Chapter 8 - THE FOX IN HIS HAND
Garrett locked the door.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His shirt beneath the security jacket was stained with sweat.
“You made this difficult.”
I stared at the stuffed fox.
“Where is Rose?”
His mouth tightened.
“So you know.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe for now.”
He raised the gun when Mateo shifted near the window.
“Stay still.”
Mateo froze.
Dr. Bennett stood beside the fetal monitor.
Garrett looked at her.
“Remove the IV.”
“No.”
He pointed the gun toward her chest.
“Now.”
I pulled the line free myself.
Blood spotted the sheet.
Garrett gestured toward the wheelchair.
“You’re leaving with me.”
“My arm needs surgery.”
“You’ll survive.”
“And the baby?”
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
“That depends on you.”
Mateo’s hands curled at his sides.
Garrett noticed.
“You think you saved her?”
Mateo said nothing.
“You only delayed the procedure.”
“What procedure?” I asked.
Garrett smiled without warmth.
“The company needs a viable tissue sample at birth.”
“She is a baby.”
“She is proof of concept.”
My stomach turned.
“You married me to breed a test subject.”
“I married you because I was told to.”
His honesty hurt more than another lie.
“Did you ever love me?”
He looked away.
That was enough.
A phone rang inside his pocket.
My father’s voice came through the speaker.
“Let her go.”
Garrett’s face hardened.
“Bring Rose.”
“No.”
“Then Elena dies.”
I leaned forward.
“Dad, don’t.”
Garrett struck the side of my wheelchair with the gun.
“Quiet.”
My baby kicked beneath my palm.
My father spoke again.
“You need Elena alive.”
“Only until delivery.”
Dr. Bennett’s face changed.
Garrett noticed too late.
Mateo moved.
He slammed a rolling tray into Garrett’s arm.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Dr. Bennett pulled me backward.
Garrett punched Mateo across the jaw.
Mateo staggered, then drove his shoulder into Garrett’s chest.
They crashed against the wall.
The stuffed fox fell.
Something metallic slid from inside it.
A small flash drive.
Agent Brooks burst through the door with Mercer and security officers.
Garrett grabbed my wheelchair and yanked it between himself and the agents.
Pain tore through my arm.
“Back up!” he shouted.
Brooks aimed her weapon.
“Release her.”
Garrett pressed the gun against my neck.
“You don’t know what’s on that drive.”
Mateo lay on one knee, blood running from his lip.
He looked at the flash drive.
Then at me.
My good foot was inches from it.
I kicked it beneath the hospital bed.
Garrett saw.
His face twisted.
He shoved me toward the agents and lunged for the drive.
Mercer tackled him.
The gun skidded across the floor.
Brooks cuffed Garrett while he screamed my name.
Not with love.
With hatred.
As they dragged him away, he looked back.
“Rose isn’t your daughter anymore.”
I picked up the stuffed fox.
Inside its torn seam, I found a tiny folded photograph.
Rose stood beside my father at the lake house.
Behind them, reflected in a window, was my mother.
May you like
She was not in custody.
She was holding a knife.
