The Lethal Heiress: Too Late For Regret

The heavy oak front doors of the Maddox estate swung open. Ashlee stepped into the grand foyer. Her boots sank into the thick Persian rug. The air smelled of lemon polish and old money. Johanna Maddox stood at the top of the sweeping staircase. She wore a silk robe. She held a crystal glass of sparkling water. She looked down at Ashlee. Johanna's upper lip curled in disgust. She didn't try to hide it. "Take her to the guest room at the end of the east wing," Johanna told the butler. Her voice was sharp and dismissive. "The one furthest from our rooms." Ashlee didn't look up. She didn't acknowledge Johanna's presence. She grabbed her heavy duffel bag and walked straight up the stairs. She passed Johanna on the landing. A cold draft seemed to follow Ashlee. Johanna felt the sudden drop in temperature. She shivered and pulled her silk robe tighter around her shoulders. Ashlee walked down the long, silent hallway. She found the room at the very end. She pushed the door open. She stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind her. She turned the deadbolt. She flipped the latch. She hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside handle before closing it. She dropped her bag onto the hardwood floor. She unzipped the top pocket. She pulled out a small device. It looked like a tube of black lipstick. She pressed a button on the bottom. A tiny green light blinked to life. It was a military-grade frequency scanner. Ashlee walked slowly around the room. She swept the device over the bedside lamps. She moved it along the baseboards. Near the large oil painting of a horse, the scanner emitted a low, rapid buzzing sound. Ashlee smiled coldly. She reached behind the heavy gold frame. Her fingers felt the smooth surface of the wall. She found a small bump. She dug her fingernail under it and pulled. She held a micro-transmitter in her palm. It was a cheap, civilian-grade bug. She walked to the nightstand and found a second one taped under the drawer. She didn't crush them. She carried both bugs into the massive marble bathroom. She dropped them into the dry bathtub. She reached over and turned the brass faucet. Water gushed out, hitting the marble with a loud, continuous roar. The white noise would drown out any conversation in the room. Ashlee walked back into the bedroom. She reached into her bag and pulled out her encrypted phone. She typed in a thirty-digit dynamic passcode. The screen unlocked. She pressed the single contact listed. The call connected instantly. "Mamba," Zane's voice came through the speaker. Zane's voice was distorted by the encryption, and the background was completely silent. "Report," Ashlee said. "I'm at an underground surgical clinic in South Boston," Zane said. "I paid the doctor ten grand to talk. An hour ago, a man came in. He bought a massive amount of local anesthetics, surgical glue, and hemostats. He paid in cash and left." "Did the doctor get a look at him?" "No. The guy wore a hood and a mask," Zane said. "But the doctor noticed the smell. He said the guy smelled strongly of sea salt and burnt cordite." Ashlee's eyes sharpened. Her pulse ticked slightly faster against her throat. The ocean. The gunshot. It was him. "I'm sending you a photo," Zane said. "I dug it out of the clinic's biohazard bin." Ashlee's phone buzzed. She opened the encrypted image. It was a picture of a bloody piece of gauze. Sitting in the center of the dark red stain was a small, mangled piece of metal. Ashlee zoomed in on the metal. The edges of the fragment were peeled back in a very specific, jagged pattern. It looked like a blooming metal flower. Ashlee's jaw tightened. Her thumb traced the image on the screen. It was the signature expansion pattern of the custom hollow-point rounds she used in her Barrett. The bullet had hit him, shattered against his body armor or bone, and he had dug this piece out himself. "He's in Boston," Ashlee said. A dark thrill rushed through her veins. "Mamba, listen to me," Zane said. His voice was tense. "If he took a hit from that round and still managed to escape, cross the ocean, and walk into a clinic... he is not a normal target. He is extremely dangerous." Ashlee walked to the window. She pulled back the heavy velvet curtains. She looked out at the glittering skyline of Boston. "The harder they fight, the better the hunt," Ashlee whispered. "I'm sending the gauze to a black-market lab to extract DNA," Zane said. "It will take a few hours." "Do it," Ashlee said. She hung up the phone. She walked back to her duffel bag. She reached deep into the side compartment. Her fingers wrapped around the cold polymer grip of her Glock 19. She pulled the gun out. She pressed the magazine release. The empty mag slid into her palm. She pulled the slide back, checking the chamber. Click. Clack. The sharp, metallic sounds echoed in the quiet room. Downstairs, a piano started playing. It was a classical piece, played with exaggerated emotion. Averi was showing off for her parents. Ashlee picked up a box of 9mm ammunition. She pressed the brass cartridges into the magazine, one by one. She stared at the floorboards. She imagined the pathetic family sitting in the living room below. They had no idea a monster was sleeping in their guest room.