Chapter 17 - The Saltwater Protocol
"Get her to the cliff," Arthur commanded, nodding toward Deputy Vance.
The deputy gripped Maya’s upper arm with fingers like iron bands, wrenching her away from the kitchen counter.
Pain shot through her shoulder as Vance dragged her toward the shattered deck door.
"Julian!" Maya screamed, fighting violently against the deputy’s crushing grip. "Julian, do something!"
Julian remained frozen on the floor, staring at the shattered mahogany wood of the dining table.
"He won't help you, sweetheart," Victoria purred, adjusting her cashmere scarf against the rain.
"Julian knows what happens to disobedient sons. Don't you, Julian?"
Julian didn't answer. He sat motionless, his shoulders trembling in the shadows.
Vance shoved Maya out into the howling gale, the freezing rain instantly plastering her hair to her face.
The Atlantic raged below the headland, throwing massive towers of white foam against the jagged rocks.
Arthur followed closely behind, holding the syringe shielded beneath the lapel of his heavy trench coat.
"You won't get away with this," Maya shouted over the roar of the wind, digging her heels into the wet grass.
"The police know Victoria escaped! They'll trace the van to Vance!"
"The van was already found burning in a scrap yard in New Jersey, Maya," Arthur said patiently.
They reached the edge of the cliff, where the earth fell away into three hundred feet of sheer, churning abyss.
The waves crashed against the black boulders below with sounds like cannon fire.
"Deputy Vance will report a tragic murder-suicide," Arthur explained, checking his watch in the rain.
"Victoria tracked you down out of vengeance, pushed you over the edge, and Julian shot her in self-defense before taking his own life."
Arthur turned to look back at the cottage with a cold, triumphant smile.
"And I remain what I have always been for twenty years. A ghost enjoying a very comfortable retirement in Monaco."
"You're a monster," Maya spat, lunging forward to spit in his face.
Arthur didn't flinch. He wiped the spit from his cheek with a silk handkerchief, his eyes dead and unblinking.
"Hold her head still, Vance," Arthur instructed, uncapping the needle with his teeth.
Deputy Vance locked his massive arm around Maya’s throat, cutting off her airway.
Black spots danced before Maya’s eyes as she clawed desperately at the thick leather of Vance’s sleeve.
The sharp tip of the needle hovered two inches from the jugular vein in her neck.
"Goodbye, cousin," Arthur whispered softly.
A sudden, deafening crack tore through the storm.
Deputy Vance’s head jerked violently sideways, his grip slacking instantly as a crimson spray vanished into the rain.
The deputy collapsed like a puppet with severed strings, tumbling limply into the tall, wet grass.
Arthur leaped back, his eyes widening in shock as he spun toward the cottage.
Standing at the edge of the wooden deck was Julian.
He wasn't holding the Glock.
In his hands was a heavy 12-gauge hunting rifle, smoke curling from the open ejection port into the wind.
Julian racked the slide with a brutal, mechanical snap, chambering a fresh slug.
His eyes were burning with an incandescent, terrifying rage.
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"Get away from my wife," Julian roared over the roar of the Atlantic.
***
