Chapter 5 - The Trap is SprungTwo days later, the rain came down over Boston in sheets, turning the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill into dark, slick mirrors reflecting the streetlights.
Harper was in the ground-floor laundry room, folding crisp linen sheets, when the heavy front buzzer rang. It was 9:00 PM. Visitors were rare at this hour, and security protocol at the Ashford residence was ironclad.
Through the frosted glass of the laundry room door, Harper saw Mrs. Morrison’s silhouette moving toward the foyer.
A moment later, raised voices echoed down the hall.
“I’m Detective Derek Lawson, Boston Police Department. I have a warrant to search this property.”
Harper dropped the stack of sheets.
The blood drained from her face, leaving her shivering violently. Derek. How did he find me?
“You have no jurisdiction here, Detective, and certainly no warrant signed by a judge for Mr. Ashford’s private residence,” Mrs. Morrison’s voice rang out, cold, sharp, and utterly unfazed. “Turn around and walk off this property before I have my men escort you out in handcuffs.”
“Don’t play games with me, old woman,” Derek snarled, his voice thick with drunken fury and adrenaline. “I know my wife is in here. Hiding out with her rich criminal boyfriend. I’m taking her back tonight, whether you like it or not!”
Harper backed into the shadows of the laundry room, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she felt sick. He knows. He followed me from Dorchester.
Heavy footsteps marched down the hallway, bypassing Mrs. Morrison entirely. Derek was storming toward the back corridors, banging on doors, shouting Harper’s name like a madman.
“Harper! I know you’re in here, you ungrateful bitch! Open the door before I kick it in!”
The door to the laundry room rattled violently. Derek threw his weight against it once, twice—
And then the door swung open smoothly.
Derek stumbled forward into the room, his service weapon drawn, his face red and twisted with rage. He scanned the room, his eyes locking onto Harper, who stood trapped against the folding table in the corner.
“There you are,” Derek sneered, a sadistic grin spreading across his face as he raised his gun. “Thought you could run away from me, huh? Thought you could play maid to a bunch of thugs and think you were safe?”
Harper raised her hands, trembling. “Derek, please. Just leave. Go away.”
“Shut your mouth!” Derek barked, stepping closer, his grip tightening on the pistol. “You’re coming with me right now. And when we get home, you’re going to learn what happens when you embarrass me.”
He reached out to grab her hair—
Clack.
The sound of a shotgun bolt sliding home echoed from the doorway behind Derek.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Officer,” a calm, icy voice cut through the room.
Derek froze. He slowly turned around.
Standing in the doorway was Gabriel Ashford. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket. In a black cashmere sweater, with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a customized tactical shotgun leveled dead at Derek’s chest, he looked less like a businessman and more like an executioner.
Behind Gabriel stood four armed guards, blocking every exit.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Derek demanded, trying to steady his shaking voice, though his eyes darted nervously to the shotgun barrel. “I’m a police officer! Put that weapon down or I’ll—!”
“You’ll what?” Gabriel interrupted, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. His slate-gray eyes were devoid of any human emotion. “You’ll write a report? File a complaint? You’re standing in my house, pointing a firearm at my employee, after illegally trespassing on private property.”
“She’s my wife!” Derek screamed, losing control.
“She was your victim,” Gabriel corrected, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Past tense. Because as of two minutes ago, Derek Lawson no longer exists.”
Gabriel raised his hand slightly.
Before Derek could squeeze the trigger of his service weapon, Vance lunged from the shadows behind him. A heavy steel baton came down hard across Derek’s wrist with a sickening crack.
Derek screamed, dropping his gun as pain shot up his arm.
Before he could hit the floor, two guards tackled him, slamming him face-first onto the tiled floor and pinning him with ruthless efficiency.
Harper stood frozen, watching the man who had terrorized her for three years pinned like an insect on the floor of the Beacon Hill mansion.
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Gabriel walked over, looking down at Derek with absolute contempt. He lowered the shotgun, resting the butt against the floor, and looked up at Harper.
“Take your brother’s things, Harper,” Gabriel said softly. “You’re moving into the third floor tonight. Permanently.”
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