The Last Seat Beside the Scarred Stranger — Part 3
The Last Seat Beside the Scarred Stranger — Part 3
The door exploded inward.
Develin fired before the first attacker could fully enter.
The muzzle flash illuminated the tiny maintenance room.
The man dropped.
Two more rushed through the doorway.
Develin grabbed Chantel and shoved her behind the heavy metal desk.
“Stay down!”
Bullets tore through the walls.
Chantel covered her head.
The room filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.
Develin moved with terrifying precision.
One shot.
Another.
Then silence.
A body collapsed against the doorway.
Develin stood perfectly still, listening.
Chantel slowly lifted her head.
“Are they gone?”
“No.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What do you mean, no?”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“More are coming.”
As if summoned by his words, footsteps thundered above them.
The building shook.
Chantel stared at him.
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“It’s the only answer you need.”
Develin grabbed her hand.
“Come on.”
He pulled her through another door at the back of the room.
They entered a narrow maintenance corridor.
The door slammed behind them.
Chantel ran after him.
“Where are we going?”
“Out.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere they won’t expect.”
They turned a corner.
Then another.
The corridor became narrower until Chantel had to turn sideways to squeeze between two walls.
She was breathing hard.
Develin stopped suddenly.
Chantel nearly crashed into him.
“What?”
He raised a hand.
Silence.
Then Chantel heard it.
Footsteps.
Ahead.
Develin slowly backed them into a recessed doorway.
His gun came up.
A flashlight appeared at the end of the corridor.
Then another.
Chantel’s heart stopped.
Three men rounded the corner.
Develin fired.
The corridor erupted.
The attackers dropped one after another.
But one managed to return fire.
A bullet struck the wall inches from Chantel’s head.
She screamed.
Develin grabbed her and spun her behind him.
Then he fired once.
The corridor went silent.
Chantel stared at the bodies.
Her knees began to shake.
Develin caught her before she fell.
“Hey.”
She looked up at him.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“I can’t keep watching people die.”
Develin’s expression hardened.
“You don’t have a choice.”
She shoved his chest.
“You keep saying that!”
He didn’t move.
“You dragged me into this!”
“I know.”
“You told me I’d be safe!”
“I said I’d keep you alive.”
“That’s not the same thing!”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Develin quietly said:
“No. It isn’t.”
Something in his voice made Chantel stop.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As though every death around him had left another invisible scar.
“Why me?” she whispered.
Develin looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
Then he finally answered.
“Because Lucian doesn’t want you dead.”
Chantel froze.
“He wants me alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Develin looked directly at her.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
A distant alarm suddenly began ringing.
Develin’s eyes narrowed.
“The police.”
Chantel’s heart jumped.
“Great.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Not great.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t call them.”
They stared at each other.
Then Develin heard something through the radio attached to his jacket.
A voice crackled.
“Murphy, we’ve got movement at the south entrance.”
Develin pressed the radio.
“How many?”
“Police.”
A pause.
“Too many.”
Develin’s expression changed.
“They’re not police.”
Chantel stared at him.
“What?”
He pulled out his phone.
A message had just appeared.
WE HAVE THE WOMAN’S NAME.
Then another.
CHANTEL REYES.
Her blood turned cold.
“They know my name.”
Develin’s eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Another message arrived.
BRING HER TO THE OLD CENTRAL HOTEL. ALONE.
Chantel looked at him.
“How do they know my name?”
Develin didn’t answer.
“Develin.”
He finally looked up.
“Because someone investigated you.”
“I’ve never done anything!”
“I know.”
“Then why would they care?”
He stared at her for several seconds.
Then his expression changed.
A realization.
“Your job.”
Chantel frowned.
“What about it?”
“Where do you work?”
“At a restaurant.”
“Name.”
She told him.
Develin’s face went cold.
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“Who hired you?”
“My manager.”
“Who owns the restaurant?”
“I don’t know.”
Develin stared at her.
“You don’t know?”
“Why would I?”
He said nothing.
Chantel felt increasingly confused.
Then she remembered something.
“Wait.”
Develin turned.
“Last week, there was a man.”
“What man?”
“At the restaurant.”
“Describe him.”
“I don’t know. Dark hair. Expensive coat.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked for me.”
Develin’s expression hardened.
“What did he say?”
“He said he was looking for a waitress named Chantel.”
“When?”
“Three nights ago.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“Did he leave anything?”
Chantel hesitated.
“Yes.”
Develin’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“A note.”
She reached into her tote bag.
Her fingers trembled as she searched through it.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I thought it was a stupid prank.”
Develin took it.
He unfolded the paper.
There were only six words.
YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOUR FATHER WAS.
Develin stopped breathing.
Chantel stared at him.
“What?”
He read the message again.
Then looked at her.
“Where did you get this?”
“I told you.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Chantel.”
“I don’t know!”
Her voice echoed through the corridor.
Develin stared at the paper.
Something had changed.
The danger was no longer simply about her being an accidental witness.
There was another reason.
A much older reason.
He folded the note carefully.
“Your father.”
Chantel swallowed.
“What about him?”
“Who was he?”
“My mother never talked about him.”
“Is he alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s his name?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Develin looked at the handwriting.
Then his face became completely expressionless.
“What?”
Chantel asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Develin, what is it?”
He finally looked at her.
“I know this handwriting.”
Her heart sank.
“Whose is it?”
Develin folded the note and placed it inside his jacket.
“Lucian’s.”
Chantel stared at him.
The tunnel suddenly seemed much colder.
“You’re saying Lucian knows my father?”
Develin nodded.
“More than that.”
He stepped closer.
“I think Lucian may have known him.”
“And what does that mean?”
Develin’s eyes hardened.
“It means you may not be a random witness.”
Chantel’s face went pale.
“What am I?”
Before he could answer, the lights in the tunnel went out.
Complete darkness.
Develin immediately grabbed her hand.
“Don’t move.”
Something metallic scraped across the floor behind them.
Chantel’s breath caught.
Then a man’s voice echoed through the darkness.
“Develin Murphy.”
Develin raised his gun.
The voice continued.
“You’ve spent three years running from me.”
A pause.
“But tonight, you brought me exactly what I wanted.”
Chantel squeezed Develin’s hand.
“Who is that?”
Develin didn’t answer.
The voice laughed softly.
“Hello, Chantel.”
Her blood ran cold.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Develin stepped in front of her.
“Lucian.”
A light suddenly flickered on.
At the far end of the tunnel stood a tall man in a black coat.
He wasn’t alone.
At least ten armed men stood behind him.
Lucian smiled.
And then he looked directly at Chantel.
“You look just like your mother.”
Chantel froze.
Develin’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you dare mention her.”
Lucian’s smile widened.
“Oh, Develin.”
He slowly raised his hands.
“You still haven’t told her the truth, have you?”
Chantel turned toward Develin.
“What truth?”
Develin said nothing.
Lucian laughed.
“Ask him.”
Chantel’s voice trembled.
“Develin?”
He stared at Lucian.
Then at her.
And finally said the words that changed everything.
“Your father didn’t abandon your mother.”
He paused.
“Lucian killed him.”
Chantel stopped breathing.
Lucian smiled.
“And now, little girl, you finally know why you’re the one person in this city I can never allow to live.”
