Chapter 8 - The Son Outside My Door
Adrian’s hand shook.
Not from uncertainty.
From rage.
The hospital security officers kept their weapons trained on him, but Daniel Cross stood between Adrian and the nearest clear shot.
“Put it down,” Daniel said.
Adrian laughed.
“You spent five years hiding while my father played dead.”
“I spent five years collecting evidence.”
“Then you should know I don’t bluff.”
He aimed at the oxygen supply line beside the nurses’ station.
One bullet could trigger a fire.
Dr. Harris whispered, “We cannot let him shoot.”
I touched his sleeve.
Then pointed toward the phone.
Mara understood.
“Adrian,” she called.
He looked toward the sound coming from our room.
“Mara.”
“You wanted my attention. You have it.”
“I want the door open.”
“You want the original trust.”
He paused.
That pause confirmed it.
“The trust is not here,” she said.
“Then where?”
“With Richard.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“Where is he?”
“At Eleanor’s house.”
The truth was uncertain, but the distraction worked.
Daniel Cross shifted slightly, clearing the officers’ line of sight.
Adrian noticed.
He grabbed the disguised nurse and pulled her in front of him.
“Back up.”
The officers obeyed.
The nurse did not look frightened.
She looked angry.
“You said no hostages,” she whispered.
Adrian pressed the weapon beneath her chin.
“Plans change.”
She drove her heel down onto his foot.
Adrian’s grip loosened.
Daniel Cross lunged.
They collided against the nurses’ station.
The gun fired again.
Glass shattered.
The nurse dropped to the floor.
Security officers forced Adrian onto his stomach and restrained his wrists.
For the first time that night, he was physically contained.
But even with his face pressed against the tile, he smiled.
“You think this ends because I’m handcuffed?”
Daniel searched his coat.
He found a remote device.
A red light blinked.
Adrian’s smile widened.
“What did you activate?” Daniel demanded.
“Nothing.”
Daniel pressed the device.
A timer appeared.
Four minutes.
The bomb technician near the elevator shouted.
“The champagne bottle is active.”
The ICU floor erupted into controlled movement.
Patients had to be evacuated.
My condition made transportation dangerous, but remaining near an explosive device was worse.
Dr. Harris and the nurse unlocked the bed.
Adrian watched through the broken glass.
“Move her,” he said. “Her heart won’t survive the elevator.”
Dr. Harris looked at him with open disgust.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound realistic.”
They rolled me toward the service corridor.
Adrian called after us.
“Mom.”
I turned my head.
He smiled.
“You never asked who gave me access to your car.”
The mechanic was not enough.
Someone inside my household had provided schedules, keys, and security codes.
Someone I trusted.
Mara heard him.
“Who?”
Adrian looked toward the nurse pushing my bed.
Her hands stopped.
Every eye turned to her.
She stared at Adrian.
“No.”
He laughed.
“Tell them, Claire.”
The ICU nurse’s name was Claire Bennett.
She had been assigned to me immediately after admission.
Adrian continued.
“Your brother’s debt didn’t disappear by itself.”
Claire’s face drained of color.
Dr. Harris stepped away from her.
“You knew him?”
“I never touched her car.”
“But you gave them information.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“They said they only wanted her schedule.”
I stared at the woman who had adjusted my oxygen, held my hand, and listened to Adrian threaten me.
She whispered, “I didn’t know.”
The bomb timer reached two minutes.
Daniel ordered security to move Adrian with us.
Claire tried to continue pushing my bed.
Dr. Harris stopped her.
“Step away.”
She released the rail.
Then the monitor attached to my bed made a warning sound.
My IV pump had been reprogrammed.
A medication was entering my bloodstream at ten times the prescribed rate.
Claire looked at the screen.
“I didn’t do that.”
Adrian began laughing.
Dr. Harris clamped the line.
My vision darkened.
The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was Claire pulling a second phone from her pocket.
May you like
A message glowed on the screen.
IF ELEANOR SURVIVES, YOUR BROTHER DIES.
