Chapter 11 - The Final Trigger
The massive oak doors of St. Michael’s were surrounded by blue and red flashing lights, piercing through the swirling sheets of rain.
Gabriel pushed the inner doors open, shielding Rachel behind his shoulder.
"Federal agents!" a booming voice echoed from the plaza. "Lay down your weapons and come out with your hands visible!"
Gabriel slowly raised his hands, preparing to step onto the portico. "Stay behind me, Rachel. My lawyers will have this suppressed before we hit central booking. The federal files only implicate the Lanes and Marcus."
"Gabriel..." Rachel whispered, her eyes suddenly catching a glint of metal forty yards away, perched high on the rusted fire escape of an abandoned tenement building directly across the street.
The rain was falling in blinding sheets, but the unmistakable silhouette of a high-powered sniper rifle was aimed straight down into the cathedral entryway.
It wasn't the police.
"Gabriel, get down!" she screamed.
A single, suppressed crack split the night air.
Gabriel’s body jolted backward. A crimson blossom exploded across his white shirt, right above his heart. He gasped, his knees buckling beneath him, his dark eyes wide with shock as he collapsed onto the blood-slicked marble threshold.
"No! No, God, no!" Rachel fell to her knees, catching his head in her lap, frantically pressing both hands against the wound, warm blood pulsing between her fingers. "Caleb! Look at me! Stay with me!"
"Rachel..." he choked out, his hand weakly reaching up to touch the bruise on her cheek, his vision dimming into gray. "Run..."
Across the street, a figure on the fire escape lowered the rifle.
The streetlights illuminated the shooter’s face for a fraction of a second through the rain.
Rachel’s heart stopped.
It wasn't Marcus. It wasn't one of Victoria’s men.
The face staring down at her through the crosshairs belonged to someone whose funeral she had attended eight years ago. Someone whose signet ring was still cold against Gabriel’s collarbone.
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The man holding the rifle was her father, Julian Sterling.
He looked down at his daughter, raised a finger to his lips in a silent command of absolute secrecy, and vanished into the shadows of the rooftops just as an explosion tore through the cathedral’s bell tower behind her.
