Chapter 8
We ran.
Damien reached the pediatric wing first.
I had never seen a man that large move so quietly and so fast.
Agents flooded the hallway behind us.
The twins’ room door was open.
The nurse inside was crying.
The bassinets were empty.
For one second, I heard nothing.
No alarms.
No voices.
No heartbeat.
Then Rosa screamed.
Damien grabbed the doorframe like the building had tilted.
I pushed past him.
Not because I was brave.
Because panic had no room in me anymore.
Panic wastes seconds.
Seconds hurt children.
“Lock down the hospital,” Agent Weiss shouted.
I scanned the room.
Blankets gone.
Monitors unplugged carefully.
No shattered glass.
No struggle.
Whoever took them wanted silence.
I saw something on the floor.
A pacifier.
Not theirs.
The clip was shaped like a red bird.
I picked it up with a tissue.
“Marco left this.”
Damien looked at it.
His face went dead.
“What is it?”
“From his program,” I said. “He used color charms to label patient groups.”
Sofia grabbed my arm.
“What does red mean?”
I swallowed.
“High response.”
Damien turned away, breathing hard.
I knew what he was imagining.
His sons as data.
His wife as an obstacle.
His family as an account to drain.
Agent Weiss got a radio call.
“Security has footage. East service elevator.”
We crowded into the security room.
The video showed an older woman in a gray coat pushing a laundry cart.
Her face was hidden.
A hospital badge hung at her chest.
Two bundles moved inside the cart.
Rosa sobbed.
Damien’s hand slammed onto the desk.
The guard rewound.
The woman turned slightly.
I froze.
I knew her.
Not from the hospital.
From my old life.
“Dr. Vale,” I whispered.
Agent Weiss looked at me.
“Who?”
“Dr. Helena Vale. Marco’s research partner. She signed the complaint that got me fired.”
The room sharpened.
“Where would she go?” Damien asked.
My mind raced.
“She hates exposure. She would want controlled equipment. Quiet. Somewhere with medical access.”
“The old clinic?” Sofia asked.
“No. Agents are there.”
Then I remembered Bianca’s video.
Marco keeps Isabella’s original medical file at the old Bellini clinic.
Original.
But Marco always kept copies.
“He had a second site,” I said. “A private therapy suite. Wealthy families. No signage. Near the river.”
Damien’s eyes locked on mine.
“Address.”
“I don’t know the exact one.”
“Think.”
His voice cracked.
Not command.
Begging.
I closed my eyes.
Years ago, Marco had taken me there once.
He had been charming then.
Proud.
He said the building had a view of the water and no one heard children cry during hard sessions because the train passed every twelve minutes.
Train.
Water.
Brick.
Blue elevator.
“Canal Street,” I said. “Old warehouse condos. Third floor. Blue elevator.”
Agent Weiss was already moving.
Damien followed.
This time she did not stop him.
Neither did I.
At the warehouse, agents cut the power first.
Then they breached the third floor.
I waited in the stairwell with Rosa and Sofia, shaking so hard my teeth hurt.
Damien had insisted I stay back.
For once, I did.
Then a baby cried.
One cry.
Thin.
Furious.
Alive.
Rosa collapsed against Sofia.
I ran before anyone told me not to.
The therapy suite was white and cold.
Too clean.
Dr. Vale was on the floor in cuffs, shouting about legal consent and emergency research.
Marco stood near the window with blood on his collar and Damien’s hand around his throat.
The twins were on a padded table, wrapped in blankets, screaming.
Beautiful screaming.
I went to them.
A medic checked them while I tapped the table.
One-two-three.
One-two-three.
Their cries steadied.
Damien released Marco only when Agent Weiss ordered him twice.
Marco laughed through swollen lips.
“You think this ends with me?”
Damien stepped close.
“No,” he said. “It ends with my sons growing up never knowing your name.”
Marco’s face changed.
That hurt him more than a threat.
On a side table, Agent Weiss found Isabella’s file.
And mine.
Photos.
Notes.
A copy of the report I had written.
Marco had kept everything.
Including a page titled:
Subject Hart remains liability. Eliminate if needed.
Damien looked at the page.
Then at me.
May you like
For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes that was not for his children.
It was for me.
