Highways & Hostages Read Free Page A

concrete, and he let out an anguished howl. Despite the injury, Stefan growled again and picked himself up. He lumbered toward Finn, his eyes broadcasting his intent to break him into pieces.
    Finn felt the back of his waistband to reassure himself that his own gun was still there before he hurled Stefan’s into the trees. He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to anticipate Stefan’s next move. Stefan ran at him and Finn lunged to the side, sending Stefan barreling into the thorny rose bushes in front of the house. Before Stefan could catch his breath, Finn ran at him and looped an arm around his neck. The large man put up a serious struggle, thrashing like a fish caught in a net. Beads of perspiration broke out on Finn’s hairline, but he managed to keep a firm grip. He only released his chokehold when he felt Stefan go limp, then disentangled himself from the unconscious man and wiped the sweat from his brow. Those sparring lessons with his roommate in juvie still came in handy sometimes.
    “Jesus Christ,” Finn muttered as he got to his feet. He raced through the open door of the house and into the middle of the multi-story rotunda in the mansion’s center. With the von Rothschilds at the opera, Stefan incapacitated outside, and the housekeeper enjoying a day off, the house should have been empty—with the exception of Alex. “Got it yet?” Finn called.
    “Not yet. I’m still looking,” Alex’s voice floated down from the second story.
    Finn glanced back through the doorway where Stefan was still lying prone. He hesitated and then raced up the curved staircase. He ran along the polished marble hallway and into the library, where he thought he’d heard Alex call from. He found him peering up into an empty fireplace. Finn stepped toward his friend, who jumped, startled.
    “What are you doing up here?” Alex hissed. “Where’s the guard?”
    “I knocked him out. Use some common sense, Alex; there’s no way von Rothschild would keep the chalice in a fireplace!”
    “Well, if you’re so fucking smart, where would it be?”
    “I don’t know, but it’s not going to be in a fireplace!” Finn dug in his jacket pocket for the lock-picking kit he’d had since middle school. He tossed it to Alex. “Try his office. I’m going back downstairs.”
    He took the stairs two at a time and breathlessly made his way back to Stefan, who was still on the ground, now groaning. A cell phone lay next to his uninjured hand. Finn took his pistol from his waistband and leveled it at Stefan.
    “It seems we’re at an impasse.” Finn paused. “Actually, it’s not much of an impasse, since I have the gun and can easily shoot you any time I want. But I don’t want to have to do that, so don’t make me, okay?”
    Stefan glared up at Finn and grunted as he clutched his wrist.
    Without warning, the gates at the end of the drive creaked open. A black Lincoln Town Car glided up the winding path toward the two men.
    “What the fuck?” Finn exclaimed. “Alex!” He walked backward into the house, his gun trained on Stefan, and one eye on the car, which came to a stop at the crest of the hill.
    “I’m still looking for the chalice!”
    “Forget about it; von Rothschild’s back!” Finn shouted as the rear door of the car flew open.
    Christoph von Rothschild calmly stepped out in an expensive-looking tuxedo and brushed off his jacket. His driver got out of the car as well and leveled a gun at Finn from behind the driver’s side door. Von Rothschild’s much younger wife, Elizabeth, peeked out from around the rear car door. Even at age sixty, von Rothschild was an imposing figure. He stood six feet tall, the moonlight glinting off his shiny dome, and his blue eyes glittering with detached curiosity.
    He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, his Austrian accent still familiar to Finn after all these years.
    Finn swallowed. None of their planning accounted for von