Page 38 of Enduring Promise

“What’s the plan?” Russ asked, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

The officer glanced at the radio on his shoulder, his fingers brushing against it as if contemplating whether to say more. “We’re securing the perimeter,” he said finally. “Keeping himcontained until backup arrives. Then we’ll wait him out. It’s almost over.”

“Almost over,” Hillary echoed softly, the words weighted with disbelief. Her hand brushed against Russ’s arm.

But as the officer pushed open the door and stepped out into the early morning light, Russ couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Not with someone like Michael. Not with everything at stake.

CHAPTER 37

Hillary leaned back against the edge of the couch, letting out a long breath. The words replayed in her head:We’ve got him cornered.Michael was trapped, reduced to a desperate man hiding in an old garden shed on the far edge of the property. The image brought a flicker of relief. Cornered, like the rat he was.

Her gaze drifted to Claire, still asleep on the sofa, her face peaceful for the first time all night. For a moment, Hillary considered waking her, sharing the news, but the thought passed quickly. Claire needed rest. The nightmare wasn’t over yet, but this was a small reprieve, and Hillary wouldn’t take it from her.

The quiet hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. Hillary turned to see Madame Fournier descending the grand staircase, her hands smoothing the fabric of her gown as she moved. She looked composed, as always, but there was a tension in her eyes that betrayed how deeply the events of the night had shaken her. It was as if she had spent hours pacing, checking every corner of the house, ensuring everyone was accounted for.

“Where are the police?” Madame Fournier asked as she reached the sitting room, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room.

Russ stepped forward, his expression calm but resolute. “They’ve got him,” he said. “Michael’s cornered in one of the old garden sheds. They’re securing the perimeter and waiting him out.”

Madame Fournier’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Instead, she glanced toward the windows, the low light of dawn creeping through the heavy drapes. Her fingers brushed the edge of a side table, a small, unconscious gesture that hinted at her unease.

“Good news, right?” Hillary said, trying to keep her tone light. “The end of this nightmare.”

Madame Fournier turned her gaze back to Russ, ignoring Hillary’s attempt at optimism. “And the officers stationed here? They’ve left? That seems foolish.”

Russ hesitated. “They’re focusing on the perimeter around the shed. With Michael cornered, there’s no immediate threat to the house.”

Madame Fournier shook her head, her expression grim. “That’s a mistake.”

Hillary’s stomach twisted, the lump of worry in her throat threatening to take hold. “Why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“Because we’re vulnerable now,” Madame Fournier replied. “If Michael somehow slips past them—and don’t think for a moment that he won’t try—there’s nothing between him and us. No one here to protect us. And with so many guests asleep, unaware...” She trailed off, her sharp gaze moving to the front door as if she expected Michael to burst through it at any moment.

Russ’s jaw tightened, and he glanced toward the windows, clearly considering her words. “They’ve got him surrounded,” he said, though the confidence in his voice faltered slightly. “He’s not getting out of there.”

Madame Fournier crossed her arms, her nails tapping against the silk of her sleeve. “I hope you’re right,” she said simply.

Hillary forced herself to stand, brushing invisible dust from her ruined dress as she did. “We’re due for a lucky break,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “Let this be it.”

Madame Fournier’s shook her head. “Perhaps,” she said. She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders.

Russ was standing in front of the tall window, staring out and considering what Madame Fournier was saying. His arms folded across his chest and his posture tense. Hillary could see the wheels turning in his head, replaying Madame Fournier’s words. She wished she could will herself to believe everything was under control, that Michael was truly trapped. But the lingering doubt clawed at her.

A loud crash shattered the fragile quiet.

The sound of breaking glass rang out, followed by a whoosh of air. Hillary barely had time to register the bottle’s flaming cloth before it hit the floor with a sickening splatter. Liquid fire erupted, racing across the rug and up the heavy curtains, the smell of gasoline overwhelming her senses.

"Move!" Russ bellowed, his voice cutting through her shock. He was already rushing toward the flames, his arm shielding his face from the growing heat.

Before anyone could react, another crash echoed from a different part of the house. Hillary turned, her heart pounding, to see flames licking up another set of curtains through the doorway. The crackle of fire grew louder, the air thickening with smoke. And then, as if the horror wasn’t enough, a third crash sounded, followed by the unmistakable roar of another fire springing to life.

"Dear God," Madame Fournier breathed, her voice trembling. Then, with a commanding yell, she came to life. "Everyone, wake up! Get out now! The house is on fire!"

Claire shot upright on the couch, her scream piercing through the chaos as she took in the flames spreading around her. “What’s happening?” she cried, her voice raw with fear.

“Michael,” Russ growled, his voice grim as he grabbed Claire by the arm and helped her to her feet. “It’s Michael.”

Hillary was already moving, grabbing a heavy throw blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over the closest flames, trying to smother them. It did little against the rapid spread of the fire. The liquid that had spilled from the Molotov cocktail continued to feed the flames.

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