Page 81 of Sanctuary

“He’s alive,” Vance assured me. “For now. The next detonation won’t be a warning.” He tightened his grip on the knife, pressing it just hard enough against Lily’s skin to draw a thin line of blood. “Your decision, Amelia. Who lives? Who dies?”

Lily’s eyes met mine, wide with terror but also something else—a spark of recognition. Despite never having met me as adults, some part of her knew who I was.

I needed to keep Vance talking, to find an opening. “Why this elaborate setup? Why not just kill us all?”

“Because death is too simple,” he replied, a hint of passion finally breaking through his controlled façade. “Matheson wanted you to suffer as he did—forced to choose between loyalties, to sacrifice someone you love.” His eyes gleamed with fanatical intensity. “He spent years molding you, perfecting you, and you threw it all away for... this.” He gestured at Lily with contempt.

“You’re wrong,” I said, an idea forming as I spoke. “I didn’t betray Matheson for her. I didn’t even know where she was until he told me.”

Confusion flickered across Vance’s face. “Then why?”

“Because I discovered the truth about his operations,” I said, taking a calculated risk. “About Project Chiminea.”

Vance went completely still, the knife wavering slightly against Lily’s throat. “You couldn’t possibly know about that.”

I had struck a nerve. Project Chiminea was mentioned in the files Matheson had shown me—something involving government officials and offshore accounts. I hadn’t known its significance then, but Vance’s reaction confirmed it was important.

“I know everything,” I bluffed, watching his reaction closely. “The government contracts, the blackmail, the offshore accounts. Tomas MacGallan documented it all in his black book.”

Vance’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You’re lying. The book was never found.”

“Wasn’t it?” I took a small step forward, careful not to provoke him. “Why do you think Matheson was so desperate to eliminate the MacGallan’s? He knew they had evidence that could destroy everything he built.”

Doubt flickered across Vance’s face. This was my opening—creating uncertainty, dividing his attention.

“Think about it, Gregory,” I said, using his first name deliberately, making this personal. “Matheson sent me to kill Declan MacGallan, then Connor. But he never ordered me to find the book. Don’t you find that strange? Unless...”

“Unless he didn’t want you to find it,” Vance finished, the knife lowering slightly as his focus shifted to this new puzzle.

“Exactly,” I pressed. “Because the book contains information about you too. About your role in Project Chiminea.”

The gamble paid off. Vance’s expression hardened, his grip on the remote tightening. “What exactly do you think you know?”

“I know enough to understand why you’re really here,” I replied, taking another careful step. “This isn’t about loyalty to Matheson. It’s about protecting yourself.”

His jaw clenched. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” I was close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat—a sign of agitation breaking through his controlled exterior. “The offshore account in the Caymans. The meetings with Senator Hargrove. The ‘special assignments’ that never made it into official reports.”

Each shot in the dark hit something—I could see it in the micro-expressions flashing across his face. I was piecing together a narrative from fragments I’d gathered during my years at the agency and somehow striking the truth.

“Shut up,” Vance hissed, the knife pressing harder against Lily’s throat. A thin trickle of blood ran down her neck, and she whimpered behind the tape.

“You’re afraid,” I continued, the pieces falling into place. “Not of me, but of what happens when CSIS finishes their investigation into Matheson’s operation. They’ll find the connections, trace the money. You need us dead because we’re loose ends—not because of some twisted loyalty to a dead man.”

Rage flashed in his eyes—I’d struck the core truth. “Enough!” he snapped, raising the remote. “Make your choice, Amelia. Now. Your sister or your husband.”

Time seemed to slow as I assessed my options. The remote was in his right hand, knife in his left. His attention was divided between me and the growing uncertainty I’d planted. There was a fraction of a second window—a moment where his focus shifted from the remote to my face as he processed my words.

I lunged forward, faster than he anticipated. My left hand knocked the knife away from Lily’s throat while my right grabbed his wrist, twisting the remote away from him. We crashed against the shelving unit, medical equipment clattering to the floor around us.

Vance was strong, his training evident as he countered my move with practiced efficiency. His elbow connected with my ribs, sending a sharp pain through my side. I maintained my grip on his wrist, keeping the remote pointed away from us both.

“You’ve lost your edge, Amelia,” he hissed, driving his knee into my stomach. “Too soft now. Too many emotions clouding your judgment.”

I didn’t waste breath responding. Instead, I swept his legs from under him, using his momentum to slam him into the concrete floor. The impact loosened his grip on the remote, sending it skittering across the floor.

Vance’s eyes tracked it, his intention clear. I drove my elbow into his throat, cutting off his air supply momentarily while I scrambled for the device. My fingers closed around it just as he recovered, launching himself at me with murderous fury.

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