Nathan Thought the Boy Had Attacked His Pregnant Wife—Then Her Belly Collapsed in Front of Him and the Security Camera Revealed the Pregnancy Was Only the First Lie. What Vanessa Had Been Hiding Could Destroy Everything She Built. / Chapter 27 / 50

Chapter 27 - The Blizzard Hunt

Nathan didn't look back.

He sprinted toward the perimeter tree line, using the dense cover of the hemlocks and red pines to shield his silhouette against the helicopter’s blinding landing lights. The snow was knee-deep here, crusty and treacherous, each step demanding a violent exertion of will.

The wind roared in his ears, masking the sound of his approach, but the rotor wash from the chopper was already flattening the snowdrifts fifty yards ahead, creating a swirling white vortex that blinded anyone caught in the open.

Nathan dropped to his belly at the edge of the clearing, uncoupling the thermal scope attached to the rail of the SIG Sauer 716 patrol rifle he had pulled from the armory locker.

He clicked the selector switch to thermal.

Through the viewfinder, the frozen landscape resolved into shades of electric purple and icy blue. Near the boarding steps of the sleek, dark-hulled helicopter, three glowing orange-and-white heat signatures were visible.

Two men were standing guard near the tail rotor, their rifles raised in low-ready positions, scanning the tree line. The third signature—shorter, stockier, clutching a heavy aluminum flight case against his chest—was Arthur Vance, his expensive cashmere coat flapping wildly in the rotor wash as he climbed toward the open cabin door.

Nathan adjusted his breathing, ignoring the agony radiating from his fractured ribs.

*Distance: three hundred and twenty yards. Wind: crosswind from left to right, approximately thirty-five knots. Elevation: negligible.*

He placed the glowing crosshairs four inches to the left of the rear guard’s chest plate.

He squeezed the trigger.

The 7.62mm round cracked through the storm, the heavy muzzle brake suppressing the flash in the driving whiteout. Three hundred yards away, the mercenary’s heat signature snapped backward as if struck by an invisible freight train, collapsing into the snow beneath the horizontal stabilizer.

The second contractor reacted instantly, dropping to one knee and sweeping his weapon toward the tree line, but before he could acquire a target, Nathan fired a second and third round in rapid succession. The heavy slugs tore through the helicopter’s lower fuselage, puncturing the hydraulic reservoir and showering the snow with boiling red fluid.

The mercenary scrambled backward, firing blind bursts into the hemlock grove, the rounds chewing through pine bark six feet above Nathan’s head.

Inside the cabin, the pilot panicked. The turbine engines screamed as the collective was pulled upward, the massive blades biting into the freezing air, lifting the chopper’s skids three feet off the icy tarmac.

"Leave him!" Arthur’s frantic voice echoed faintly over the roar of the turbines. "Pull up! Pull up!"

Arthur lunged toward the open door, trying to haul himself inside the lifting aircraft, but the sudden loss of hydraulic pressure caused the tail rotor to kick violently to the left. The aircraft bucked like a wild stallion in the blizzard.

Arthur lost his footing. His fingers slipped from the cabin grab handle, and he tumbled backward out of the doorway, plunging eight feet down into the deep, hard-packed snowdrift beside the pad.