Chapter 9 - The Trap is Set
I froze in the center of the cracked parking lot, the cold wind biting through my thin hospital clothes.
Derek smiled at me, a sickeningly confident smirk that made my stomach churn with pure disgust.
"You really thought Marcus would betray me for a desperate, runaway housewife?" Derek mocked, stepping closer into the dim light.
Marcus stood silently off to the side, his hands tucked deeply into the pockets of his expensive leather jacket.
"Give me the ledger right now, and I will make sure the cartel makes your death relatively painless," Derek threatened, cocking the hammer of his gun.
I held the heavy black book tightly against my chest, refusing to hand over my only piece of leverage.
"If you shoot me, the police will find my body, and they will easily trace the bullet back to you," I warned him.
Derek laughed loudly, shaking his head at my apparent naivety.
"I am not going to shoot you, sweetheart," Derek explained with chilling calmness.
"Marcus is going to shoot you with the unregistered handgun I planted in your hospital bag, making it look like a tragic suicide."
Derek turned toward his business partner and extended his free hand, expecting Marcus to hand him the planted weapon.
But Marcus did not pull a gun out of his jacket pocket.
Instead, Marcus pulled out a small, blinking digital audio recorder.
Derek frowned, completely confused by the strange device in his partner's hand.
"What the hell is that, Marcus?" Derek demanded, his arrogant smile finally faltering.
Marcus pressed a button on the device, and a crystal-clear recording of Derek's entire confession echoed through the empty parking lot.
"You have become a massive liability, Derek, and the cartel boss does not like liabilities," Marcus stated coldly.
Marcus quickly pulled a suppressed pistol from his waistband and aimed it directly at Derek's head.
"I am going to kill you, take the ledger, and tell the boss you died trying to steal the money," Marcus declared.
Derek panicked and wildly swung his gun toward Marcus, realizing his best friend was about to execute him.
But before either man could pull the trigger, the deafening roar of a heavy engine shattered the tense silence.
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Rachel, driving the stolen hospital maintenance van, burst from the tree line traveling at sixty miles an hour.
She did not hit the brakes as she barreled directly toward the two armed men.
