Chapter 14: The Ghosts of Oakwood
Friday afternoon arrived draped in a dense, suffocating fog. Oakwood Cemetery was a sprawling, gothic expanse of weeping willows, crumbling mausoleums, and towering granite headstones on the edge of the city.
Claire stood perfectly still in front of David’s grave. She wore a heavy black trench coat, holding a bouquet of white lilies. To the untrained eye, she was a grieving widow. But beneath the coat, she was wearing a Kevlar vest.
Sophie was miles away, safe in an underground FBI bunker with Marcus.
“Comms check, Mrs. Hale,” Agent Reyes’s voice crackled softly in the tiny earpiece hidden beneath Claire’s hair.
“I hear you,” Claire murmured, her lips barely moving.
“We have twenty agents heavily concealed within a hundred-yard radius. Snipers are positioned on the east and west mausoleums. Do not move from your spot. Let them approach.”
Claire swallowed hard. The silence of the graveyard was deafening, amplified by the heavy fog that reduced visibility to mere feet.
Crunch.
The sound of a dry twig snapping echoed through the mist.
Claire tightened her grip on the lilies.
From the fog, three figures emerged. They moved with terrifying, silent precision. They weren't wearing masks; they didn't need to. They were dressed in dark, unassuming civilian clothes, but the suppressed automatic weapons in their hands gave away their true nature. The cartel hitmen had arrived.
The lead man, a tall, broad-shouldered enforcer with a scarred jaw, raised his weapon, aiming directly at the center of Claire’s chest.
“Nothing personal, Mrs. Hale,” the man said, his accent thick. “Just business.”
He didn't monologue. He didn't gloat. He simply squeezed the trigger.
Pfft. Pfft.
The suppressed gunshots sounded like heavy sneezes, but the force of the bullets hitting Claire’s chest felt like being kicked by a horse. She was thrown backward, the lilies scattering in the air as she hit the damp grass.
“Target down,” the enforcer muttered into a radio on his shoulder. “Confirming the kill.”
He stepped forward, lowering his weapon to inspect the body.
But as he closed the distance, Claire suddenly gasped for air, rolling violently to the side.
“Now!” Claire screamed.
The graveyard erupted.
Floodlights hidden in the trees blazed to life, blinding the hitmen. Flashbang grenades, deployed by the tactical teams, detonated with ear-splitting cracks.
“FBI! Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons now!” voices roared from the fog.
The enforcer, temporarily blinded, swung his rifle wildly toward the noise. A sniper’s bullet tore through his shoulder, spinning him around before he collapsed to the ground.
His two accomplices barely had time to raise their hands before they were tackled into the dirt by a swarm of heavily armored federal agents.
Claire lay on the grass, clutching her chest where the Kevlar had stopped the bullets. Her ribs screamed in agony, definitely bruised, possibly fractured. But she was alive.
Agent Reyes rushed over, kneeling beside her. “Are you hit? Did the vest hold?”
“I’m fine,” Claire wheezed, sitting up slowly. She looked at the groaning hitmen being handcuffed and dragged away.
“We got them,” Reyes said, a rare smile breaking across her face. “And because they fired first on a federal informant, we have all the leverage we need to pull the extradition treaties. The cartel bosses are going down. You did it, Claire.”
Claire looked at David’s headstone, the fog beginning to lift. I did it, David. I kept her safe.
But as Reyes helped her to her feet, Claire’s burner phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a local number.
Claire answered it.
“Did you really think I’d only send three men?” Eleanor’s voice whispered through the receiver. She wasn't calling from the prison. There was no background noise, no static.
Claire’s stomach dropped. “Where are you?”
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“Oh, darling,” Eleanor cooed. “I made a deal with the cartel. Did you really think they wouldn't break me out during my transfer to the courthouse this morning? I’m free. And I know the bunker isn't as secure as the FBI thinks it is.”
The line went dead.
