Chapter 4 - A Child's Drawing On The Pillow
I couldn't breathe.
I stared at the screen, the image of my son burning into my retinas. Noah was wearing the blue baseball t-shirt I had bought him last week.
This picture was taken tonight.
While I was standing in this room.
“Claire?” Adrian asked, noticing my face. “What is it?”
I couldn't speak. I shoved the phone toward him.
Adrian looked at the screen. The anger that had been simmering in his eyes instantly sharpened into lethal focus.
“Daniel,” Adrian growled, turning toward his brother, who was still pinned against the doorframe. “Did you do this?”
Daniel laughed, spitting blood onto the linoleum.
“I don't care about a nurse’s kid,” Daniel sneered. “This is Vivienne. She has people on the outside. She told you, Adrian. She has all the leverage.”
I backed away from the bed.
I had spent three years paying off debt, working night shifts, missing my son’s baseball games just to keep a roof over his head.
I was not going to lose him to a billionaire’s war.
“I have to go,” I choked out, grabbing my jacket from the chair.
“Claire, stop,” Adrian said, grabbing my arm. His grip was firm but gentle. “If you walk out that door alone, they will use you to finish my father. Then they will kill you both.”
“They are in my house!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. “My mother is disabled! My son is fourteen! I have to go!”
Adrian looked at me. He didn't offer empty comforts.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. He dialed a number from memory.
“Marcus,” Adrian said into the receiver. “I have a priority one at—” He looked at me.
“421 West Elm,” I whispered. “Apartment 3B.”
“421 West Elm, 3B,” Adrian repeated. “Extract a teenager named Noah and an elderly woman. Lethal force authorized. Do not fail.”
He hung up.
“Marcus is my personal security,” Adrian said, looking directly into my eyes. “He is ex-special forces. He is three blocks from your apartment. He will get them out.”
I trembled, staring at the man who had just mobilized an army for a nurse he barely knew.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because you saved my father,” Adrian said. “Even after you found out what he did. You chose to save a life. I am choosing to save yours.”
He turned to Daniel.
“We are moving Dad to my private clinic in the Hamptons,” Adrian said.
“You can't move him,” Daniel said. “He’s too weak.”
“He’s dead if he stays,” Adrian replied.
He looked at me.
“I need a nurse I can trust, Claire. I will pay you triple your salary for the year. Just get him in the car.”
I looked at Thomas. He was stable, but fragile.
I looked at Adrian. I had no other choice.
“We need portable oxygen,” I said, shifting back into professional mode. “And an automated IV pump.”
“Take whatever you need,” Adrian ordered.
We worked fast. We unhooked Thomas from the wall monitors and transferred him to a portable transport stretcher.
Daniel watched us, a cruel smirk on his face.
“You're just delaying the inevitable, brother,” Daniel said.
Adrian didn't reply. He simply struck Daniel across the jaw, knocking him out cold on the hospital floor.
We pushed the stretcher out into the service elevator.
The hospital was eerily quiet. Vivienne’s people had clearly cleared the floor.
We reached the underground parking garage.
A massive, armored black SUV was waiting, the engine idling.
Two men in tactical gear helped load Thomas into the back. I climbed in beside him, hooking up the portable oxygen tank.
Adrian climbed into the front passenger seat.
As the SUV sped out into the rainy Chicago night, my phone buzzed again.
It was an unknown number, but different this time.
“Target secured. Heading to safehouse. Noah is safe.”
I let out a sob of relief, dropping my head into my hands.
Adrian looked back at me from the front seat.
“They’re safe?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good.”
We drove in silence for an hour, leaving the city behind.
When we arrived at the massive, gated estate in the Hamptons, Marcus was waiting at the front door.
I jumped out of the SUV before it even fully stopped.
I ran up the steps.
Noah was sitting in the grand foyer, wrapped in a blanket, my mother sitting beside him in her wheelchair.
“Mom!” Noah cried, running into my arms.
I crushed him to my chest, burying my face in his hair.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I cried. “I’m so sorry.”
Noah pulled back. He wasn't crying. He was holding something.
“Mom,” Noah said, his voice shaking. “The man who came into our apartment... before Marcus chased him away... he left this on my pillow.”
Noah handed me a piece of paper.
It was a child's drawing.
Crayon on construction paper.
It was a drawing of a hospital bed.
But the person in the bed wasn't Thomas Vale.
It was me.
And standing over the bed, holding a syringe, was a stick figure with bright red hair.
I froze.
Vivienne didn't have red hair. She was blonde.
I looked at Adrian, who was standing behind me, staring at the drawing.
“Adrian,” I whispered. “Who has red hair?”
Adrian’s face drained of color.
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“My sister,” Adrian said. “Sarah. She died in a car crash ten years ago.”
TITLE: The Coat In The Hidden Closet
