Hunting Down My Mysterious Doctor Wife

The midnight rain slicked the Manhattan asphalt, turning the streets into a dark, reflective mirror.

Ahead of them, three massive, all-black Cadillac Escalades drove in a tight, synchronized V-formation.

Devonte drove the Aston Martin with the headlights completely off. The sports car glided through the shadows, a silent predator stalking its prey.

Eleanora watched the digital distance tracker on the dashboard count down.

"Cut into the blind spot," Eleanora ordered, her voice devoid of any panic. "Hit the lead car on the rear left quarter panel. Hard."

Devonte didn't flinch. He gripped the leather steering wheel, slammed his foot on the gas, and jerked the wheel to the right.

The Aston Martin's V12 engine roared to life.

The sports car shot the gap between two taxis and slammed violently into the side of the lead Escalade.

The sound of crunching metal and shattering fiberglass ripped through the quiet street.

The impact sent the lead SUV skidding sideways. The driver slammed on the brakes. The tires shrieked against the wet pavement, sending up a spray of dirty water.

The entire convoy was forced into a violent, emergency stop.

Inside the middle Escalade, Fidel Vaughan was thrown forward against his seatbelt.

The sudden, violent jolt sent a shockwave of pure agony straight into his brain.

Fidel let out a low, guttural groan. He grabbed his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. The pain was blinding, a white-hot spike driving through his left eye.

The temperature inside the SUV seemed to drop ten degrees as Fidel's murderous rage flooded the cabin.

Outside, the doors of the front and rear Escalades flew open.

Six massive bodyguards in black suits poured out into the rain. They drew suppressed Glock pistols from their shoulder holsters, aiming the black muzzles directly at the Aston Martin.

The Aston Martin's gull-wing door slowly swung upward.

Eleanora stepped out.

Her black tactical coat caught the wind. Her high heels clicked sharply against the wet pavement.

The rain hit her face, but she didn't blink. She stared down the barrels of six loaded guns with absolute, chilling indifference.

She walked straight toward the middle Escalade.

The lead bodyguard stepped into her path, raising his gun to her chest. "Stop right there."

Devonte materialized from the driver's side. He moved with terrifying speed, grabbing the bodyguard's wrist and twisting it downward with a sickening pop.

Eleanora didn't even break her stride.

She reached the rear passenger door of the middle SUV. She raised her hand, the sterile latex glove stark against the dark glass, and knocked twice on the bulletproof window.

The window hummed and rolled down exactly two inches.

Fidel's face appeared in the narrow gap. Half of his face was hidden in the shadows, but his eyes burned with a lethal, suppressed fury. He was breathing heavily, fighting the pain in his skull.

Their eyes locked.

Fidel saw a woman with a face that could stop traffic, but her eyes were as dead and cold as a glacier.

"I am Spectre," Eleanora said, her voice slicing through the sound of the rain. "I can cure your disease."

Fidel's jaw tightened. The name registered in his brain, but the searing pain in his head made him volatile. He hated being ambushed. He hated losing control.

He looked at her, his lip curling into a sneer of pure disdain.

"Throw her in the river," Fidel rasped to his men.

He didn't hesitate. He pressed the button on his armrest.

The thick glass window rolled up, sealing shut with a heavy thud, cutting Eleanora off completely.

The bodyguards immediately moved in, their hands reaching out to grab Eleanora's shoulders.

Devonte shifted his weight, dropping into a combat stance, ready to break bones.

Eleanora raised a single finger, signaling Devonte to stand down.

She didn't fight. She didn't yell.

She simply took one step back, a cold, mocking smile playing on her lips.

Inside the SUV, the driver shifted into drive. The massive engine revved, preparing to leave her standing in the rain.