Chapter 11 - The Trap in Paradise
The man blocking the bedroom doorway slowly took off his sunglasses, revealing cold, calculating dark eyes that didn't match his relaxed resort attire. It wasn't hotel security. It was one of Viktor Vance’s local operatives—the man I had seen in the background of a surveillance photo from the St. Lucia real estate registry.
“Well, well,” the man said smoothly, resting his hand casually inside the pocket of his shorts. “The quiet sister. We wondered when you would show up to collect the prize.”
I kept my hand firmly closed around the encrypted hardware wallet in my pocket, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You’re too late. The federal authorities already have the primary server dumps.”
“Do they?” The man chuckled, taking a slow step into the bedroom. “Director Hayes has encrypted garbage without the physical hardware key in your hand right now. And guess what? You just delivered it directly to us.”
Before I could lunge toward the open balcony doors overlooking the cliffside drop to the ocean, the man moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the small bedroom in two strides, grabbing my wrist and twisting my arm behind my back with professional precision.
“Give me the key, Emma,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “Or this beautiful ocean view will be the last thing you ever see.”
Pain shot up my shoulder, but training and adrenaline took over. Instead of pulling away, I slammed my heel down hard onto his bare foot, twisting my body with all my weight.
The man let out a sharp grunt of pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was all the opening I needed. I wrenched my arm free, grabbed a heavy ceramic lamp from the nightstand, and smashed it across his shoulder.
He stumbled backward, crashing into the mirrored closet doors with a loud smash of shattering glass. I didn't look back. I sprinted toward the open balcony, vaulted over the wrought-iron railing, and dropped ten feet onto the sandy pathway below.
Sand cushioned my landing, though sharp pain shot up my ankles. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing ache, and bolted down the winding garden path toward the resort parking lot where my rented silver compact was parked.
Behind me, angry shouts echoed from the villa balcony. “Stop her! Don't let her reach the road!”
I reached my car, fumbled for the key fob, unlocked the door, and dived inside just as heavy footsteps thudded across the gravel parking lot behind me.
I slammed the gearshift into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt as I spun the steering wheel around, nearly clipping a row of decorative palm trees.
In the rearview mirror, I saw two men bursting out of the resort gates, shouting frantically and pulling out their phones. I mashed the accelerator down, tearing out onto the coastal highway and disappearing around a sharp cliffside curve.
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My hands were shaking violently on the steering wheel, adrenaline pumping through every vein in my body. But inside my jacket pocket, cold and heavy against my chest, rested the encrypted hardware wallet.
I had the key.
