Chapter 4 - The Intruder in the Shop
“Emily?” Aunt Margaret’s panicked voice called out from her bedroom down the hall. “What was that noise? Sweetheart, are you awake?”
“Stay in your room, Aunt Margaret!” I hissed back, my voice trembling as I leaped to my feet, clutching the Manila folder in one hand and reaching for a heavy brass paperweight on my desk with the other. “Don't come out, no matter what you hear!”
I crept out of my bedroom into the dark hallway, my bare feet making no sound against the floorboards. Peering over the wooden banister of the staircase, I looked down into the shadowy expanse of Rosemary Lane Flower Shop.
The moonlight streaming through the large front windows illuminated two figures in dark tactical gear moving methodically through the aisles, kicking over ceramic pots, tearing apart floral displays, and shining high-powered flashlights into every bucket and storage bin.
“Check the back inventory room,” a low, grating voice growled. “Boss says the girl’s father hid the ledger inside the old Victorian rose cooler. If we don't find it before Callaway’s men clear the pier, the district attorney is going to hang us all out to dry.”
My blood ran cold. District Attorney Marcus Vance—a man hailed across Charleston as a beacon of law and order—was the one pulling the strings. He was the one who had ordered my parents' car run off the road twenty years ago, and now he was trying to finish the job.
I backed away silently from the banister, my mind racing. I needed to call Vincent, but my cell phone was sitting right on my nightstand upstairs. If I went back for it, they would hear my footsteps.
Suddenly, a heavy, calloused hand clamped firmly over my mouth from behind, cutting off my gasp before it could escape.
My entire body locked up with stark terror. I raised the brass paperweight, preparing to swing backward with all my might, when a familiar, deep voice whispered directly against my ear.
“Don’t move, and don’t make a sound.”
The tension in my muscles instantly dissolved. I would recognize that voice anywhere, even wrapped in the terror of the moment. It was Vincent.
He was standing right behind me in the pitch-dark hallway, dressed in a dark tactical turtleneck, his breath coming in slow, controlled rhythms. A nasty, drying graze cut across his cheekbone, and the faint scent of gunsmoke and rain clung to his clothes, proving just how close he had come to death tonight.
Slowly, his hand slid away from my mouth. I turned around in the dark, my eyes adjusting just enough to see the intense, glittering worry in his dark eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” I whispered fiercely, my voice shaking with adrenaline. “There are men downstairs looking for the ledger. They work for District Attorney Vance.”
Vincent didn't look surprised. In fact, a grim, deadly calm settled over his features. He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing against my cheek where I was trembling.
“I know who they work for, Emily,” he murmured softly. “And I spent the last twelve years looking for that ledger. But more importantly... I spent the last four days trying to figure out how to keep you alive while I finished my father’s war.”
“My parents—”
“I know about them, too,” Vincent interrupted gently, his thumb wiping away a stray tear I hadn't realized was falling. “Your father was the bravest man I ever knew. He gave his life trying to take down the same monsters who killed my father. And I swore on my grave I would never let them touch you.”
Downstairs, one of the intruders shouted, “Hey! I found the hidden floor panel behind the counter!”
Vincent’s eyes flashed with lethal intent. He pulled a silenced pistol from his holster with practiced, fluid ease, checked the slide with a silent click, and handed it to me—though I shook my head and pushed it back, pointing instead to the old iron pulley system we used to hoist heavy fertilizer bags from the back alley.
May you like
“They’re looking in the wrong place,” I whispered, a sudden spark of brilliant defiance taking over my fear. “The ledger isn't in the floor panel. It’s locked inside the antique walk-in refrigerator—the one with the mechanical combination lock my father built himself using our birthday dates.”
Vincent’s lips curved into a dangerous, confident smile. “Show me.”
