Chapter 8 - Into the Safehouse
Without another second of hesitation, Andrew stood up to his full height. He folded the old photograph carefully, sliding it into the deep, waterproof inner pocket of his tailored coat.
He bent down, lifted eight-year-old Ethan effortlessly into his powerful arms, and tucked the child tightly against his chest, wrapping his heavy black wool coat around the shivering boy to shield him from the freezing rain.
"Hold on to me, Ethan," Andrew commanded softly.
Ethan wrapped his small arms tightly around Andrew’s neck, burying his face into the crook of the crime boss's shoulder.
Andrew turned on his heel and strode purposefully out of the dark alley, his long, powerful strides cutting through the downpour. He crossed the slick street toward a sleek, black armored SUV parked silently in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse.
The SUV's rear door slid open automatically as Andrew approached. Inside sat Marcus, Andrew’s longtime lieutenant and chief of security, holding a encrypted tablet.
"Boss? What happened out there? Who is the kid—" Marcus cut himself off the moment he saw the look on Andrew’s face. In fifteen years of service, Marcus had never seen Andrew Whitman look shaken.
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"Get us to the North Shore safehouse now," Andrew ordered, stepping into the leather-trimmed interior of the vehicle and pulling the door shut, locking out the noise of the rain. "And call the medical team. Tell them to bring pediatric supplies."
"Yes, sir," Marcus said, instantly hitting the intercom to instruct the driver.
