Chapter 37
Mia
I was moving through the rain-slicked forest, alone, my steps silent on the wet earth. The beach house emerged from the mist as I approached—a weathered cedar structure perched on the edge of the shore, windows glowing with warm light as if welcoming me home. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I paused at the tree line, scanning for the sensors I knew would be there. Subtle disturbances in the underbrush revealed their locations—Vance was good, but I knew what to look for. I mapped a path through them, each step deliberately placed.
“I’m approaching the house,”
I whispered into my concealed comm unit. “Sensors identified and avoided.”
“Copy that,”
Connor’s voice came back, steady and reassuring in my ear. “I have a visual on the main floor. One male subject moving in what appears to be the kitchen area.”
I reached the back deck without triggering any alarms. The sliding glass door was partially open—an invitation. An obvious trap.
“I’m entering now,”
I informed Connor, drawing my sidearm but keeping it low and out of sight. If Vance was watching, I needed to appear vulnerable, desperate.
“Be careful,”
Connor replied softly. “I don’t have a clean shot yet—he’s staying away from the windows.”
I stepped inside, the familiar scent of sea salt and cedar bringing a rush of childhood memories that I quickly suppressed. The house was just as I remembered it—open-plan living area, kitchen to the right, stairs to the left leading to bedrooms. The cellar access would be outside, a slanted door leading down from the side yard.
“Vance,”
I called, my voice echoing in the quiet house. “I’m here. Alone, as instructed.”
“In the kitchen, Amelia,”
came the reply—that cultured, almost pleasant voice that had haunted the nightmares of many agency operatives. “Do come join me. I’ve made tea.”
I moved cautiously toward the kitchen, weapon still concealed against my thigh. Vance stood at the counter, dressed casually in a sweater and slacks that gave him the appearance of a college professor rather than a trained killer. He was preparing two cups of tea with methodical precision, as if this were a social visit rather than a hostage situation.
“Right on time,”
he remarked, glancing at his watch. “Always so punctual, Amelia. It’s one of the qualities Matheson admired in you.”
“Where is my sister?”
I demanded, scanning the room for any sign of weapons or triggers.
Vance smiled, the expression never reaching his cold eyes. “She’s quite safe, I assure you. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but unharmed.”
He gestured to one of the kitchen stools. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss before the... conclusion of our business.”
I remained standing. “I want to see her first.”
“All in good time,”
he replied, sliding a teacup toward me. “Drink. It’s not poisoned—that would be too quick, too merciful for what Matheson wanted.”
“Matheson is dead,”
I said flatly. “Whatever loyalty you owed him died with him.”
Vance’s smile tightened. “Loyalty doesn’t end with death, Amelia. Surely someone with your... family complications understand that.”
He sipped his tea, watching me over the rim of his cup. “Speaking of family, your husband is setting up quite the sniper position on the ridge. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”
My blood ran cold, but I kept my expression neutral. “I came alone, as instructed.”
“Please,”
Vance scoffed. “You were always more intelligent than that. I’ve been watching the property for days. I know exactly who arrived with you.” He set down his cup with deliberate care. “Don’t worry. The explosives I’ve placed are on a remote trigger, not a proximity sensor. Your friends are safe—for now.”
“What do you want, Vance?”
I asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
“To complete Matheson’s final directive,”
he replied simply. “To make you suffer as he suffered, watching everything he built crumble because of your betrayal.” His eyes hardened. “But first, I want to understand why. Why throw away years of loyal service, a purpose, for these... ordinary people?”
Through my earpiece, I could hear Connor’s measured breathing as he lined up a shot. “Still no clean angle,”
he whispered. “He’s staying just out of sight of the windows.”
I needed to get Vance into position. “Show me Lily,”
I insisted. “Then we can talk about my reasons.”
Vance studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. A reasonable request.”
He reached beneath the counter and pressed something—a button or switch I couldn’t see.
A section of the kitchen floor slid open, revealing a staircase descending into dimly lit darkness. My heart pounded as I realized this was a modification to the house—the cellar access had been internal all along, hidden beneath the kitchen floor.
“After you,”
Vance said, gesturing toward the opening with exaggerated courtesy.
“He’s opened something in the floor,”
I whispered into my comm. “I’m going down.”
“Mia, wait—”
Connor’s voice was urgent in my ear.
“Your communication device,”
Vance interrupted, extending his hand. “I’ll need that before we proceed. Unless you’d prefer I expedite matters with your sister.”
I removed the earpiece slowly, maintaining eye contact as I placed it in his palm. He smiled, dropping it into his tea where it sizzled and went dark. My connection to Connor was severed, but I knew he’d be watching, waiting for any opportunity.
The stairs creaked as I descended into the cellar. The space had been transformed since my childhood memories—the once-cluttered storage area now stark and clinical. Metal shelving lined the walls, holding an assortment of medical equipment that made my stomach turn. In the center of the room, Lily was secured to a chair, duct tape across her mouth, eyes wide with terror above it.
“Lily,”
I breathed, moving toward her instinctively.
“That’s close enough,”
Vance warned, following me down the stairs. He held a small remote in his hand—the trigger for the explosives, I assumed.
Lily’s gaze darted between us, confusion mingling with her fear. She was pale but appeared uninjured, though the slight tremor in her hands suggested she’d been drugged.
“You see? As promised, she’s unharmed,”
Vance said, circling to stand behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, making her flinch. “Though I admit, the resemblance between you is remarkable. It made identifying her quite simple.”
“Let her go,”
I said, keeping my voice level despite the rage building inside me. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“On the contrary,”
Vance replied. “She has everything to do with this. She’s the reason you betrayed Matheson, isn’t she? The weakness he always suspected you harbored.” He stroked Lily’s hair almost tenderly, making my skin crawl. “Family. Such a liability in our line of work.”
“What do you want from me?”
I demanded, calculating distances, angles, possibilities.
Vance smiled, the expression chilling in its emptiness. “I want you to make a choice, Amelia. The same choice Matheson gave you, but with higher stakes.”
He withdrew a knife from his pocket, the blade catching the dim light. “Your sister’s life, or your husband’s.”
My blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s quite simple,”
he explained, his tone conversational as if discussing dinner plans. “The explosives I’ve placed around the property are focused on the ridge where your husband is positioned. One press of this button,” he held up the remote, “and he dies. Or...” He lowered the knife to Lily’s throat. “You can watch me cut her jugular. Your choice.”
My mind raced, searching for options. Vance was too far for me to rush him before he could press the button or use the knife. Any sudden movement would trigger his response.
“You’re lying,”
I said, buying time. “You don’t have explosives on the ridge. You couldn’t have known where Connor would position himself.”
Vance’s smile widened. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, Amelia. I know how you operate, how you think. I placed charges at every viable sniper position surrounding this property.”
He tilted his head. “Would you like proof?”
Without waiting for my response, he pressed a button on the remote. A distant explosion shattered the night, the sound muffled by the cellar walls but unmistakable.
“That was approximately fifty meters east of your husband’s position,”
Vance explained calmly. “A warning shot, if you will.”
Horror flooded through me. “Connor,”
I whispered, praying he was unharmed.
“He’s alive,”
Vance assured me. “For now. The next detonation won’t be a warning.” He tightened his grip on the knife, pressing it just hard enough against Lily’s skin to draw a thin line of blood. “Your decision, Amelia. Who lives? Who dies?”
Lily’s eyes met mine, wide with terror but also something else—a spark of recognition. Despite never having met me as adults, some part of her knew who I was.
I needed to keep Vance talking, to find an opening. “Why this elaborate setup? Why not just kill us all?”
“Because death is too simple,”
he replied, a hint of passion finally breaking through his controlled fa?ade. “Matheson wanted you to suffer as he did—forced to choose between loyalties, to sacrifice someone you love.” His eyes gleamed with fanatical intensity. “He spent years molding you, perfecting you, and you threw it all away for... this.” He gestured at Lily with contempt.
“You’re wrong,”
I said, an idea forming as I spoke. “I didn’t betray Matheson for her. I didn’t even know where she was until he told me.”
Confusion flickered across Vance’s face. “Then why?”
“Because I discovered the truth about his operations,”
I said, taking a calculated risk. “About Project Chiminea.”
Vance went completely still, the knife wavering slightly against Lily’s throat. “You couldn’t possibly know about that.”
I had struck a nerve. Project Chiminea was mentioned in the files Matheson had shown me—something involving government officials and offshore accounts. I hadn’t known its significance then, but Vance’s reaction confirmed it was important.
“I know everything,”
I bluffed, watching his reaction closely. “The government contracts, the blackmail, the offshore accounts. Tomas MacGallan documented it all in his black book.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You’re lying. The book was never found.”
“Wasn’t it?”
I took a small step forward, careful not to provoke him. “Why do you think Matheson was so desperate to eliminate the MacGallan’s? He knew they had evidence that could destroy everything he built.”
Doubt flickered across Vance’s face. This was my opening—creating uncertainty, dividing his attention.
“Think about it, Gregory,”
I said, using his first name deliberately, making this personal. “Matheson sent me to kill Declan MacGallan, then Connor. But he never ordered me to find the book. Don’t you find that strange? Unless...”
“Unless he didn’t want you to find it,”
Vance finished, the knife lowering slightly as his focus shifted to this new puzzle.
“Exactly,”
I pressed. “Because the book contains information about you too. About your role in Project Chiminea.”
The gamble paid off. Vance’s expression hardened, his grip on the remote tightening. “What exactly do you think you know?”
“I know enough to understand why you’re really here,”
I replied, taking another careful step. “This isn’t about loyalty to Matheson. It’s about protecting yourself.”
His jaw clenched. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?”
I was close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat—a sign of agitation breaking through his controlled exterior. “The offshore account in the Caymans. The meetings with Senator Hargrove. The ‘special assignments’ that never made it into official reports.”
Each shot in the dark hit something—I could see it in the micro-expressions flashing across his face. I was piecing together a narrative from fragments I’d gathered during my years at the agency and somehow striking the truth.
“Shut up,”
Vance hissed, the knife pressing harder against Lily’s throat. A thin trickle of blood ran down her neck, and she whimpered behind the tape.
“You’re afraid,”
I continued, the pieces falling into place. “Not of me, but of what happens when CSIS finishes their investigation into Matheson’s operation. They’ll find the connections, trace the money. You need us dead because we’re loose ends—not because of some twisted loyalty to a dead man.”
Rage flashed in his eyes—I’d struck the core truth. “Enough!”
he snapped, raising the remote. “Make your choice, Amelia. Now. Your sister or your husband.”
Time seemed to slow as I assessed my options. The remote was in his right hand, knife in his left. His attention was divided between me and the growing uncertainty I’d planted. There was a fraction of a second window—a moment where his focus shifted from the remote to my face as he processed my words.
I lunged forward, faster than he anticipated. My left hand knocked the knife away from Lily’s throat while my right grabbed his wrist, twisting the remote away from him. We crashed against the shelving unit, medical equipment clattering to the floor around us.
Vance was strong, his training evident as he countered my move with practiced efficiency. His elbow connected with my ribs, sending a sharp pain through my side. I maintained my grip on his wrist, keeping the remote pointed away from us both.
“You’ve lost your edge, Amelia,”
he hissed, driving his knee into my stomach. “Too soft now. Too many emotions clouding your judgment.”
I didn’t waste breath responding. Instead, I swept his legs from under him, using his momentum to slam him into the concrete floor. The impact loosened his grip on the remote, sending it skittering across the floor.
Vance’s eyes tracked it, his intention clear. I drove my elbow into his throat, cutting off his air supply momentarily while I scrambled for the device. My fingers closed around it just as he recovered, launching himself at me with murderous fury.
We grappled on the floor, each fighting for control of the remote. Above us, I heard a crash—glass shattering, footsteps pounding down the stairs. Connor had found a way in.
“Mia!”
His voice echoed through the cellar.
The momentary distraction cost me. Vance seized the advantage, flipping me onto my back and pinning me with his weight. His hands closed around my throat, cutting off my oxygen as he squeezed with methodical precision.
“I’ll kill you first,”
he growled, his face inches from mine. “Then your sister. Then your husband. Slowly. While you watch from hell.”
Darkness crept into the edges of my vision as I struggled against his grip. The remote was still clutched in my hand, but I couldn’t risk pressing any buttons—not when Connor was in the house, not when I didn’t know which explosives it might trigger.
Through the encroaching darkness, I saw Connor at the bottom of the stairs, weapon raised but unable to get a clean shot with Vance using my body as a shield.
My free hand searched the floor desperately, fingers brushing against something metal—one of the surgical tools that had fallen from the shelves. I grasped it, feeling the familiar weight of a scalpel in my palm.
With the last of my strength, I drove the blade into Vance’s side, angling it upward toward his heart. His eyes widened in shock, his grip on my throat loosening as pain registered. I twisted the scalpel, feeling it slice through tissue and muscle.
“That’s for Lily,”
I whispered as he collapsed on top of me, blood soaking through his sweater and onto my tactical vest.