THE CHRISTMAS WITNESS

Sterling stared at the small metal pin resting near his expensive leather loafers.

Confusion flashed across his face, quickly followed by sheer, unadulterated terror.

“What did you do?” Sterling whispered.

I didn’t answer him. I tightened my grip on Norah, turned, and yelled, “Malcolm, down!”

I threw myself behind the concrete pillar, shielding Norah completely with my body.

Underneath Senator Sterling’s black SUV, parked precisely where he had been standing, Cole had planted a shaped C4 charge exactly five seconds before driving down the ramp.

The explosion was deafening.

The shockwave ripped through the basement, shattering the windshields of every car in a fifty-foot radius. The concussive blast knocked Sterling’s men entirely off their feet, throwing them violently against the walls.

A fireball rolled across the ceiling, casting a brilliant orange glow over the chaos.

My ears rang violently, but I didn’t wait for the smoke to clear.

I stood up, drawing my weapon.

Sterling’s SUV was a burning wreck. Four of his men were dead or unconscious on the concrete. The remaining two were staggering, clutching their bleeding ears.

Malcolm moved with lethal efficiency, stepping out from cover and dropping the remaining two guards with precise, suppressed shots.

I walked slowly through the smoke, my gun raised, scanning for Sterling.

He was lying near the rear tire of his burning car. His cashmere coat was shredded, his face covered in soot and blood from shrapnel. He was crawling away, desperately gasping for air.

He reached inside his ruined coat, trying to pull his silver revolver.

I stepped on his wrist.

The bone snapped audibly. Sterling screamed, releasing the gun.

I kicked it away and knelt beside him, pressing the barrel of my 9mm directly against the center of his forehead.

“Gideon,” Sterling choked, coughing up blood. “You… you kill me… the cartel… my investors… they’ll hunt you forever.”

“I don’t care about your investors,” I said, my voice as cold and hollow as a grave. “You killed my daughter. You tried to kill Norah. You don’t get to make threats anymore.”

My finger tightened on the trigger. I wanted to pull it. I wanted to watch the life leave his eyes the way it had left Juniper’s. The rage inside me was a physical weight, begging for release.

“Boss.”

Malcolm’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears.

I looked up.

Elise was standing ten feet away, clutching Norah to her chest. Norah was crying, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder, terrified by the violence and the fire.

If I pulled the trigger now, I wouldn’t just be avenging Juniper. I would be executing a man in front of a seven-year-old girl. I would become the exact monster I was trying to protect her from.

I looked back down at Sterling.

He was pathetic. A broken, dying old man clutching at power that no longer existed.

“You’re right, Sterling,” I whispered, lowering my gun slightly. “I won’t kill you.”

Relief washed over his bloody face.

“Because if you die,” I continued, my voice hardening into steel, “you become a martyr. A tragic politician taken too soon.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I hit redial on the last received call.

“Captain Harris,” I said into the receiver. “I have Senator Sterling restrained in the basement of Chicago General. I also have the black ledger documenting his offshore cartel accounts. Send the FBI. Tell them to bring a heavily armed escort.”

Sterling’s eyes widened in absolute horror. Prison for him wouldn’t be a country club. The men he had betrayed would ensure he didn’t survive a week behind bars.

“No,” Sterling begged, clawing at my pant leg. “Gideon, please. Just shoot me. Shoot me!”

I stepped back, breaking his grip.

“You’re going to rot, Senator,” I said coldly.