IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 6

"Drive faster! He’s going to beat us there!"

Sarah’s voice was high and tight, cutting through the roar of the truck’s engine. She was leaning forward in the passenger seat, her hands pressed against the dashboard as if she could push the heavy pickup truck forward by sheer will.

"I’m flooring it," I shouted back. The speedometer was burying the needle past eighty. The wet road was a black ribbon slick with rain. "If I go any faster, we’ll hydroplane into the bay."

Maya was huddled between us. She was shaking violently, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her face was pale, the bruise on her cheek darkening to a sickly purple.

"He has my badge," Maya whispered. "He has the override code. The silent alarm won't even trip. He can walk right into the vault."

"He still has to drill the lock," I said, gripping the wheel. "Box 404 is reinforced steel. That takes time. Even with a diamond bit, he needs ten minutes."

"We don't have ten minutes," Sarah snapped. She looked at me, her eyes wild. "Jack, that box is the only leverage we have. If he gets that ledger, we have nothing. Danny died for nothing."

"He's not dead," I corrected her automatically.

"He might as well be," she said bitterly. "He called me a liability. He left me to rot."

I glanced at her. The hurt was radiating off her in waves. It wasn't just fear anymore. It was anger. The man she married had treated her like a loose end.

I reached over and covered her hand on the dash. My palm was rough against her cold skin.

"He was wrong," I said. "You're not a liability. You're the reason we're still alive. You took that guy down at the cannery."

She looked at my hand, then up at my eyes. For a second, the anger softened. She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through mine. She squeezed hard.

"Just get us there," she whispered. "Please."

I turned my eyes back to the road and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

First National Bank was a fortress of grey stone sitting in the center of town. At 3:00 AM, the street was deserted. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement in long, lonely streaks of yellow.

I killed the headlights a block away. We drifted into the alley behind the bank, the engine rumbling low.

There was a vehicle there. A black sedan. The engine was off, but the hood was warm. Rain hissed as it hit the hot metal.

"He's here," I breathed.

I parked the truck behind a dumpster, hiding it from view.

"Maya, stay here," I ordered. "Lock the doors. If you see cops, honk the horn. If you see him... drive away. Don't wait for us."

"I can't let you go in there alone," Maya sobbed. "He's a monster."

"We'll be fast," I promised.

I looked at Sarah. She had the heavy flashlight in one hand and my large wrench in the other. She looked like a warrior. A beautiful, terrified warrior.

"Ready?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Let's do it."

We slipped out into the rain. We moved to the rear service door. It was solid steel.

I tried the handle. Locked.

"The keypad," Sarah whispered, pointing to the electronic lock. The light on it was green.

"He used Maya's badge," I noted. "He didn't re-arm it."

I pulled the door open slowly. It was heavy.

Inside, the bank was a tomb. It smelled of carpet cleaner and money. The air was cool and still. The only light came from the streetlamps outside filtering through the high windows, casting long, jail-bar shadows across the marble floor.

Zzzzzzzzzz.

The sound was faint, but distinct. A high-pitched whine.

Drilling.

"The vault is downstairs," Sarah whispered. Her mouth was close to my ear. I could feel her breath on my neck. It sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Stay close," I mouthed.

We crept across the lobby. We had to pass the teller counters. We ducked low, moving in a crouch.

My heart was thumping so loud I was sure the intruder could hear it. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

We reached the stairwell door. It was propped open with a rubber wedge.

He was confident. He didn't think anyone was coming.

I signaled Sarah to wait. I peered into the stairwell. It was dark, spiraling down into the basement level where the safety deposit boxes were kept.

The drilling sound was louder now. ZZZZZZZT.

I took a step down. Then another. Sarah was right on my heels. Her hand was gripping the back of my jacket.

We reached the bottom. The vault room door was wide open.

A bright white light was spilling out into the hallway.

I peeked around the corner.

The vault was massive, a circular steel door two feet thick. It was open. Inside the vault room, a man was kneeling in front of a wall of small metal boxes.

He was wearing a grey hoodie and tactical pants. He had a portable drill pressed against Box 404. Metal shavings were curling onto the floor.

It wasn't the giant from the cannery. This guy was leaner. Wiry.

"Hey!" I shouted.

It was a stupid move. I should have snuck up on him. But I wanted him to panic.

The man spun around. He dropped the drill. It clattered on the floor.

He reached for his belt.

"Gun!" I yelled. I shoved Sarah back into the hallway.

POP-POP.

Two shots rang out. They were suppressed, quiet coughs of noise, but the bullets sparked against the steel door frame inches from my face. Concrete dust sprayed into my eyes.

"Jack!" Sarah screamed.

"I'm okay!" I yelled. "Stay down!"

I heard footsteps running toward us. He was charging.

I gripped the wrench. I didn't have a gun. I had lost the one from the cannery in the truck.

The man burst into the hallway. He raised the pistol.

I didn't swing the wrench. I threw it.

It spun through the air, end over end. THUNK.

It hit him square in the chest. He grunted and stumbled, his aim going wide. The gun fired into the ceiling.

I tackled him.

We hit the floor hard. He was fast. He drove an elbow into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, tasting blood.

He rolled on top of me. He pinned my wrists to the floor. He was strong, stronger than he looked. He brought the butt of the gun down toward my face.

I jerked my head to the side. The metal cracked against the floor tile, chipping it.

He raised it again.

Then, a beam of light blinded him.

Sarah.

She had turned the heavy flashlight to the strobe setting. Flash-flash-flash-flash.

The man cried out, shielding his eyes.

I bucked my hips, throwing him off me. I scrambled to my feet. I kicked the gun away, sending it sliding down the dark hallway.

"Go!" the man hissed. He scrambled backward, crab-walking away from us.

He didn't try to fight. He turned and ran for the emergency exit at the back of the basement.

"Stop!" I yelled. I started to chase him.

"Jack, let him go!" Sarah grabbed my arm. "The box! Look at the box!"

I stopped. I looked back into the vault.

The drill was still on the floor. The lock on Box 404 was destroyed. A jagged hole had been bored right through the cylinder.

"He got it open," I said.

My stomach dropped. If the ledger was gone, we were dead.

We ran into the vault. The air was thick with the smell of hot metal.

I knelt in front of Box 404. The little door was hanging open by a hinge.

I reached inside.

"Is it empty?" Sarah asked. Her voice was trembling. She was leaning over my shoulder, her body pressed against my back.

My fingers brushed against something.

"No," I whispered. "It's still here."

I pulled it out.

It wasn't a book. It wasn't a stack of papers.

It was a black, leather-bound notebook. Small, like a diary. And underneath it, a thick envelope.

"He didn't have time to grab it," I said. "We interrupted him just in time."

"Open it," Sarah breathed.

I stood up. We were standing in the center of the vault. It was a small room, lined with steel. It felt like a cage. Or a sanctuary.

I opened the leather notebook.

The pages were filled with Danny’s handwriting. But it wasn't a list of names.

It was a log. A captain's log.

Entry 1: Found the hatch today. The coordinates from the Russian were right. It's not a wreck. It's a facility.

Entry 4: I went inside. The air is breathable. The systems are still running. Power is geothermal. Who built this?

Entry 10: I found the cargo. It's not gold. It's biological. Canisters. Hundreds of them. Labeled 'Subject 8'.

"Biological?" Sarah whispered. She looked sick. "Danny was smuggling... a virus?"

"Keep reading," I said. I flipped the pages.

Entry 15: The Third Diver saw me today. It was patrolling the perimeter. I don't think it's human. It moves like a machine. I have to be careful.

I flipped to the last page. The writing was shaky. hurried.

Entry 22: I made a deal. The Syndicate wants the canisters. They offered me five million. Enough to disappear. Enough to save Sarah from the debt.

"Debt?" Sarah asked. "What debt?"

I looked at her. "You tell me, Sarah. He says he did this to save you."

Sarah’s face went white. She stepped back, hitting the wall of safety deposit boxes. "I... I don't know what he's talking about."

"Sarah." I stepped closer. "What debt?"

She looked down. Tears welled in her eyes. "My father," she whispered. "Before he died. He gambled. He owed people. Bad people. When he died... the debt passed to me."

"How much?"

"Two hundred thousand," she sobbed. "I never told Danny. I didn't want him to know I was... damaged goods. I thought I could handle it. But the interest kept growing."

"So Danny found out," I said. "And instead of telling me, instead of asking for help, he decided to loot a biological weapon from a sunken Cold War silo."

"He did it for love," Sarah said weakly.

"No," I said. My voice was hard. "He did it for pride. He wanted to be the hero. He wanted to fix it without anyone knowing."

I looked at the envelope. I tore it open.

Inside was a single photograph and a keycard.

The photograph was grainy. It showed a man in a suit shaking hands with a military general. The man in the suit... was Sheriff Ford.

"Ford," I whispered. "He's not investigating the case. He's part of it."

"That's why he raided your apartment," Sarah realized. "He wanted the drone footage to destroy the evidence."

Suddenly, the lights in the vault flickered.

Click. Click.

We heard a heavy mechanical sound from the hallway.

"What was that?" Sarah asked.

I looked at the massive circular door of the vault.

It was moving.

"No," I gasped.

I lunged for the door. "Run!"

But it was too heavy. The massive steel gears were turning. The door was swinging shut.

"Help me!" I grunted, throwing my shoulder against the steel.

Sarah pushed with me. We strained, our boots slipping on the floor.

But the door was motorized. And someone had triggered it.

CLANG.

The door slammed shut.

The seals hissed as they locked into place. The spinning wheel on the outside turned, engaging the bolts. Thunk-thunk-thunk.

We were trapped.

The silence was instant. Absolute.

"Jack?" Sarah’s voice was tiny in the steel room.

"I'm here," I said. "I'm right here."

"We're locked in."

"I know."

"How much air do we have?"

I looked around the small space. Ten feet by ten feet.

"A few hours," I said. "Maybe less if we panic."

Sarah slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest.

"We're going to die in here," she said.

"No," I said. I sat down next to her. "Maya is outside. She'll see that we didn't come out. She'll get help."

"Maya is terrified," Sarah said. "She probably drove away the second she heard gunshots."

"Then we figure it out ourselves," I said.

I looked at her. In the dim emergency light of the vault, she looked beautiful and tragic.

We were sealed in a steel box, buried underground, with proof that the Sheriff was dirty and my brother was a bio-terrorist.

The adrenaline was fading, leaving us cold and trembling.

Sarah shivered. "I'm freezing."

"Come here," I said.

I opened my jacket.

She didn't hesitate. She crawled between my legs, pressing her back against my chest. I wrapped my jacket around both of us, cocooning her.

My arms went around her waist. Her head rested on my shoulder.

We fit together. Perfectly.

"Jack," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "About the debt. About lying."

"It doesn't matter now."

"It does matter," she said. She turned in my arms so she was facing me. Her legs straddled my lap.

We were chest to chest. Face to face.

The space was so small. The air was so limited. Every breath she took, I breathed in.

"You're the only thing that's real," she said. Her hand came up to cup my jaw. Her thumb traced my bottom lip. "Danny is a ghost. A lie. But you... you're solid."

"Sarah," I warned, my voice low. "We're trapped in a vault."

"I know," she said. Her eyes dropped to my lips. "And we might not get out. So I don't want to waste time being good."

She leaned in.

This time, I didn't stop her.

I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. I buried my face in her neck, kissing the soft skin, inhaling her scent.

She gasped, arching into me. Her hands fumbled with the zipper of my jacket.

"Touch me," she commanded. "Make me forget where we are."

I slid my hands under her shirt. Her skin was fire.

I kissed her mouth, hard and deep. She tasted like fear and desperation. It was the most addictive thing I had ever tasted.

We were running out of air. But in that moment, she was the only oxygen I needed.