Traffic (Complete two-hundred pages) (Moving to Kindle Vella in 30 Days! )

17

AUDIENCE

IT WAS THE GOLDEN HOUR and streams of light pushed hard through the master window above the entrance, giving the granite stairs a sparkle.

The entrance door was open. And suddenly Jack spotted cops and FBI professionals waiting for him at the entrance.

Pat's voice shouted upward from below. "Jack, what's going on? The FBI's here."

Leah's voice spiraled upward as well. "Katelyn, is everything alright?"

Both Jack and Katelyn's hearts were beating fast. Jack knew this had to do with Penelope's death. But why this called for such enforcement directed at him and at his home, the urgency of it all, he did not understand.

He felt his pelvic veins pulsing against the barrel of the gun at his waist. But he wasn't stupid enough to use it.

"Mommy!" he heard Elise shout. Jack spotted Elise beside two FBI officers. She was holding Pat's hand. "Why are you crying?"

Jack looked and surely Elise's mother Katelyn was crying and had her face buried in her hands.

"Jack," called Mr. Golem from the floor. He and the two strangers from the crowd he had originally arrived with began climbing the steps. "It's time to go. Did you get your passport?"

Jack found it hard to swallow. "One second," he whispered. But his mouth was too dry. No one heard him. He wanted to disappear. "Let me get it." He turned and walked back into the hall.

"Jack--" said Katelyn.

"Stop, Jack," said Mr. Golem. "That's an order." But Jack upped the pace.

"RUN, JACK," Katelyn said, before she was pushed aside by Mr. Golem and his goons. But she didn't have to say a word. Jack had accelerated at the speed of a Porsche-- he slammed the door behind him, whipped out his gun, toppled a chair behind him, and shot at the balcony glass doors because they would be locked. He jumped through and kicked himself over the ledge and fell ten feet into the deep end of the swimming pool. There were screams but he kicked himself to the surface, caught his sunglasses and hat, pulled himself over the concrete edge and ran over the gate to descend the hills behind his home. The ocean was a marvel, pulling him to freedom. But his leg gave way, a bullet pierced his calf and he tumbled down grass and then dirt and then rock with increasing speed. The ground punched him with each roll. He could still hear his wife shout, "RUN, JACK!"