain and released his grip on my neck.
I breached the surface, coughing up muddy water.
I grabbed the collar of his tactical vest and threw his weight out of the open door.
The savage current instantly grabbed him and swept him screaming down the canyon.
I collapsed back into the flooded seats, trying to catch my breath.
That was when I noticed the heavy steel briefcase chained to the floorboards.
It had been ripped open during the crash.
Water was washing over thick stacks of documents and passports.
I pulled out the top file.
It was a dossier filled with surveillance photographs.
I stared at the glossy pictures, my heart stopping in my chest.
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They were recent photos of my daughter, Sophie, walking across her college campus.
And the words stamped in red ink across her face read "Leverage Acquired."
