Chapter 7 - The Antidote Race
"Boss! We have incoming!" Frank shouted, dropping behind a concrete pillar as three armed men in black tactical gear poured through the shattered hallway entrance, firing wildly into the laboratory.
Julian Moretti used the chaos to kick Vincent's leg, scrambling across the bloody tile floor toward the side fire exit.
"Blake! Get the drive!" Julian screamed as he threw open the heavy steel fire door and disappeared into the dark stairwell.
Vincent ducked behind the central mahogany desk as bullets shattered the hanging light fixtures, raining sparks and hot glass down upon us.
"Frank! Cover the exit!" Vincent commanded, returning fire with lethal precision, dropping two of the mercenary guards within seconds.
I crouched behind the heavy steel vault door, clutching the medical cooler tightly against my chest. This cooler contained the only chance Lucas and Leo had to live. If a stray bullet hit this box, the vials inside would shatter, and the twins would die within twenty-four hours.
Vincent looked back at me from behind his cover. Seeing the panic in my eyes, he moved with terrifying speed.
He slid across the slick floor, positioning his massive frame directly between me and the hallway fire, using his own body as a shield to cover me against the steel vault frame.
"Are you hit?" he asked, his dark eyes searching my face frantically.
"No!" I gasped, clutching the cooler. "I'm fine! But we have to get back to the estate! The antidote needs to be prepared in a sterile saline drip within three hours of removal from the vault!"
Vincent checked his watch. "We have two hours before sunrise."
He turned to Frank. "Clear a path to the service elevator! We are leaving!"
Frank threw a flashbang grenade into the hallway. The blinding white light and deafening detonation threw the remaining gunmen into total chaos.
Vincent grabbed my hand, pulling me up from the floor, and swept me down the service corridor toward the rear freight elevator. His grip was tight, protective, and unyielding.
We burst out into the underground parking garage just as Julian Moretti's black SUV roared up the exit ramp toward the street.
"Let him go, Frank," Vincent ordered as his captain raised his rifle toward the fleeing vehicle. "He thinks he's escaping to his boat in Rhode Island. My men are already waiting at the dock."
We piled back into our armored SUV. The driver slammed the accelerator, burning rubber against the concrete floor as we rocketed out into the rainy Boston night.
I immediately opened the cooler on my lap, pulling out a sterile syringe, a bottle of saline, and one of the Pralidoxime ampoules. Working in the back of the swaying, high-speed vehicle, my hands were surprisingly steady.
"I need to prepare the initial concentrated doses now," I said, carefully drawing the clear liquid into the syringe. "When we arrive, we will administer the first intravenous push to both boys simultaneously."
Vincent watched my hands work under the dim interior reading light. His chest was rising and falling heavily, his face splattered with a drop of blood from the laboratory firefight.
He pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped a streak of drywall dust off my cheek.
"You are extraordinary, Claire Morgan," he whispered, his voice deep and filled with a raw, intense emotion that made my breath catch in my throat.
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I looked up into his dark brown eyes, seeing the fierce, unwavering love he had for his children—and something new, something powerful that was rapidly blooming between the two of us.
"We aren't done yet, Vincent," I smiled softly, placing my hand over his on the back of the leather seat. "Let's go save your sons."
