Chapter 3 - Blood in the Desert SandBack in the main emergency department, the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating, high-pitched whine. Police officers in heavy tactical vests were questioning nurses, while Beatrice Gable sat rigidly at the reception desk, her hands trembling over her keyboard as she tried to wipe the security logs clean.
"Where is Dr. Hale?" Detective Thomas Vance demanded, slamming a heavy hand down onto the Formica counter. Vance was a veteran homicide detective with Maricopa County, a man who had spent ten years trying to put Dominic Russo behind bars and believed every word of the underworld rumor mill. "A dozen armed men in black SUVs just broke our perimeter, and your chief surgeon vanishes into thin air right after calling time of death on the biggest fish in Arizona? Talk, Beatrice. Or I’ll have you booked as an accessory to conspiracy."
Beatrice swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the empty hallway. "I—I don't know, Detective. Dr. Hale was shaken up. He went to wash the blood off."
"Blood washes off, Beatrice. Bullets don't." Vance leaned in close, his eyes narrowed. "Dominic Russo doesn't just die of three clean shots to the torso unless someone wanted him dead on that table. Who was in that room when he flatlined?"
"Just Dr. Hale, me, and... and Cara Jennings."
Vance’s expression darkened instantly. "The rookie? The girl who started three months ago?" He straightened up and barked at his subordinates. "Lock down the entire hospital. Nobody leaves. Search every floor, every closet, every air duct. If Dominic Russo’s body isn’t in the morgue, someone’s going to prison for murder—or treason."
Meanwhile, deep in the condemned wing of Room 412, the air grew ice-cold.
Cara stood frozen by the door, her ear pressed against the cracked wood. Footsteps were approaching—heavy, deliberate, and dragging slightly.
"That's not Lorenzo," Dominic whispered from the cot, his hand sliding beneath his pillow, where a heavy, nickel-plated Glock he must have smuggled in his jacket was miraculously still tucked. "That’s Victor’s limp. Someone let him in through the service elevator."
"Vincent?" Cara whispered back, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I thought he went to secure the businesses from Lorenzo!"
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"Vincent didn't go to secure anything," Dominic said, a dark, venomous shadow crossing his face. "He went to clear the board. My cousin Lorenzo didn't order this hit, Jennings. Vincent did. He wanted my empire, and he used a rookie nurse and a terrified surgeon to make his murder look like a botched hit."
The doorknob of Room 412 slowly turned.
