Chapter 5 - The Midnight Intruder
Marcus slumped to the floor with a muffled thud, unconscious before he hit the Persian carpet.
Gabriel stood over his head of security, his knuckles white around the grip of an unholstered steel semi-automatic.
He didn't look at Marcus.
His storm-gray eyes were locked entirely on the blinking transmitter held in Claire’s trembling hand.
"Where was it?" Gabriel demanded, his voice barely louder than a ghost's breath.
"Behind the headboard molding," Claire whispered, pointing to the peeled wood near the floor.
"It has been running hot."
"Someone has been listening to Lily since the night of the shooting."
Gabriel knelt down, ripping the bug from the wall with a vicious tug of his bare hands.
He crushed the plastic casing under the heel of his Italian leather shoe until the diode died.
"Marcus has been on my payroll for twelve years," Gabriel muttered, the rage rolling off him in waves.
"He was the one who cleared the security route on the FDR Drive."
"He wasn't acting alone," Claire said, stepping toward the bed to shield Lily with her body.
"The person who traumatized Lily didn't use a gun."
"They used psychological torture."
"They made her believe that drinking water would kill her."
Suddenly, the lights throughout the forty-eight-million-dollar penthouse flickered and died.
The emergency backup generators failed to kick in.
The room plunged into an ink-black darkness, illuminated only by the stormy lightning flashing outside the glass.
The bedroom door clicked shut from the outside.
A sharp hiss sounded from the central air conditioning vent above the crib.
The sweet, suffocating smell of compressed industrial gas flooded the nursery air within seconds.
"Hold your breath," Gabriel roared, throwing his heavy jacket over Lily and pulling Claire toward the glass terrace doors.
Gabriel fired three deafening rounds into the reinforced glass wall, shattering the structural laminate.
The cold rain and howling wind rushed into the room, dispersing the toxic gas into the night sky.
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Across the terrace, running along the rain-slicked roof toward the helipad, was a figure in a yellow cashmere coat.
The lightning flashed, illuminating the silhouette of Julianna Cross carrying a black briefcase.
