Grant’s eyes darted to the silver pistol in his hand, then back to my face.

Vanessa suddenly reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small black cylinder.

“Cover your eyes,” she said.

Before I could fire, she slammed the cylinder onto the hardwood floor.

A blinding flash of white light filled the room, followed by a thick, acrid cloud of grey smoke.

I fired twice toward the desk, the gunshots deafening in the enclosed space.

The smoke burned my throat and nose, making my eyes water instantly.

I heard the sound of heavy glass shattering.

Coughing violently, I rushed forward, using my hand to feel for the edge of the desk.

The cool night air rushed in through a massive hole in the study window.

I leaned out, blinking away the tears, and looked down at the dark yard.

Two figures were scrambling across the roof of the lower veranda, dropping onto the snow-dusted grass below.

“Marcus, they’re out the window,” I coughed into my mic. “Moving south toward the woods.”

“Copy that,” Marcus said. “Tactical units are moving to intercept. We have a perimeter on the main road.”