Chapter 11 - The Confrontation|
“Hide, Sarah! Get into the bathroom and lock the door!” Carter yelled through the phone.
I dropped the phone and scrambled backward, but my legs betrayed me. The weakness from the poison still lingered. Before I could reach the bathroom, the front door of the cabin swung open.
Patricia stepped inside, wearing a pristine beige trench coat, her face a mask of aristocratic fury. She held a small, suppressed silver pistol in her right hand.
“Honestly, Sarah,” Patricia said, her voice eerily calm as she closed the door behind her. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic. Playing dead? Very clever.”
“How did you find me?” I asked, backing up against the far wall.
“My son is an idiot, but I am not,” she replied, stepping closer. “I had a private investigator place a GPS tracker on your attorney’s car weeks ago. When Mark sped out here to drop off a file to your little army boy, it wasn't hard to follow the breadcrumbs.”
“You’re sick,” I spat, fear giving way to anger. “You poisoned me.”
“I improved our family,” Patricia corrected coldly. “You were weak. Emotional. You were dragging Daniel down, and you were going to ruin Lily. The insurance money was just a pleasant bonus for his trouble.”
She raised the pistol, aiming directly at my chest. “It’s a shame the tea didn’t work. This will be much messier to clean up.”
Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the window behind Patricia. A tear gas canister bounced onto the floor, hissing violently.
Patricia shrieked, dropping the gun to cover her eyes as thick, blinding white smoke flooded the room. I dove to the floor, crawling toward the kitchen island as the front door was kicked off its hinges.
“FBI! Drop your weapon!” a booming voice echoed through the smoke.
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Coughing violently, I felt strong arms grab me, hauling me out into the crisp, clean air. It was the burly man from earlier.
Inside, Patricia was screaming as handcuffs clamped around her wrists.
