Chapter 6 - The Annex Break
The safehouse near the docks was cold, smelling of diesel fuel and old metal.
Enzo laid out four tactical vests, assault carbines, and flashbangs on an iron worktable. Harper stood by the space heater, sipping black coffee from a paper cup, watching him assemble magazines with effortless precision.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she said.
“I’ve broken out of worse places,” Enzo replied without looking up. “The Cook County annex is run by private security contractors hired by Preston’s shell companies. They aren't real feds. They’re mercenaries with badges.”
“Which means they won't hesitate to shoot you on sight,” Harper countered. She set her cup down and walked over to the table. “You don't need to shoot your way in. I know the head of that facility.”
Enzo stopped what he was doing and looked up. “Who?”
“Marcus Vance,” Harper said, her jaw tightening. “He was my father’s head of private security for ten years before he took that government contract. He’s the one who… he’s the one who locked me in that basement when I was eighteen.”
Enzo’s eyes darkened, a predatory stillness taking over his features. “He was there?”
“He held the door,” Harper whispered. “He thinks I’m a terrified little girl who does whatever my father says. If I walk through that front gate and tell him I escaped from you, he’ll let me into the processing wing without checking my bag.”
“No,” Enzo said immediately. “I’m not using you as bait.”
“I’m not asking for your permission, Enzo,” Harper snapped, stepping right up to his chest. The fear that had paralyzed her in the bedroom was gone, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. “For ten years, I survived in that house by playing the weak, obedient daughter. I let them beat me down because I didn't have weapons or an army. Now I have you. Let me do my part.”
Enzo stared at her. Beneath the high-society exterior and the horrific scars, there was steel.
“You wear a wire,” Enzo commanded. “You take a suppressed pistol in your coat. If Vance moves two inches toward you the wrong way, you don't wait for us. You put a bullet between his eyes.”
Harper held his gaze, unblinking. “Give me the gun.”
Twenty minutes later, a stolen black sedan pulled up to the security gate of the Cook County detention annex. Rain had turned the snow into grey sludge. Harper stepped out into the glare of the floodlights, her hair disheveled, wearing the oversized sweater and a torn jacket.
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“Help me!” she screamed toward the guard post. “Please, help me! Enzo DeLuca is coming!”
The steel security door clicked open. Marcus Vance walked out with an umbrella, a smug, sickening grin spreading across his heavy face. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
