Chapter 5 - Cornered Beasts
The black unmarked police cruiser tore through the torrential rain, its wipers slapping furiously against the windshield.
The local anesthetic Lena had administered was numbing the surface of my skin, but deep beneath the muscle, a dull, throbbing ache pulsed like a warning drum. I was strapped into the passenger seat, wearing an oversized Kevlar tactical vest that had been loosened so it didn't press directly against my bandaged back.
Beside me, Detective Vance kept both hands on the wheel, navigating the winding, unlit mountain roads leading to Pine Crest Lake.
Behind us, two tactical SWAT vans followed with their headlights dimmed, maintaining a blackout protocol.
"Three minutes out," Vance spoke into his radio headset. "Team Alpha, secure the perimeter along the lakefront. Team Bravo, seal the private access bridge. Suspects are considered armed, desperate, and extremely dangerous. Authorized to use lethal force if civilians or officers are threatened."
I looked out the rain-streaked window.
The lake house had been my sanctuary once. My father had built it thirty years ago as a private retreat from his corporate litigation battles. It was a massive timber-and-stone estate perched on a granite cliff overlooking the deep, dark waters of the lake.
When I married Daniel, he had insisted on taking over the property, slowly turning it into a fortress of surveillance. He had installed reinforced steel security doors, bullet-resistant glass, and an industrial-grade backup generator, claiming it was for "privacy."
He had built his own prison. He just didn't know it yet.
As we rounded the final curve through the dense pine trees, the sprawling outline of the estate came into view.
Every light on the ground floor was blazing.
Parked crookedly in the circular gravel driveway was Vivian’s black Mercedes SUV, the driver's door left wide open, rain lashing the leather interior.
"They're inside," Vance muttered, cutting the cruiser's engine and coasting to a halt beneath the canopy of towering fir trees.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the estate's great room, two figures were moving frantically.
I leaned forward, my breath fogging the glass.
Daniel was on his knees in front of the massive stone fireplace, where a heavy wall safe had been pulled open. Papers, ledgers, and documents were strewn across the hardwood floor.
Beside him, Vivian was dumping the contents of a five-gallon red gasoline container across the antique rugs, the furniture, and the curtains.
"They're setting the house on fire," I said, my voice razor-thin. "They know they can't run. They're going to destroy every piece of evidence and claim they were attacked by an intruder."
"Tactical teams, move in!" Vance barked into his mic, drawing his Glock and kicking open his door. "Go, go, go!"
Flashbang grenades detonated with earth-shattering booms against the rear patio.
*BANG! FLASH!*
Brilliant white light and concussive shockwaves shattered the rear French doors.
Inside the house, Vivian shrieked, dropping the gasoline can and throwing her hands over her ears.
Daniel reacted like a cornered animal. He grabbed his Glock from the mantle, lunged across the room, and grabbed his mother by the collar, dragging her backward toward the reinforced master bedroom wing.
"Police! Drop your weapons!" Vance’s voice bellowed through the rain as a dozen heavily armed SWAT officers in full tactical gear swarmed through the front entrance, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting through the smoky room.
I stepped out of the cruiser, ignoring Lena’s desperate protests from the back seat.
I walked up the stone steps of the front porch, flanked by two officers who kept their shields raised in front of me.
The air inside the great room smelled heavily of spilled gasoline, damp soot, and ozone.
Daniel was barricaded behind the heavy mahogany door of the master bedroom suite. Through the reinforced peephole, his wild, bloodshot eye darted back and forth.
"Stay back!" Daniel’s voice screamed through the reinforced door, shrill, cracked, and completely unhinged. "I have two hundred gallons of propane hooked to the heating line in this wing! You take one step closer, and I blow this entire mountain into the lake!"
Vance raised a hand, halting the SWAT breach team. He glanced at me, his jaw tight. "Is he bluffing?"
"No," I answered, stepping past the line of tactical shields. "The auxiliary propane tank is located directly beneath the master suite subfloor. If he shoots the valve, the whole wing collapses."
"Clara?" Daniel’s voice gasped from behind the door. He sounded astonished, as if he couldn't believe I was still alive. "Clara! Is that you?!"
"It's me, Daniel," I said, my voice steady, echoing through the cavernous living room.
"You're alive..." he breathed, followed by a wet, manic laugh. "Of course you are! You're a cockroach! You just won't die, will you?!"
"Let your mother go, Daniel," I commanded. "She’s an accomplice, but she doesn't have to die for your stupidity."
From inside the bedroom, Vivian’s muffled screams echoed. *"Daniel, please! Let me out! He has the gun pointed at my head, Clara! He's crazy! He's completely lost his mind!"*
*"Shut up, you old hag!"* Daniel screamed back, the sound of a violent slap echoing through the wood, followed by Vivian’s choked sob. *"You put me in this position! You spent my whole life telling me I was a king, that I deserved everything! You told me she was weak! You told me she would fold if I hurt her!"*
"You didn't need much convincing, Daniel," I shouted back, stepping another foot closer to the door. "You poured the oil because you loved the power. You loved seeing me bleed. You loved thinking you owned me."
"I DID OWN YOU!" Daniel roared, firing a single round straight through the center panel of the wooden door.
The bullet whistled through the air, embedding itself into the stone fireplace six inches from Vance’s shoulder.
"Take cover!" Vance yelled, pulling me down behind the heavy oak dining table.
"He's running out of time," I whispered to Vance, pointing to the smart-home control panel mounted on the wall three feet away from us. "The house's primary environmental controls are linked to that panel. Daniel designed this room to be a safe room, which means it has an automated fire-suppression system."
Vance’s eyes widened. "Halon gas?"
"Worse," I said, a dark smile touching my face. "High-pressure carbon dioxide. It displaces seventy percent of the oxygen in that bedroom within fifteen seconds to prevent electrical fires from reaching the propane lines."
"Can you trigger it from here?" Vance asked.
"Daniel changed the administrative password six months ago," I replied. "He used his favorite combination."
I scrambled across the floor, ignoring the ripping sensation along my shoulder blades, and reached up to the digital touchscreen.
The screen blinked: *ENTER PASSCODE.*
I didn't hesitate. I typed in the eight-digit date of my late father's death—the day Daniel believed he had finally secured absolute control of my fortune:
*1 - 1 - 0 - 4 - 2 - 0 - 2 - 2.*
The screen flashed bright green: *ACCESS GRANTED. OVERRIDE AUTHORIZED.*
"Say goodnight, Daniel," I whispered.
May you like
I slammed my palm down on the red icon: *EMERGENCY SUPPRESSION: MASTER SUITE.*
***