My Husband Drowned Us To Be With My Sister, Until My "Paralyzed" Brother Stood Up And Kicked The Door Open

Penelope’s eyes darted between Tobias’s face and the steel door behind him. "You’re lying. Garrett signed the co-indemnity waiver last week."

"Garrett doesn't sign waivers that don't have a secondary revocation clause," Tobias said, closing the distance to six feet. "Ask him where your passport is, Penelope. Ask him why he booked a single one-way flight to Grand Cayman for Tuesday morning under the name Garrett Vance with no secondary passenger."

A heavy silence settled over the bunker, broken only by the hum of the emergency generator.

Penelope’s lower lip began to tremble. Her grip on the pistol loosened by a fraction of an inch.

Click.

The heavy steel hatch at the far end of the bunker swung open.

Garrett stepped through the frame, holding a short-barreled Remington twelve-gauge shotgun. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt stained with grease from the crane tracks.

He didn't look at Tobias. He didn't look at me.

He looked directly at Penelope’s trembling hand holding the nine-millimeter.

"You talk too much, Penny," Garrett said softly.

He raised the shotgun to his hip and pulled the trigger.

The deafening roar of the blast inside the concrete bunker was instantaneous and blinding. Buckshot ripped through the wooden shelving behind Penelope, sending splinters and concrete dust exploding into the air.

Penelope screamed, dropping the pistol as she dove behind a rusted steel locker, clutching her bleeding shoulder where two pellets had grazed the meat of her arm.

Tobias didn't hesitate.

He lunged forward across the slick concrete floor, his shoulder slamming into Garrett’s midsection with the force of an unblocked linebacker. Both men crashed into the heavy iron railing overlooking the flooded intake channel below.

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