Chapter 7 - THE HOSPITAL OF GHOSTS
Mercy General had been abandoned for six years.
Broken windows reflected the Detroit skyline.
Graffiti covered the emergency entrance.
Claire stood beside me in the freezing parking lot, staring at the place where her old life had ended.
“This was where Daniel proposed to me,” she whispered.
Her fiancé.
The man Vane had murdered.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go inside.
We both knew she did.
Anthony remained in a surveillance van two blocks away with Tomas and six men.
The chip in my pocket was a copy.
The real one had already been duplicated and sent to three different attorneys with instructions to release everything if I failed to check in before sunrise.
Vane didn’t know that.
We entered through the old ambulance bay.
Emergency lights glowed inside.
Someone had restored limited power.
Claire’s breathing changed as we passed Trauma Room Four.
“That’s where I operated on him.”
I touched her shoulder.
She looked at me.
“Stay with me.”
“I am.”
We reached the surgical floor.
A single light burned at the end of the corridor.
Emma sat beneath it.
Tied to a chair.
Unhurt.
My heart nearly stopped anyway.
“Daddy!”
I moved.
Claire grabbed my coat.
“Wait.”
A laser dot appeared on Emma’s chest.
I stopped.
Malcolm Vane stepped from an operating theater.
“Touching reunion.”
“Let her go.”
“The chip.”
“First Emma.”
“No.”
Claire stepped forward.
“You wanted me too.”
Vane smiled.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“You know too much.”
“I knew a blood type and a genetic disorder.”
“And what disorder was that?”
Claire’s expression changed.
Then understanding dawned.
“Hemophilia.”
Vane said nothing.
Claire continued.
“You were bleeding uncontrollably from wounds that shouldn’t have been fatal.”
I looked at her.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because hemophilia has genetic markers.”
Vane’s face darkened.
Claire looked toward me.
“If Malcolm has hemophilia A, any biological male relative through the maternal line could carry related genetic evidence.”
I still didn’t understand.
Anthony’s voice came through my earpiece.
“I do.”
Vane looked around.
He couldn’t hear.
My father continued quietly.
“Malcolm has a son.”
Claire stared at Vane.
“Oh.”
Something clicked for her.
“Someone important.”
Vane’s mask finally cracked.
“Enough.”
Claire’s voice sharpened.
“You didn’t kill me because I could prove you were alive. You tried to kill me because the medical record could reveal your son.”
Vane raised his gun.
“Enough!”
Emma flinched.
I stepped forward.
“Point that at my daughter again and you won’t leave this building.”
Vane laughed.
“Still threatening people while I hold every advantage.”
“You don’t.”
His eyes narrowed.
“The chip is copied.”
Silence.
“If I disappear tonight, everything Isabella collected goes public.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
Vane’s hand tightened.
I saw panic.
Real panic.
“What does the chip say about your son?” I asked.
Vane looked toward Claire.
That was answer enough.
Claire whispered, “Marcus.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Marcus wasn’t your employee,” Vane said coldly. “He was my son.”
The betrayal rearranged itself.
Marcus hadn’t simply infiltrated my organization for money.
He had been raised for it.
My father’s enemy planted his own blood inside my family.
“Then why did you kill him?”
Vane’s face went blank.
“He became sentimental.”
Marcus had saved Emma after the bombing.
Maybe not from kindness.
Maybe eventually it became kindness.
“He disobeyed your order,” I said.
“He failed to retrieve the locket.”
“You murdered your own son.”
“Men who fail me become liabilities.”
Claire looked disgusted.
“Daniel died for this?”
Vane smiled slightly.
“Daniel died because you screamed too loudly.”
Claire moved before I could stop her.
She lunged.
A shot exploded.
I tackled Vane’s arm upward.
The bullet hit the ceiling.
Emma screamed.
Two gunmen appeared behind us.
Then the windows shattered.
Tomas’s team entered.
Chaos exploded.
Claire ran to Emma.
I fought Vane.
He was older but vicious.
He drove a knife into my side.
Pain burned through me.
I hit him.
Again.
Again.
He stumbled into the operating room.
The same room where Claire had saved his life eight years ago.
He laughed when he saw the surgical table.
“Appropriate.”
I pressed one hand against my bleeding side.
“It is.”
He lifted the knife.
Claire appeared behind him.
“Malcolm.”
He turned.
She held a defibrillator paddle in each hand.
His eyes widened.
She slammed one into his shoulder.
Electricity cracked.
Vane collapsed.
I stared.
Claire looked at the paddles.
“They still work.”
Despite the blood pouring through my shirt, I laughed.
Then my knees gave out.
Claire dropped beside me.
“Roman.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been stabbed.”
“Minor detail.”
“Stop talking.”
Emma appeared beside her.
“Daddy?”
I looked at my little girl.
She was crying.
“I’m okay, baby.”
“No dying.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Claire pressed both hands against my wound.
“Roman, stay awake.”
Her voice shook.
For the first time since I met her, Claire was scared.
Not for herself.
For me.
“You’re bossy,” I whispered.
“Stay awake.”
“Very bossy.”
“Roman.”
Her eyes filled.
I touched her face.
That was the moment I knew.
Not when she saved Ava.
Not when Emma first spoke.
Not when she pulled a knife on an intruder.
Here.
In the wreckage of the hospital where her old life ended.
I knew I loved her.
Which was inconvenient, because I was bleeding badly enough that the ceiling had begun moving.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“If I pass out—”
“You’re not.”
“Tell my daughters—”
She slapped my cheek lightly.
“No goodbye speeches.”
“Violent maid.”
“Stay awake.”
I smiled.
Then everything went black.
I woke fourteen hours later in a private Detroit hospital.
Ava sat beside my bed.
Harper slept in a chair.
Emma was curled at my feet.
And Claire stood by the window.
“You survived,” she said.
“Disappointed?”
“Extremely.”
I smiled.
“Vane?”
“In federal custody.”
“Anthony?”
“Talking to prosecutors.”
“The files?”
“Released.”
I closed my eyes.
It was over.
Almost.
Claire turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped.
“Roman.”
Something in her face scared me more than the knife had.
“What?”
“Vane is finished. Your daughters are safe.”
“Yes.”
“And I did what I came here to do.”
My smile disappeared.
May you like
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s time for me to leave.”
