Chapter 6 - The Red Dot
The light blue glow of the phone screen illuminated the dashboard of the truck, casting harsh shadows across my face and turning Eleanor’s eyes into dark, unreadable hollows.
That single red dot resting squarely against my daughter’s hospital pillow felt like a physical blow to my chest.
“Lucas?” Eleanor whispered, her voice tightening as she leaned across the center console. She saw the screen, and the color drained instantly from her cheeks. “That... that was taken from inside the hospital. How? We left the state troopers guarding the ward!”
“They didn't just bypass the guards,” I said, my voice dropping into a chilling, absolute stillness that I hadn't used since my final tour in Helmand. “They have an inside line. Someone on the medical staff or the evening security detail is on Victor’s payroll.”
I didn't hesitate. I dropped the truck into gear, spun the wheel hard onto the wet asphalt, and slammed my foot down on the accelerator. The tires shrieked against the pavement, spraying gravel as we tore out of the pier parking lot toward the county hospital.
My phone buzzed again in my hand. Another text.
“Nice ledger, Sergeant. But you left the front door wide open. Turn around and hand over the flash drive at the North Pier warehouse in ten minutes, or the next dot isn't hitting her pillow.”
I glanced over at Eleanor. She had already racked the slide of her Sig Sauer again, her hands completely steady, her jaw set with the fierce, protective fury of an emergency nurse turned soldier’s wife.
“Don't answer them,” Eleanor said, her voice hard as iron. “We call Marcus right now. We tell him to lock down every exit in that hospital.”
“No,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the rain-slicked highway cutting through the dark harbor mist. “If we call local police dispatch, the corrupt insider inside that hospital hears the radio traffic before the patrol cars even cross the parking lot. They’ll panic and trigger the sniper before we can clear the stairwell.”
“Then what do we do?” she asked, looking straight at me.
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“We go in through the service bay,” I said, shifting gears as the hospital’s brick facade loomed ahead through the fog. “Just like we did at the warehouse. Except this time, I’m not negotiating.”
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