Chapter 337
Chapter 337:
“Ms. Kane,” James said, breaking into her thoughts. “The security team ahead is reporting a traffic accident blocking the road. They’re checking alternate routes.”
Camille nodded, feeling a slight tightening in her chest. Coincidences made her nervous these days.
They were about forty minutes from the city when James spoke again, his voice tense. “Ma’am, I’ve lost contact with the lead car.”
Camille sat up straighter, instantly alert. “What about the car behind us?”
“Trying them now.” James pressed a button on his radio, then shook his head. “No response.”
Fear crawled up Camille’s spine like a cold hand. “Call Alexander,” she ordered, reaching for her own phone.
No signal. The bars on her screen had disappeared completely.
“Signal jammer,” James muttered, slowing the car as they approached a bend in the rural highway. Trees pressed closely on both sides, their branches forming a tunnel of dappled light and shadow.
“Turn around,” Camille instructed. “Now.”
James began to maneuver the car, but before he could complete the turn, a van swerved onto the road ahead of them, blocking their path. Another vehicle appeared behind, trapping them.
“Get down!” James shouted, drawing his weapon.
Camille ducked below the window line, her heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn’t a random attack, no ordinary carjacking. It was precise. It was planned. It was professional.
This was Rose.
The back window shattered as bullets hit it. James returned fire through the broken glass, his face grim with determination. “Stay down, Ms. Kane,” he ordered. “Backup will come.”
But Camille knew backup wouldn’t arrive in time. Rose had planned this too carefully. She had waited four weeks, lulling them into a false sense of security, before striking when Alexander was away.
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The shooting suddenly stopped. In the abrupt silence, Camille could hear birds singing in the trees, oblivious to the violence below.
“They’re moving,” James warned, peering through the cracked windshield.
Figures in black tactical gear approached the car from both directions, weapons raised. Camille counted six of them—too many, even for James and his training.
“On my signal, I want you to run for the trees,” James said quietly. “I’ll cover you.”
Camille shook her head. “We stay together.”
“Ms. Kane, my job is to protect you. Please—”
Before he could finish, the driver’s door was wrenched open. James fired, hitting one attacker, but others grabbed him, dragging him from the car. Camille heard the sickening sound of a blow, followed by silence.
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