“Marcus! What happened?” Julian shouted into the phone.
“The guest villa…” Marcus gasped through coughing fits.
“They set fire to the east side of the estate.”
My heart stopped beating.
“Noah!” I screamed toward the speaker. “Where is Noah?”
“Noah is with me!” Marcus answered, his voice clearing as he moved away from the noise.
“I saw the drone drop the accelerant on the roof two minutes ago.”
“I pulled the boy from the crib and took the underground tunnel to the maintenance shed.”
Julian exhaled a shuddering breath, pressing his knuckles hard against the SUV window.
“Are you armed, Marcus?”
“Yes, sir. I have two men with me.”
“Do not move from that shed,” Julian ordered. “We are four minutes away.”
Julian slammed his hand against the driver’s partition.
“Full speed! Ram anything that blocks the gate!”
The heavy armored vehicle accelerated, swerving through Dallas highway traffic with its emergency strobe lights flashing.
Thick black smoke billowed into the clear morning sky above the northern tree line.
The Whitmore estate was burning.
By the time the SUV slid through the shattered iron gates, two fire engines were already dousing the guest villa with pressurized foam.
Flames reached thirty feet into the air.
Julian didn't look at the fire.
He jumped out of the moving SUV before it came to a complete stop, sprinting across the manicured lawn toward the concealed maintenance shed.
I ran right behind him, my sneakers tearing through the wet grass.
Julian kicked the shed door open.
Marcus sat on a wooden crate in the dim room, holding Noah wrapped in a gray wool blanket.
Noah was wide awake, chewing on the corner of his blanket, oblivious to the destruction twenty yards away.
The moment he saw me, he held out both arms.
“Mama!” he chirped.
The word hung in the dusty air like a prayer.
It was the first time he had ever spoken it.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I gathered him into my arms, burying my face into his warm neck.
Julian froze in his tracks.
He looked at his son.
Then he looked at me holding him.
Marcus stood up, holstering his sidearm.
“They didn't come to kidnap him, Mr. Whitmore.”
“What do you mean?” Julian asked, his voice shaking.
Marcus pointed toward the grass outside the shed door.
Pinned to a wooden fence post with a serrated hunting knife was a piece of burnt parchment.
Julian walked over and yanked the knife free.
Written in bold, black charcoal letters was a single message:
*The debt has come due, Julian. Bring the Swiss bearer certificates to Pier 14 at midnight, or the next fire will be wherever you sleep.*
