Chapter 4 - A Door With No Handle

“I don't need an escort,” Andrew said.

The man tightened his grip. “Tonight you do.”

Daniel swung a crutch between them, not striking but creating enough space for Andrew to twist free. Elena grabbed the photograph. Together they moved through the crowd while Victor shouted orders no one understood.

The ballroom's service corridor smelled of spilled coffee and lemon cleaner. Andrew knew the hotel well enough to find the staff staircase, but a chain had been wrapped around its door handles. Whoever planned the interception had prepared for more than a quick argument.

Daniel sank briefly against the wall. Beneath his uniform, his prosthetic socket was rubbing against scar tissue. “Is there another way?”

“Kitchen,” Andrew said. “Then the loading dock.”

Elena caught his sleeve. “Why are you helping us?”

He looked at the blood soaking through Daniel's trouser cuff. “Because I'm tired of being the last person in the room to understand my own family.”

They pushed through swinging doors into a noisy kitchen. Cooks stopped chopping. A dishwasher held a tray in midair. Behind them footsteps thundered into the hall.

“Back exit,” Andrew said. “Now.”

The executive chef, a woman with flour on her apron, pointed them toward a fire door. “Alarm's broken. Take the ramp.”

Outside, cold rain glittered under the parking lights. Daniel moved slowly down the ramp while Elena kept a hand near his elbow without touching him. He hated being helped when he could do a thing himself. He hated needing help when he couldn't even more.

Andrew unlocked his car. Before they reached it, headlights flared at the far end of the lot. The black van rolled toward them.

“Get in!” Andrew yelled.

Daniel shoved Elena into the rear seat and folded his crutches beside her. Andrew started the engine. The van accelerated. Metal slammed against metal as Andrew reversed into a dumpster, then spun the wheel toward a narrow service lane.

A flash came from the van. The rear windshield spiderwebbed.

“Was that a gunshot?” Elena cried.

“Don't look back,” Daniel told her.

Andrew burst onto a four-lane road, scattering rainwater across the pavement. The van followed for two intersections, then vanished. None of them relaxed.

Daniel's phone lit up. The caller ID read UNKNOWN.

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He answered on speaker.

A little girl's voice whispered, “Mr. Reed? This is Sophie Bell. Somebody's inside our house.”