Chapter 4 - THE FIRST BULLETMarcus moved before Helena did.
He slammed the ledger shut, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her behind a steel support pillar.
The first bullet punched through the office window.
Glass exploded across the floor.
Luca shouted from the loading bay.
“Three vehicles! North entrance!”
Marcus drew a pistol from behind his back.
Helena stared.
“You carry that everywhere?”
“You carry yours to accounting jobs.”
Another burst of gunfire answered for him.
Luca fired twice from behind a forklift.
Marcus shoved the ledger inside Helena’s coat.
“Keep that.”
“You’re the criminal.”
“You’re the one with a badge.”
“That hasn’t protected me very well.”
“Tonight it might.”
He leaned around the pillar and fired once.
A man screamed near the entrance.
Helena’s police training returned like electricity.
Fear did not disappear.
It became useful.
“South exit?”
“Blocked outside.”
“Roof?”
“Maintenance ladder.”
“Security cameras?”
“Disabled.”
“Of course they are.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You complain a lot under fire.”
“My father said it improved concentration.”
The words slipped out.
Marcus’s expression changed for half a second.
Then another bullet struck the pillar.
Helena fired toward the muzzle flash.
“Move!”
They ran.
The warehouse was almost completely dark except for pale strips of river light through high windows.
Marcus knew every aisle.
Helena followed close behind.
Behind them, Luca fired in controlled pairs.
They reached the maintenance staircase.
A shadow stepped from behind stacked pallets.
Helena saw the gun first.
“Marcus!”
She shoved him aside.
The shot went through his jacket sleeve.
Marcus slammed the attacker into a railing.
Helena kicked the weapon away.
Luca arrived and pressed his pistol beneath the man’s jaw.
The attacker wore black tactical clothing.
No insignia.
Helena ripped off his mask.
She knew him.
Officer Daniel Voss.
Evidence division.
Twenty-three years with the department.
He stared at her.
Then smiled.
“Your father had the same eyes.”
Helena’s blood went cold.
“Were you there?”
Voss laughed.
Marcus grabbed his collar.
“Answer her.”
Voss looked at Marcus.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Who gave the order.”
A shot cracked from somewhere above.
Voss jerked.
Blood appeared at the center of his forehead.
He dropped instantly.
“Sniper!” Luca shouted.
Marcus dragged Helena down.
The roof was no longer safe.
Sirens began approaching in the distance.
Too fast.
Helena checked her watch.
Less than four minutes since the shooting began.
“No one called police,” she said.
Marcus understood.
“They were already coming.”
Helena’s phone rang again.
Hale.
She stared at the screen.
Marcus said, “Don’t answer.”
“I need to know what he thinks I know.”
She picked up.
Hale spoke first.
“Helena, get out of there.”
She almost laughed.
“Interesting advice.”
“What happened?”
“You tell me.”
“Someone followed you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the ledger?”
Marcus watched her.
Helena closed her eyes.
There it was.
She had never told Hale about any ledger.
“How do you know there’s a ledger?”
Silence.
Not long.
One second.
Maybe two.
But enough.
Hale recovered.
“Arthur Bell contacted me.”
“You said he contacted Internal Affairs.”
“He contacted several people.”
“You lied.”
“Helena, listen to me carefully. The responding officers cannot find you there.”
“Why?”
“Because if that book contains what I think it contains, you don’t know who you can trust.”
“You?”
Another silence.
“Especially me.”
The answer surprised her.
Hale lowered his voice.
“The payment beside my name is not what it looks like.”
“You know the amount?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
Helena felt Marcus watching her.
“How?”
“Because I put it there.”
The words stopped everything.
“What?”
“I need you to survive tonight. Then I’ll explain.”
Gunfire erupted at the north entrance.
Uniformed officers entered.
Except they were not shouting police commands.
They were firing at Luca.
Hale said urgently, “Do not surrender to anyone from Central Division.”
Helena hung up.
Marcus looked at her.
“Well?”
“Hale says not to trust the police.”
Marcus almost smiled.
“Welcome to my life.”
They escaped through an old drainage tunnel beneath Warehouse Four.
Marcus had learned it from his grandfather.
Helena decided not to ask why.
They emerged near the river three blocks south, soaked to their knees.
Luca joined them seven minutes later.
He had a cut above his eyebrow and somebody else’s blood on his shirt.
“Car’s burned,” he said.
Marcus nodded.
“Safe house?”
“No.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
Marcus looked at Helena.
“Because whoever knows enough to hit Warehouse Four knows our locations.”
Helena’s phone buzzed.
A news alert.
SHOOTING REPORTED AT FERRARO WAREHOUSE.
Then another.
POLICE SEEK DETECTIVE HELENA CALLAHAN FOR QUESTIONING.
Her photograph appeared beneath the headline.
Marcus read it over her shoulder.
“That was fast.”
“Too fast.”
The article claimed Helena had disappeared after accessing restricted police files.
No mention of undercover work.
No mention of Hale.
No mention of gunmen.
The narrative was already being built.
Helena swallowed.
“They’re making me the leak.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then they can arrest you legally.”
“And take the ledger.”
“And you die in custody before breakfast.”
She looked at him.
“You’re enjoying being right.”
“Not tonight.”
Marcus led them toward an old machine shop owned through a Ferraro shell company.
Inside, Luca found medical supplies.
Helena cleaned the graze on Marcus’s arm.
He watched her.
“You’ve done this before.”
“My father taught me.”
“Thomas expected gunshot wounds?”
“He said being a cop meant knowing what panic looked like before it became yours.”
Marcus looked away.
Helena tied the bandage.
“You said Voss wasn’t the shooter.”
“No.”
“Do you know who was?”
“No.”
“Did you see anything?”
“I saw a black sedan leaving.”
“Plate?”
“Covered.”
“Shooter?”
“Maybe.”
Marcus leaned back.
“I heard someone say a name.”
Helena paused.
“What name?”
“Gabriel.”
She searched her memory.
No Gabriel in the Ferraro file.
“Family?”
Marcus’s expression tightened.
“My older brother.”
Helena stared.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
“What happened?”
“He died eighteen years ago.”
Her eyes shifted to the Saint Michael medal.
Marcus wore initials.
M.C.
Not Gabriel.
“What does your brother have to do with my father?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Luca returned from the back room holding the ledger.
“I found something.”
He placed it on the workbench.
Several pages had tiny perforations along the edges.
Helena touched them.
“Pages removed.”
Luca nodded.
“At least six.”
Marcus frowned.
“Arthur kept originals?”
“Maybe.”
Helena opened the ledger near the payment to Warren Hale.
A handwritten symbol appeared beside the entry.
A small circle with a cross through it.
The same symbol repeated beside seven other names.
She looked closer.
Three were dead.
One was retired.
One was a federal judge.
One was a state senator.
And one was her father.
Thomas Callahan.
No payment beside his name.
Only the symbol.
Marcus stared.
“I’ve seen that before.”
“Where?”
He reached beneath his shirt and removed the Saint Michael medal Thomas had given him.
On the worn back, beneath the engraved initials, was the same tiny symbol.
Helena took it.
“I thought those were scratches.”
“So did I.”
She turned the medal under the light.
The cross inside the circle was deliberate.
Luca said quietly, “Could be an organization.”
Helena’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text message.
YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE SYMBOL MEANS?
A photograph followed.
Helena’s apartment.
Taken from inside.
Then another.
Her mother’s grave.
Then one final message.
COME ALONE.
ST. AGNES CHURCH.
6 A.M.
BRING THE MEDAL.
NOT THE BOOK.
Marcus read the screen.
“You’re not going.”
Helena looked at him.
“You don’t give me orders.”
“No.”
Marcus’s face hardened.
“But the person who sent that killed your father.”
“How do you know?”
Marcus pointed to the photograph of the grave.
In the bottom corner, barely visible against Margaret Callahan’s headstone, someone had placed a fresh white rose.
May you like
Marcus’s eyes had gone empty.
“My brother was buried with white roses.”
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