THE AMBULANCE AT THE GATE

The SUV tore through the slick Chicago streets, rain hammering against the windshield.

Caleb sat in the passenger seat, his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Nora was asleep in the back, her head resting on my lap.

“You killed her brother,” I said softly, breaking the tense silence.

Caleb didn't look at me. “His name was Leo. He was an addict, heavily involved with a rival syndicate. He owed them a million dollars. They told him to pay up, or they’d take Anna.”

He turned his head. The streetlights illuminated the exhaustion etching his face.

“I offered to pay his debt. But Leo was paranoid. He broke into this house to steal from my safe. My guards caught him. He pulled a gun on Marcus.” Caleb exhaled a shaky breath. “I fired first. To protect my men. To protect my family.”

Answer one: Caleb wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He protected his own.

“And Anna found out,” I guessed.

“She found the security footage,” Caleb said, rubbing his temple as a tremor shook his arm. “She never forgave me. That’s when the 'headaches' started. That’s when Bell started coming around more often.”

Open two: If Anna had the footage, why use it to blackmail him now? Why wait three years?

“We're stopping at your mother’s apartment first,” Caleb told the driver. “I need to know what Bell forced her to make.”

We pulled up to the run-down brick building on the South Side. Caleb insisted on coming up with me, leaving four armed guards with the SUV to protect Nora.

I unlocked the apartment door. “Mom?”

No answer.

The apartment was pitch black. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. The power had been cut.

Caleb stepped in front of me, drawing a heavy pistol from his shoulder holster. He moved through the cramped living room with lethal grace.

“Clear,” he muttered, checking the kitchen.

I ran to my mother’s bedroom. The bed was empty. Her closet doors were open, clothes strewn across the floor.

“She’s gone,” I panicked, turning back to Caleb. “They took her.”

“Look at the table,” Caleb pointed his flashlight.

Sitting perfectly centered on the cheap dining table was a small, child’s drawing.

I recognized it instantly. I had seen it in Nora’s room earlier that week. It was a crayon drawing of Nora holding hands with a woman with dark brown hair.

But someone had used a thick red marker to cross out the woman’s face.

And underneath, written in bold, block letters, was a new message.

NORA OR THE PHARMACIST. YOUR CHOICE, NURSE.

My knees went weak. I gripped the back of a chair to stay upright. “They have my mother. They want me to trade Nora for her.”

“I will not let them take my daughter,” Caleb said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “And I will not let them kill your mother. We are going to the warehouse.”

He holstered his weapon. But as he turned toward the door, his right leg gave out.

He collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.

“Caleb!” I dropped beside him. His skin was pale, covered in a cold sweat. His pulse was racing, thready and weak.

The withdrawal.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, trying to push himself up. He couldn't. His arms shook violently. “I just need a minute.”

“You don't have a minute,” I said, opening my medical bag. “Bell was suppressing your central nervous system for months. Your body is going into shock without the chemical. If I don't stabilize you, your heart will stop before we reach the warehouse.”

“Do it,” he gasped.

I pulled a vial of epinephrine and a beta-blocker from my kit. I needed to balance his heart rate. I filled a syringe and pressed it against his shoulder.

“This is going to burn,” I warned him.

I pushed the plunger.

Caleb hissed in pain, his head falling back against the wall.

As his head tilted back, his shirt collar shifted. My flashlight beam caught something metallic catching the light on his neck.

I leaned closer.

Just beneath his jawline, hidden by his collar, was a tiny, fresh puncture mark.

It wasn't an injection site from Bell. It was a micro-tracker.

“Caleb,” I breathed, staring at the tiny metal pinhead embedded in his skin. “Who put your collar on this morning?”

Caleb’s eyes flew open, his breathing steadying as the medication kicked in.

“Marcus,” he whispered.

At that exact moment, the front door of the apartment slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked from the outside.