Chapter 13 - Ambush on Highway 9
"Get down!" Daniel’s roar ripped through the farmhouse living room a split second before the living room window exploded inward in a shower of glittering, lethal shards.
Emily dove across the braided rug, shielding Grace with her entire body. The toddler began to wail, terrified by the thunderous boom that vibrated through the floorboards.
Daniel didn't flinch. He rolled toward the wall, clearing the holster beneath his denim jacket, bringing his Glock 19 up in a two-handed combat grip. Through the shattered window frame, he caught the glint of a rifle scope perched on the ridge behind the orchard. A black, unmarked SUV was idling at the foot of their private drive, blocking the exit.
"Basement! Now!" Daniel barked, firing three suppression rounds through the broken pane to force the sniper back into cover. "Take the storm cellar tunnel out to the old barn! Take the truck!"
"Danny, I'm not leaving you!" Emily cried, clutching Grace against her chest as plaster dust rained down on them.
"I said MOVE!" Daniel yelled, his eyes burning with primal fury. "Grace needs a mother! I will buy you time!"
Emily swallowed her tears, scooped Grace into her arms, and bolted down the narrow wooden steps into the root cellar. She kicked open the rusty rear access hatch that opened into the drainage culvert behind the house, keeping low as bullets chewed through the cedar siding above her head.
Upstairs, Daniel moved like a ghost. He wasn't just Emily’s protective older brother; he was a former Marine who had survived two tours in Sangin. He knew how to fight outnumbered, and he knew how to kill to protect what he loved.
He slipped through the back kitchen door, circling through the dense orchard foliage. The sniper on the ridge fired another round into the front doorway, expecting Daniel to hold the entryway. Big mistake.
Daniel crept behind the shooter, moving silently across the damp grass. He raised his weapon. "Drop the rifle or your brains fertilize these trees."
The shooter froze, then slowly dropped his hands. He was dressed in black tactical gear with no insignia. But as he turned his head, a sickening smirk curled his lips. "You’re too late, hero. The farmhouse was just the diversion."
Daniel slammed the butt of his pistol against the shooter's temple, dropping him instantly into the dirt. He snatched the man’s radio just as a voice crackled through the speaker: *“Eagle is airborne from Bedford Hills. Van intercepted at Route 9 overpass. Matriarch is secured. Converge on the secondary target.”*
Cold terror washed over Daniel. Bedford Hills wasn't holding Margaret anymore.
He sprinted toward the barn, but when he burst through the double doors, Emily’s old farm truck was gone, its tire tracks speeding down the hidden back trail toward Highway 9.
Daniel leaped into his own rugged Dodge Ram, gunned the diesel engine, and tore out of the barn in a storm of gravel.
Ten miles down Highway 9, the afternoon sky turned black with smoke. As Daniel crested the hill, he slammed on the brakes.
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A state correctional transport van lay overturned on the highway, riddled with heavy machine-gun fire. Two state trooper cruisers were burning furiously on the shoulder.
Margaret Sterling was gone. The asphalt was painted with blood. And fifty yards down the ditch, Emily’s farm truck sat crushed against a concrete guardrail, its driver's side door flung wide open into the empty, whistling wind.
