Chapter 5 - The Storm at Cove Haven
The grand jury issued an arrest warrant for Marcus Vance on a Thursday afternoon, but as the police soon discovered, Marcus wasn't a man who waited to be caught. When officers arrived at his sprawling estate in the city, the house was completely empty. His cars were gone, his bank accounts had been cleared of cash hours earlier, and his private phone line had been disconnected.
He had gone to ground.
That night, a massive Atlantic storm rolled over Cove Haven. Rain lashed against the house in relentless sheets, and the wind howled through the narrow gaps in the old window frames like an angry beast. The power lines failed around nine o'clock, plunging the house into deep, flickering shadows lit only by the glowing embers of the fireplace and a few battery-powered lanterns Clara had placed around the room.
The two officers assigned to protect us were stationed in an unmarked SUV at the head of the long gravel driveway. But in the middle of the raging storm, with visibility down to a few feet, the storm blew down a massive pine tree, crushing the power lines and blocking the narrow access road that led up the cliff to our house.
I sat on the carpet beside Maya’s crib, holding a flashlight in my hand. Samuel was sleeping, but Maya was restless, her small hands squirming inside her swaddle. Clara was in the kitchen, filling thermoses with warm water from the gas stove, when the sharp sound of breaking glass echoed from the back sunroom.
My heart stopped.
"Clara!" I screamed, dropping the flashlight as I jumped to my feet.
The back door slammed open with a heavy bang. The wind roared into the house, blowing curtains wild and carrying the bitter smell of rain and wet mud. Through the doorway walked a man draped in a heavy, drenched black coat. He was tall, thin, with sharp facial features and eyes that looked hollow and dark under the beam of his own lantern.
It was the man from the photograph. Marcus.
Clara rushed out of the kitchen holding a heavy iron poker from the fireplace, her face pale with fury. "Get out of my house!" she yelled, standing firmly between Marcus and the living room where the cribs were set up. "The police know everything! They have the files from the bank!"
Marcus didn't panic. He moved with a slow, terrifying calmness, stepping into the hallway and wiping the rain from his face with the back of his hand. "The police don't know where I am right now, Clara," he said, his voice cold, smooth, and entirely devoid of feeling. "And by the time they clear that fallen tree off the road, I’ll be long gone. All I need are the original papers from Elena's box, and a clear path out of this country. You shouldn't have brought those kids here."
He took a step forward, reaching into his coat pocket.
May you like
I didn't think. I didn't stop to consider that I was only seven years old, or that he was twice my size. All I saw was the man who had terrified my mother into hiding, the man who had forced me to push my brother and sister through the dust and dirt in an old rusty wheelbarrow just to keep them breathing.
I grabbed the heavy metal lantern off the side table and threw it with all the strength in my small body.
