Chapter 2 - The Hospital VigilThe private wing of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital was locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary.
By 2:00 a.m., I had replaced the regular security detail outside Room 412 with four of my most trusted enforcers—massive men in black coats who stood like stone pillars against the sterile white walls. Inside the private intensive care unit, Dr. Evelyn Vance, my personal physician, monitored the life support machines keeping Norah’s mother alive.
Her name, according to the temporary badge generated from a faded driver’s license found in her coat pocket, was Clara Hayes.
She lay pale and motionless beneath a blanket of white sheets, a breathing tube taped across her mouth, her forehead bruised and bandaged where she had taken a violent blow.
Down the hall, in the VIP recovery suite I had commandeered for her daughter, Norah was finally asleep. She had refused to let go of her battered, pink-stitched rabbit, clutching it even as a team of pediatric nurses examined her for frostbite and malnutrition.
I sat in a leather armchair beside Clara’s bed, the dim glow of the heart monitor casting rhythmic green pulses across my face.
The door clicked open softly. Vance stepped in, holding a metal clipboard.
“How is she?” I asked, not taking my eyes off Clara’s pale face.
“Physically, she’s suffering from severe exhaustion, hypothermia, and a mild concussion,” Vance reported in her low, clinical tone. “She won't regain consciousness for at least twenty-four hours, Gideon. But the blunt force trauma to the back of her head... it wasn't from a fall down stairs. Someone struck her with a heavy, blunt object. Professional work. Clean, efficient, and meant to kill.”
My jaw tightened until the bone ached. “And the hospital intake?”
“Clean on our end,” Vance replied, adjusting her glasses. “The desk nurse who processed her under an alias has already been quietly relocated to a secure facility in Florida for her own safety. If anyone from the city morgue or local precincts tries to cross-reference Clara’s admission, they’ll hit a digital brick wall.”
“Good.” I stood up, smoothing the cuffs of my dark shirt. “What about the black SUV from the park?”
“Vance traced the temporary plate registration through a dummy shell corporation tied to the Iron Syndicate—Viktor Vance’s crew down at the south docks,” Vance said, narrowing her eyes. “They’ve been trying to muscle into our real estate acquisitions along the riverfront for six months. If Clara witnessed something related to their smuggling operations... that explains why they’re hunting her.”
Viktor Vance. A lowlife who called himself a businessman while running drugs and extortion through shipping containers.
“He’s hunting a dying woman and a seven-year-old child over dock logistics?” I whispered, the rage inside me burning cold and absolute.
“Power makes men stupid, Gideon,” Vance noted grimly. “They don't know who Norah is. They just know she vanished from the apartment before their cleanup crew could sweep the scene.”
“They’re about to find out,” I said, walking toward the door.
As I stepped out into the quiet corridor, my secure satellite phone buzzed against my ribs.
I pulled it out and flipped the encrypted line open.
“Boss,” Salvatore’s voice growled through the speaker. “We’ve got movement. A three-man team from the Iron Syndicate just tried to bribe the night shift receptionist at the main entrance to get the patient registry for the fourth floor.”
“Did you let them in?” I asked smoothly.
“Not quite,” Salvatore chuckled darkly. “They’re currently tied up in the basement laundry room discussing the error of their ways with two of our boys. Want me to send them to the river?”
“No,” I replied, staring down the long, silent hospital corridor toward the room where little Norah was finally sleeping without fear. “Keep them breathing for now. Send a message to Viktor Vance.”
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“What kind of message?”
“Tell him that the little girl he’s looking for is under my roof. And if any of his men so much longer than breathe near my hospital again, I won't just take his docks. I’ll take his life.”
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