The Refusal

Sheriff Brady wasn't alone. Two deputies stood behind him, their flashlights cutting through the gloom of the crypt stairs.

"Don't do it, Elena," Brady said, eyeing the bottle in her hand. "You're trapped. There's no way out."

"I'm not looking for a way out," Elena said, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I'm looking for a distraction."

She threw the bottle.

It didn't hit Brady. It hit the floor at his feet.

The glass shattered. The communion wine, aged and potent, soaked into the fabric wick. The flame caught instantly.

A wall of fire erupted between them, small but bright, the alcohol burning with a blue-orange intensity.

Brady jumped back, cursing. "Get the extinguisher!"

In the confusion, Elena turned and ran. Not toward the tunnel—she had to protect Julian’s escape. She ran toward the back of the crypt, to the old ventilation shaft.

It was narrow, choked with cobwebs, but it led up to the graveyard.

She squeezed inside, pulling herself up by the rusted rungs. Smoke filled the shaft below her. She could hear Brady shouting, the sound muffled by stone and fire.

She climbed. Her hands scraped against the brick, her lungs burning.

She pushed against the grate at the top. It was heavy, covered in snow. She shoved with her shoulder. It gave way.

Elena pulled herself out into the cold night air. She was in the old section of the cemetery, hidden by a row of mausoleums.

She lay in the snow for a moment, gasping for breath. She checked her watch.

Five minutes. She had bought them five minutes.

She needed more.

She stood up. The SUVs were parked near the chapel entrance. The drivers were out, weapons drawn, scanning the perimeter.

They were looking for a group. A family.

They weren't looking for a lone woman.

Elena moved through the headstones, keeping low. She reached the first SUV. It was empty. The keys were gone.

She moved to the second. Also empty.

But the third one... the engine was running.

A driver sat behind the wheel, watching the chapel door. He was talking on a radio.

"They're inside," he said. "Flush them out."

Elena picked up a rock. A piece of granite chipped from a gravestone.

She walked up to the driver's side window. She tapped on the glass.

The driver turned, startled.

Elena smashed the window.

The glass exploded inward. The driver shouted, shielding his face. Elena reached in, unlocked the door, and yanked it open.

Before he could reach for his gun, she hit him with the rock. Hard.

He slumped against the steering wheel.

Elena dragged him out, dumping him onto the frozen ground. She jumped into the driver's seat.

She put the SUV in gear.

She didn't drive away.

She drove toward the other two vehicles.

She slammed into the first SUV, crushing its radiator. She reversed, then rammed the second one, pinning it against a stone angel.

Horns blared. Men shouted.

"Hey!" one of the guards yelled, running toward her. "Stop!"

Elena spun the wheel. She drove through the cemetery gate, tires spinning on the gravel.

She had their attention now.

She drove fast, heading away from the chapel, away from the tunnel exit, away from her family.

She drove toward the one place she knew Vane would follow.

The auction house.

The warehouse where the final sale was being prepped. The place where the legacy was being liquidated.

She picked up the radio from the passenger seat.

"Tell Vane I'm coming," she said into the mic. "And tell him I'm bringing the fire."

She pressed the accelerator.

The chase was on.