Chapter 7 - FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS
Fifty-seven seconds.
Grace had survived hospital bills, eviction notices, two attacks, an explosion, a sniper, and discovering that her dead father had lived a secret life.
But fifty-seven seconds felt different.
It felt final.
Marco slammed against the steel door.
“Locked!”
Dominic grabbed the bomb casing.
“Don't touch it.”
Grace shouted.
He looked at her.
“I worked banquets, not bomb disposal.”
“Wonderful time to mention that.”
“I'm saying don't make it worse!”
The timer reached 49.
Marco fired at the locking mechanism.
The bullet ricocheted.
“Stop!”
Dominic shouted.
Grace scanned the chamber.
No windows.
Concrete walls.
Hidden room.
Antonio DeLuca had built it to survive attacks.
Which meant…
“Ventilation.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“If this room was designed for hiding, it needed air.”
Marco understood.
He searched the walls.
Grace looked upward.
A metal grate.
“There!”
Marco climbed onto the desk.
He ripped the grate loose.
Too small.
“Can't fit.”
Dominic looked at the bomb.
“Doesn't matter.”
Grace stared.
“What?”
“The blast will follow the weakest opening.”
“You're suggesting we stand beside the vent?”
“No.”
Dominic pointed toward an old storage cabinet.
“Behind that.”
They overturned the steel cabinet against the far wall.
Grace ducked behind it with Dominic.
Marco joined them.
Dominic pulled Grace against his chest.
She felt his heart.
Fast.
Human.
Not the heart of Chicago's monster.
Just a man who didn't want to die.
Grace whispered.
“My mother.”
“She'll be protected.”
“If we don't—”
“Don't.”
Grace looked at him.
“If we survive this, stop ordering me around.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“No.”
Dominic covered her.
Nothing.
Grace opened her eyes.
The timer showed zero.
No explosion.
Marco slowly stood.
“Fake?”
Then gas hissed from the device.
Dominic's face changed.
“MOVE!”
White vapor filled the room.
They rushed toward the vent.
Grace's lungs burned.
The steel door suddenly opened.
Federal agents in masks flooded the chamber.
“Hands!”
Dominic raised his weapon.
Grace grabbed his wrist.
“No!”
Agents surrounded them.
“Drop it!”
Dominic released the gun.
Grace collapsed.
She woke in an interrogation room.
No hospital.
No Dominic.
No phone.
A woman in a navy suit sat across from her.
“Grace Bennett?”
“You know who I am.”
“Special Agent Rachel Monroe.”
Grace stared.
“Where's my mother?”
“Safe.”
“Where's Dominic?”
“Separate room.”
“Margaret?”
“We don't know.”
Grace leaned back.
“Then you don't have anything useful to tell me.”
Rachel watched her.
“You've spent a lot of time around Dominic DeLuca.”
“Two days.”
“Enough to nearly die multiple times.”
“That's not exactly a recommendation.”
Rachel slid a photograph across the table.
Adrian Voss.
Older.
Gray hair.
Hard eyes.
Grace stared.
“This photo is six months old.”
Her pulse jumped.
“He's alive.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“Then again, not useful.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Grace, Adrian Voss has spent thirty years building an international network.”
“For what?”
“Money. Revenge. Influence.”
“And the Sterlings?”
Rachel paused.
That pause told Grace everything.
“You know.”
“We've been investigating Richard Sterling.”
“For what?”
“Money laundering. Bribery. Conspiracy.”
“Attempted murder?”
“Not enough evidence.”
Grace laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Rachel pushed another folder toward her.
Inside was a photograph of Daniel Bennett.
Grace's father.
Her chest tightened.
“This was taken two years after your family was told Daniel died.”
Grace stopped.
“What?”
The room tilted.
“No.”
Rachel remained quiet.
“My father died in a highway accident.”
“There was an accident.”
“My mother identified him.”
“She identified items recovered from the vehicle.”
Grace couldn't breathe.
“His body?”
“Badly burned.”
“No.”
Rachel's voice softened.
“Grace…”
“No.”
She pushed the folder away.
“You're lying.”
“Why would I?”
“To make me talk about Dominic.”
“I don't need you to talk about Dominic.”
“Then what do you want?”
Rachel slid one final photograph across the table.
A recent image.
A man entering a train station.
Older.
Beard.
Hat.
But Grace recognized his posture.
His eyes.
Her father's eyes.
Timestamp: three weeks ago.
Chicago Union Station.
Grace whispered.
“No.”
Rachel said, “We believe Daniel Bennett is alive.”
Grace stood so fast the chair fell.
“You've known?”
“Recently.”
“And you didn't tell us?”
“We couldn't confirm identity.”
“But you're showing me now.”
“Because Adrian Voss returned to Chicago at almost exactly the same time.”
Grace stared at the photograph.
Then understood.
“You think they're working together.”
“We don't know.”
“I want Dominic.”
Rachel shook her head.
“He's being detained.”
“On what?”
“Multiple firearms violations, obstruction—”
Grace laughed.
“That gas attack was aimed at us!”
“And someone anonymously tipped us to the hidden room.”
“Sterling.”
“Maybe.”
Grace stepped toward the door.
“I want a lawyer.”
Rachel's expression remained neutral.
“That's your right.”
“And I want my mother.”
“We can arrange—”
A huge noise shook the hallway.
Lights flickered.
Rachel stood.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Grace backed toward the wall.
Rachel drew her weapon.
“Stay here.”
The door opened.
A federal agent fell into the room.
Blood covered his shirt.
Rachel fired down the hallway.
Grace ducked.
Smoke entered.
Then a man in tactical clothing appeared behind Rachel.
Grace grabbed the fallen agent's chair and swung it.
The chair hit the attacker's knees.
Rachel shot him.
“MOVE!”
They ran.
The federal building was under attack.
People screamed.
Sprinklers activated.
Grace followed Rachel down a stairwell.
Then someone grabbed her from behind.
A hand covered her mouth.
She kicked.
“Grace.”
She froze.
Dominic.
He pulled her into a side corridor.
“How did you—”
“Later.”
“You escaped?”
“Temporarily.”
Rachel appeared.
Her gun pointed at Dominic.
“Step away.”
Dominic looked bored.
“Agent Monroe.”
“Hands where I can see them.”
Grace moved between them.
“Stop.”
Rachel stared.
“Grace.”
“Someone attacked a federal building to get to us. Maybe don't arrest the one person who keeps me alive.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“You said that.”
“Don't enjoy it.”
They reached the parking level.
Marco waited beside an SUV.
Helen sat inside.
“Mom!”
Grace climbed in.
Dominic entered behind her.
Rachel stood outside.
“You leave, I'll have every agency in Illinois looking for you.”
Dominic replied, “They're already looking.”
The SUV accelerated.
Grace hugged Helen.
Then she remembered.
“Dad.”
Helen went rigid.
“What?”
Grace showed her the photograph.
Her mother stared.
Her face changed.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Grace felt something inside her break.
“You knew he was alive.”
Helen started crying.
Grace pulled away.
“You knew.”
“I thought he was protecting you.”
“For eighteen years?”
“He contacted me twice.”
Dominic looked back.
“When?”
“Last time was eight years ago.”
Grace could barely speak.
“What did he say?”
Helen wiped tears.
“That if Adrian ever came back to Chicago, everything would begin again.”
Grace showed her the recent photograph.
“It began.”
Helen looked at Dominic.
“Then we're out of time.”
“For what?”
Helen took Grace's hands.
“Your father didn't disappear because he was afraid.”
Her voice shook.
“He disappeared because he was guarding something.”
Grace whispered, “What?”
Helen looked toward Dominic.
“The only evidence that can destroy Adrian Voss.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“Where?”
Helen answered.
“I don't know.”
Grace laughed in disbelief.
Helen tightened her grip.
“But Grace does.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
Helen reached toward Grace's scar beneath her right elbow.
A small crescent from childhood.
“You were six years old when Daniel hid it.”
Grace stared.
“I got this falling from a bicycle.”
Helen shook her head.
“No.”
May you like
Grace's blood turned cold.
“You got that scar the night your father placed something beneath your skin.”
