KNEEL BEFORE THE HIDDEN HEIR

The Rain and Crosshairs

Cold autumn rain lashed against the glass doors of the Grand Regal Hotel.

Vivian walked three steps behind Caleb, her designer heels clicking sharply on the polished granite. Her head was spinning. The image of Julian wiping greasy duck broth off the marble with his jacket was still burned into her brain. And Trenton Hayes—a man who held the financial fate of the Sterling family in his palm an hour ago—had been reduced to a trembling mess.

"Caleb," Vivian called out, her voice tight.

Caleb stopped under the grand entrance portico. Valet staff stood in two rigid lines along the red carpet, their heads bowed low. Nobody dared look him in the eye.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, his face completely calm. "Yes?"

Vivian stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Rain sprayed off the edge of the awning, catching in her dark hair. Her green eyes searched his face, desperate for an explanation.

"Who was that on the phone?" she demanded. "And where did you get that black card? Don't tell me it was a lucky charm or an inheritance from your parents. You worked at a warehouse before we signed the marriage agreement. You didn't even have five hundred dollars to buy winter boots!"

Caleb looked at her. Her makeup was slightly smudged from stress, and her bare shoulders were shivering in the damp night air. For three years, this woman had never mocked him. When her family had demanded she throw him out into the snow during his first winter, she had refused, saying a contract was a contract.

She wasn't warm to him, but she had never been cruel.

"I didn't steal it, Vivian," Caleb said softly. "The three-year contract you made me sign wasn't the only agreement that expired tonight."

Vivian frowned, her brows knitting together. "What does that mean? Another agreement? With whom?"

"It doesn't matter right now," Caleb said, his eyes scanning the rainy plaza beyond the red carpet. "What matters is that Sterling Cosmetics will not fall into Trenton's hands tomorrow. Go home, get some sleep, and prepare for the morning board meeting."

"How can I sleep?" Vivian’s voice rose, frustration cracking through her composure. "Do you think Trenton Hayes will just roll over and die because you embarrassed him? His father controls the city's port authority! He has ties to the underworld! If you used some shady connection to buy those hotel shares, the Hayes family will tear you to pieces before morning!"

Right on cue, the hotel valet pulled Vivian’s white Mercedes sedan up to the curb. The engine purred smoothly, its headlights cutting twin beams through the heavy downpour.

The valet hopped out, opening the driver’s door with a nervous bow. "Mrs. Vance, your vehicle."

Vivian reached for her purse to pull out her keys, but Caleb’s arm shot out, catching her wrist.

His grip wasn't rough, but it was unyielding.

Vivian gasped, pulling back instinctively. "Caleb! Let go! What are you doing?"

"We aren't taking that car," Caleb said.

"Are you insane?" Vivian pulled harder, but his fingers didn't budge. "That’s my car! It’s pouring rain, and our apartment is on the other side of the river!"

Caleb didn't answer. His gaze was locked onto the rain-slicked asphalt near the rear tire of the Mercedes.

There, hidden behind the mud flap, was a tiny metallic disc blinking with a faint, rhythmic red light. A magnetic GPS transponder.

Butler Adler’s text message echoed in his mind:

[A sniper has targeted your car on the North Bridge.]

"Vivian," Caleb said, his tone dropping into a grave, flat rhythm that made her skin prickle. "Get into the hotel lobby. Stay inside Manager Larson’s office until I call you."

"What are you talking about?" Vivian demanded, fear suddenly mixing with her anger. "Why are you acting like this? If you're in trouble, tell me! We can go to the police—"

"The police won't stop what’s waiting on that bridge," Caleb said.

Before Vivian could argue further, Caleb reached into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes, popped the transmission into neutral, and took the keys from the valet's trembling hand.

He looked at the valet. "Take my wife upstairs to the penthouse suite. If she leaves that room before I return, Manager Larson will have your head. Understand?"

The young valet turned pale and nodded furiously. "Y-Yes, sir! Right away, Chairman Vance!"

"Caleb! Don't you dare leave me here!" Vivian yelled as the valet stepped between them, gesturing frantically toward the warm lobby. "Caleb!"

Caleb didn't look back.

He slid into the driver’s seat of the white Mercedes and slammed the door shut.

The engine roared to life. Tires squealed against wet asphalt as Caleb hit the gas, shooting down the private driveway and barreling out into the dark, storm-drenched streets of Riverdale.

The rain beat violently against the windshield wipers.

Caleb glanced at the dashboard navigation screen. The quickest route across the city to the Sterling family villa was via the North Bridge—a high-suspension steel bridge that arched over the freezing waters of the Riverdale Gorge. At midnight in this weather, the bridge was completely deserted.

A perfect kill zone.

Caleb pressed his foot harder onto the accelerator. The speedometer climbed past eighty miles per hour.

He didn't run away from the trap. He drove straight into it.

Three miles ahead, the massive steel pillars of the North Bridge emerged from the rain like black iron skeletons. The streetlights along the span were completely dead, deliberately knocked out by whoever had set up the ambush.

As the Mercedes crested the rise of the bridge's entrance ramp, Caleb’s senses flared.

A tiny prickle of heat crawled across the back of his neck—the instinct of a man who had survived countless bloodbaths before his exile.

Through the rain-streaked windshield, three hundred yards ahead atop a maintenance gantry, a single pinpoint of crimson light blinked.

A high-caliber laser sight.

The red dot swept across the hood of the Mercedes, jumped over the dashboard, and settled directly onto the center of Caleb’s chest.

At the exact same instant, two black armored SUVs without license plates roared out from the shadows of the opposing lane, blocking the entire exit of the bridge.

Caleb didn't hit the brakes.

He shifted into fifth gear, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and stepped on the pedal until it hit the floorboards.

A hollow, metallic CRACK echoed over the thunder.

A heavy tungsten bullet punched through the glass directly toward his skull.