Chapter 26
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The reinforced steel gates of the sanctuary were designed to withstand a massive amount of kinetic force, but Marcus Thorne was not attacking with tactical precision; he was attacking with the unhinged, chaotic rage of a man whose entire life had just been destroyed.
On the third violent impact, the sheer weight of the heavy SUV buckled the electronic locking mechanism of the left gate. The steel hinges screamed in protest, tearing free from the masonry pillars. The black vehicle tore through the opening, skidding wildly across the manicured front lawn, tearing deep, muddy gashes into the grass before slamming into the heavy stone fountain in the center of the driveway.
The front of the SUV crumpled, steam hissing violently from the shattered radiator into the freezing rain.
"He's breached the perimeter," Mike stated coldly, drawing his own sidearm and taking a tactical position behind the thick oak pillars of the front porch.
I stood in the dark foyer, peering through the reinforced glass of the front door.
The driver's side door of the ruined SUV was kicked open. Marcus Thorne stumbled out into the torrential downpour. He was a wealthy, powerful man, usually dressed in bespoke suits, but tonight he looked like a feral animal. His clothes were soaked, his face was bleeding from the airbag deployment, and in his right hand, he held a heavy, black semi-automatic pistol.
"Nora!" Thorne screamed, his voice raw and echoing over the thunder. He pointed his weapon blindly at the facade of the main house. "I know you are in there! You ruined me! I will burn this place to ashes!"
He raised the pistol and fired three rapid shots at the front of the house. The bullets shattered the exterior lights and buried themselves harmlessly into the thick, reinforced brickwork.
"Do we engage?" Mike asked over the radio headset, his weapon aimed squarely at Thorne's chest.
"No," I replied, keeping my shotgun lowered. "If we shoot him on the lawn, his expensive lawyers will claim it was an excessive use of force against a disoriented man in an accident. We let him cross the threshold. We let him break into the house. Once he is inside, he is an armed intruder attempting a home invasion, and the law protects us entirely."
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Thorne stumbled forward, slipping in the mud, screaming obscenities into the storm. He didn't approach the front door. He staggered toward the wraparound porch, heading for the heavy French doors that led into the sanctuary’s industrial kitchen.
"He is moving to the east flank," I commanded softly. "Hold your fire, Mike. Let him come to me."
