THE EMPTY HOSPITAL BED

“...you won’t marry me on Saturday.”

Vanessa’s voice echoed in the silent foyer.

Thirty-eight wealthy guests stared at her.

Luca didn’t flinch. He didn’t shout. He just looked at the woman he was supposed to marry in four days.

“Emma,” he said, not taking his eyes off his fiancée.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring the car around. The black SUV.”

Vanessa stepped into his path. “Luca, you can’t leave our engagement dinner. The mayor is sitting in the dining room.”

“Let him eat.”

Luca moved past her, his hand gently resting on Lucy’s shoulder to guide her forward.

I ran to the mudroom, grabbed my jacket, and pulled the keys from the valet board. Outside, the storm was tearing through the trees, the rain turning the driveway into a river. I pulled the heavy SUV up to the portico just as Luca and Lucy emerged.

He opened the back door for the little girl, then slid into the passenger seat.

“St. Vincent’s,” he said.

I put the car in drive. We tore through the iron gates, leaving the glowing mansion behind.

The ride was suffocatingly quiet. Lucy sat in the back, her small hands twisted together. Luca stared straight ahead, his jaw locked.

When we reached the emergency drop-off, Luca didn’t wait for me to park. He was out of the car in a second, lifting Lucy onto the curb. I parked in a loading zone and ran after them.

The emergency waiting room was chaotic, smelling of wet wool and antiseptic.

Marco’s guard was standing by the intake desk. He looked pale.

“Where is she?” Luca demanded.

“Room 412, Boss, but—”

Luca didn’t wait for the ‘but’. He pushed through the double doors, flashing a security badge I didn’t know he had. I stayed close, holding Lucy’s hand so she wouldn’t get lost in the rush of gurneys and shouting nurses.

We reached the fourth floor.

The door to 412 was wide open.

Luca stepped inside.

The bed was empty. The sheets were thrown back, stained with a single, terrifying smear of red.

Lucy let out a choked sob.

“Where is she?” Luca roared, spinning toward the hallway.

A young nurse flinched, dropping a clipboard. “She was right here! A doctor came to take her for a CT scan ten minutes ago.”

“Which doctor?”

“Dr. Evans. He had the chart.”

Luca pulled out his phone. “Marco. Lock down the hospital. Nobody leaves.”

I let go of Lucy’s hand for one second to step into the room. I don’t know why, but my eyes were drawn to the small plastic patient belongings bag shoved into the corner chair.

Inside was a blood-soaked gray coat.

I reached into the bag. The coat was heavy. I checked the pockets, looking for a phone, a wallet, anything.

My fingers brushed against stiff paper.

I pulled it out.

It was a small, laminated ticket. A baggage claim stub for the Union Station lockers.

But it wasn’t the ticket that made my blood run cold.

It was the handwriting on the back.

“Luca,” I whispered.

He turned around.

I held up the ticket. The handwriting was unmistakable. I had seen it every day on the grocery lists on our fridge.