Storm's Cage Mary Stone (classic reads .TXT) 📖

a parachute halting a skydiver. Instinct sent him springing upright in his bed as his hand found the gun in the top drawer of his nightstand.

He and his family had no pets aside from a few fish. The display on his phone showed no light to indicate a new notification. Dana or one of the kids couldn’t have come home early. They had the security code, but there was no way they would be this silent, even at this hour of the night.

He remembered arming the security system before turning in. If someone had tried to break in through any door or window, alarms loud enough to wake the dead would blare through the house.

Ian held his breath and strained his hearing to its limits. He could have sworn he’d heard a sound, but as the seconds ticked away in complete silence, he wondered if he was losing his mind. After all, he had been contemplating the Leóne crime family before he’d fallen asleep.

Gritting his teeth, Ian glanced to his phone and then to the matte black Glock in his hand. Even if he suspected the sound was part of his dream, sixteen years as a cop had taught him to check and secure the house before going back to sleep. Better to be safe than sorry. He’d rather laugh at himself for jumping at shadows than find himself staring down the barrel of a mafioso’s gun.

With a deep, silent breath to calm his racing heart, Ian swung both legs off the side of the bed. As his feet met the cool hardwood, he tightened his grip on the nine-mil and glanced around the dim room. The only light sources were the blue glow of the alarm clock and the faint nightlight that he and Dana kept in the master bathroom.

He snatched up a pair of sweats from the top of a wooden dresser and quickly slipped into them. In the unlikely event an intruder waited for him downstairs, he’d be damned if he was about to be caught in his skivvies. As an afterthought, he grabbed his phone and dropped the device into a pocket.

Tightening his grip on the handgun, he padded across the floor until he reached the doorway. His vision was adjusted to the darkness, and a ruddy orange streetlight nearly blinded him as its light glared through the window at the end of the hall.

The bathroom door to his right was open. As he replayed the sound that had ripped him from the edge of sleep, Ian was confident he hadn’t heard a door open or close. The disturbance had been faint. The click and the beep had come from downstairs.

Satisfied that no one was lurking in wait on the second floor, Ian turned his attention to the wooden steps to his left. The house was an older building, but Ian had lived there long enough to memorize the creaky spots of the stairwell. There were plenty of nights where he’d come home from a late shift and crept through the house like a burglar to avoid waking Dana or one of the kids.

His trip down to the landing was silent. He paused at the turn of the stairwell to listen. Just as he started for the second set of steps, there was a faint scuffle.

He froze.

All the carpet had been ripped out of the house ages ago, and an intruder would have a difficult time masking the sound of their footsteps on hardwood and tile…which was exactly the sound he’d just heard. He wasn’t losing his mind, though the realization offered little comfort as he prowled down the rest of the stairs.

When the hum of the air-conditioner came to life, Ian barely stopped himself from spitting out a slew of four-letter words. His advantage was silence and surprise, but the playing field had just been leveled. Adrenaline rushed through his veins like ice water.

He had to be fast. He had to find the intruder before the intruder found him.

The thought of moving back upstairs to dial 911 occurred to him, but he knew there was only one reason a person would disable the security system to break into his house in the middle of the night.

They wanted him dead. Or worse, they wanted him alive.

In either case, he doubted he’d survive until the cavalry arrived. Not if he was unaware of his adversary’s location.

With the barrel of the handgun leading the way, he tiptoed down the hallway and into the kitchen. The glow of streetlights cast the granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances in an eerie horror-movie-like hue.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled to attention like the hackles of a guard dog. He hadn’t heard a sound yet, but intuition told him he wasn’t alone.

The intruder’s shoe scuffed the ceramic tile floor, and Ian immediately spun on his heel to face the sound. As he raised the Glock, taking aim at his assailant, his eyes fell on a familiar face.

Ian froze.

His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t speak.

How could this be real? Surely, he’d fallen asleep. This was just a nightmare. It had to be.

Even with the hooded sweatshirt shrouding his face, Ian would recognize that man in a sea of thousands.

As his thoughts whirled and he told himself this showdown couldn’t possibly be happening, Ian’s eyes shifted to the silenced handgun clutched in the man’s gloved hands. His heart skipped more than a few beats.

This life—Dana, his family, his career—had all been a lie. A half-truth forged in the blood of the Leóne family’s victims. He’d take that lie to his grave.

“I’m sorry, Ian.”

Ian’s finger tightened on the trigger, but his surprised mind wasn’t fast enough.

The muffled pop was the last sound Ian heard.

2

Special Agents Amelia Storm and Zane Palmer had left the FBI’s Chicago Field Office bright and early, filled with high hopes.

She should have known better.

Carlo Enrico—a Leóne soldier who’d worked alongside two other men to run part of the crime family’s forced labor trafficking ring—had been moved