Chapter 29
Mia
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of final preparations. Weapons were checked and rechecked, communications systems tested, defensive positions fortified. As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds, the tension throughout the estate became palpable.
Connor and I made our way to the barn, setting up my sniper position in the hayloft. The old floorboards creaked beneath our feet as I assembled the rifle with practiced efficiency, each component clicking into place with satisfying precision.
“You’ve done this before,”
Connor said, watching my hands move with fluid grace.
“Many times,”
I admitted, adjusting the scope. “Though usually I was on the other side of the equation.”
He helped me position sandbags to stabilize the rifle, then set up his own observation post nearby with high-powered binoculars. As I settled into position on my stomach, sighting along the barrel to check fields of fire, I felt a strange sense of calm descend over me. This was familiar terrain—the waiting, the watching, the measured breathing that steadied both hand and heart.
“How far can you shoot with that thing?”
Connor asked, scanning the tree line through his binoculars.
“Effectively? Just a little over a mile in these conditions,”
I replied, making a minute adjustment to the scope. “But I’d prefer they get a lot closer than that.”
“Let’s hope they don’t,”
he murmured, keying his radio to check in with Declan.
As darkness fell, the estate transformed. Exterior lights were dimmed or turned off completely, creating pools of shadow where defenders could move unseen. Infrared sensors had been activated along the perimeter, feeding data to the security monitors where Wren maintained a vigilant watch.
Hours passed in tense silence. Connor remained beside me, his presence a comfort as we scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. Occasionally, the radio would crackle with status updates from the other positions, but otherwise, the night was eerily quiet.
As midnight approached, I whispered, “Something’s wrong.”
I laid my forehead on the sandbag my arm rested on, stretching the muscles in my neck. “They should have made a move by now.”
”Maybe Elise was wrong on the timing.”
I looked at him and saw his brow wrinkled as he scanned the perimeter with his binoculars.
“No,”
I said, a chill running down my spine. “Matheson is nothing if not precise. If she said tonight, it’s tonight.”
The radio crackled. “Hey, you two in the barn,”
Wren’s voice came through, tense but controlled. “We’ve got movement at the southeast perimeter. Three bodies moving through the tree line.”
Connor immediately shifted his focus, scanning the indicated area. “I don’t see—wait.”
He stiffened. “There. Using the shadows between the weeping willows.”
I adjusted my position slightly, peering through the scope. Three figures moved with practiced stealth, their dark tactical gear blending with the night. They were good—professional—maintaining proper spacing and using available cover.
“I see them,”
I confirmed, my finger hovering near the trigger guard. “Advance team, probably checking for security measures before the main force moves in.”
Connor keyed his radio. “Wren, we have visuals on the southeast team. Three operatives, full tactical gear. Permission to engage?”
Declan’s voice responded immediately. “Negative. Let them come closer. We need to identify their entry point.”
I watched through the scope as the team continued their approach, methodically checking for trip wires or sensors. Their movements were familiar—textbook agency infiltration tactics.
“That’s Jenkins leading them,”
I murmured, recognizing the point man’s distinctive movement pattern. “Former JTF2. Matheson’s top infiltration specialist.”
“What is that?”
Connor asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“Joint Task Force. It’s the Canadian special ops, like the Delta Force for the US.”
“And you know him?”
he asked, likely wondering how I did.
We trained together,”
I replied, tracking Jenkins through my scope. “He’s good. Very good.”
The team reached the edge of the formal gardens, pausing to confer briefly before splitting up. Jenkins headed toward the east wing, while the other two moved toward the main house.
“They’re separating,”
Connor reported into the radio. “One heading east, two toward the main entrance.”
“Roger that,”
Declan responded. “Stand by.”
I kept my scope on Jenkins, watching as he expertly navigated the shadowed path toward the east wing. Something about his movement caught my attention—a slight hesitation, a check of what appeared to be a small device in his hand.
“He’s checking for something,”
I whispered. “Some kind of detector.”
“For what?”
Connor asked, shifting his binoculars to follow my line of sight.
Before I could answer, a series of soft pops echoed across the grounds, followed by plumes of dense white smoke billowing up from multiple locations around the perimeter.
“Smoke screen,”
I hissed, immediately understanding the strategy. “They’re creating cover for the main force.”
The radio exploded with chatter as visibility rapidly deteriorated across the estate. Through my scope, I could see Jenkins using the confusion to sprint toward the east wing entrance. The two other operatives had disappeared into the smoke, heading toward the main house.
“I’ve lost visual on targets two and three,”
Connor reported, frustration evident in his voice.
“Wren to all teams,”
Wren’s voice came through, tight with urgency. “Multiple heat signatures appearing on all sides. At least fifteen—no, twenty approaching under cover of smoke.”
“This is it,”
I said, adjusting my position to maintain a line of sight on what little I could still see. “Matheson’s going all in.”
The first shots rang out from the direction of the main house—controlled three-round bursts that I recognized as agency-standard suppressive fire. Return fire immediately erupted from Declan’s position, the distinctive crack of his team’s weapons cutting through the night.
“Barn team,”
Declan’s voice came through, the sound of gunfire in the background, “we’ve got heavy contact at the main entrance. At least eight of them. What’s your status?”
“East wing has at least one approaching,”
Connor replied. “Limited visibility due to smoke. Mia still has eyes on Jenkins.”
“Take him out,”
Declan ordered without hesitation.
I centered my crosshairs on Jenkins’ chest as he approached the east wing door. His movements were confident, practiced—he clearly believed he remained undetected. I took a slow, deep breath, feeling time slow as I prepared to take the shot.
“Wait,”
I whispered, noticing something in Jenkins’ hand. “He’s placing something on the door.”
“What is it?”
Connor asked, straining to see through his binoculars.
“Breaching charge,”
I replied, my finger steady on the trigger. “If I take him now, it might detonate.”
Connor keyed his radio. “East wing team, be advised: hostile is placing a breaching charge on your door. Take cover!”
The warning came just in time. As Jenkins stepped back from the door, the charge detonated with a muffled thump, blowing the door inward. In the same moment, I squeezed the trigger.
The rifle bucked against my shoulder, the sound of the shot echoing through the barn. Through the scope, I watched Jenkins stagger backward, a red bloom spreading across his chest. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.
“Target down,”
I reported, already shifting my aim toward the breach point where shadows moved in the smoke.
“Two more coming through the east breach,”
Connor warned into the radio. “Mia’s engaging.”
I fired twice more in rapid succession, dropping the first figure that emerged from the smoke. The second dove for cover behind a stone planter, returning fire in my direction. Bullets splintered the wood around us as we ducked lower.
“They’ve spotted us,”
he stated the obvious, pulling his own rifle forward. “We need to relocate.”
Before I could respond, a massive explosion rocked the main house, the shock wave rattling the barn windows. Through the smoke, I could see flames licking at the west wing of the house.
“Main house, report!”
Connor shouted into the radio, his voice tight with fear.
Static hissed for several agonizing seconds before Rory’s voice came through. “Secondary team breached the west wing. They had heavier weapons than expected. Declan’s pinned down in the study. Two of our men are down.”
“Wren?”
Connor demanded, his knuckles white around the radio.
“Safe in the control room,”
Rory confirmed. “But they’re pushing hard toward the study. I think they know where the book is.”
A new voice cut through the radio chatter—cold, controlled, and chillingly familiar. “Attention MacGallan’s. This is Director Matheson. You are outgunned and surrounded. Surrender now, and I may allow some of you to live.”
Ice flooded my veins at the sound of his voice. Matheson was here personally—something he almost never did. This wasn’t just an operation to him; it was personal.
“He’s here,”
I whispered to Connor. “On the ground. That changes everything.”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “How so?”
“Matheson never exposes himself to direct risk unless he’s certain of success. He must have something we don’t know about—some advantage we haven’t accounted for.”
As if in confirmation of my fears, Wren’s panicked voice came through the radio. “Multiple hostiles entering through the tunnel system! They’ve bypassed the security door somehow. They’re in the house!”
“That’s impossible,”
Connor muttered. “That door is solid steel with a biometric lock. The only people who can open it are family.”
A terrible suspicion dawned on me. “Unless someone gave them access. Someone they turned.”
I met Connor’s eyes. “Elise. She must have been compromised.”
Connor’s expression hardened. “We need to get to the main house. Now.”
We gathered our weapons quickly, abandoning the sniper setup for more mobile firepower. As we prepared to leave the relative safety of the barn, I caught movement off to the side, a shadow detaching itself from the darkness near the hayloft ladder.
“Connor, down!”
I shouted, shoving him aside as a figure lunged toward us.
The attacker was fast—agency-trained fast—but I was ready. I blocked the knife thrust aimed at Connor’s back, twisting the assailant’s arm until the blade clattered to the floor. We grappled briefly before I managed to sweep his legs, sending him crashing onto his back. I followed him down, my knee pressed into his chest as I aimed my sidearm at his head.
“Mia,”
the man gasped, his face contorted with pain. “Matheson said you might be here.”
I recognized him then—Parker, a newer recruit who had shown promise in close-quarters combat. “He said to give you a message.”
“What message?”
I demanded, pressing the gun harder against his temple.
Parker’s eyes darted to Connor, then back to me. “He says to tell you Lily sends her regards.”
My blood ran cold. “What have you done to her?”
A cruel smile twisted his features. “Nothing yet. But Matheson has a team outside her apartment in Vancouver right now. One word from him, and she dies.”
Connor moved beside me, his own weapon trained on Parker. “He’s bluffing. Declan sent men to protect her.”
“Did he?”
Parker laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The O’Toole brothers? They never made it to Vancouver. Matheson intercepted them at the airport.”
I felt the world tilt beneath me. If he was telling the truth, Lily was completely exposed. Unprotected. At Matheson’s mercy.
“Mia don’t listen to him,”
Connor urged, his voice steady despite the chaos erupting around us. “This is exactly what Matheson wants—to divide us, make you doubt.”
Parker’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Matheson says you have a choice, Mia. Complete your original mission—kill the MacGallan brothers—and Lily lives. Fail, and she dies screaming.”
My finger trembled on the trigger. It would be so easy to end him right now, to silence the terrible choice he presented. But killing the messenger wouldn’t change the message.
“Mia,”
Connor said softly, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “We’ll find a way to protect Lily. I promise you. But right now, our family is under attack. We need to help them.”
Our family. The words pierced through my fear and doubt. Whatever happened to Lily—and I would move heaven and earth to ensure her safety—I couldn’t betray these people who had accepted me despite everything.
“Sorry, Parker,”
I said, my voice hardening. “I’m not playing Matheson’s game anymore.”
Before he could respond, I brought the butt of my gun down hard against his temple. He went limp beneath me, unconscious but alive. I quickly bound his hands and feet with zip ties from my tactical belt.
“He’ll be down for a bit,”
I said as I stood up. “We have to get going.” I touched my earpiece, “Wren, can you verify if the O’Toole brothers reached Lily?”
“I caught what that jerk said to you all. I’m on it.”
Connor, his expression grim but determined, started walking. “The main house. That’s where this ends.”