Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT EXTRACTION“He’s right about one thing, Chloe,” Luka said gently, turning back to face me. His tough, intimidating exterior melted away, replaced by an intense, protective warmth. “You can’t stay here. David’s corporate associates control this hospital’s administration board. By morning, they’ll try to seize your medical files, wipe the digital registry, and declare this birth certificate null and void.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” I whispered, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes and tracking down my cheeks. I looked down at my sleeping daughter, whose tiny chest rose and fell in peaceful ignorance of the nightmare surrounding us. “I don't have money. I don't have a home. David cleaned out our joint account yesterday.”
“You are going somewhere safe,” Luka answered, walking over to the bedside table and picking up a small, secure digital tablet. He tapped the screen twice, unlocking it with a biometric scan. “My team secured a private safehouse twenty miles outside the city limits three days ago—the moment our intelligence confirmed David was planning to abandon you here at the hospital to cover up his corporate tracks.”
“Three days ago?” I stared at him, bewildered. “You knew he was going to do this?”
“I’ve been watching David Vance for two years,” Luka replied grimly. “Ever since he infiltrated your father’s old research firm and helped bury the truth about formula M-17. He thought he married an ordinary, defenseless art teacher when he picked you out of college, Chloe. He had no idea you were the ultimate key to unlocking everything.”
Before I could ask another question, the hospital room’s overhead lights flickered violently twice, then died completely.
Emergency red backup lights clicked on, casting a bloody, crimson glow across the pale walls. Down the hallway, the low, muffled hum of security alarms began to wail.
“They’re early,” Luka muttered under his breath. His demeanor shifted instantly from gentle protector to tactical predator. He reached inside his black jacket and pulled out a sleek, encrypted satellite communicator. “Jax, status.”
A crisp, electronic voice crackled through the earpiece: “Boss, corporate security detail just breached the ground-floor loading dock. They’ve got local police on their payroll inbound. You’ve got less than ninety seconds before they lock down the maternity wing.”
“Understood. We’re moving now,” Luka commanded.
He didn’t wait for my permission. With swift, practiced gentleness, Luka scooped up my hospital blanket, wrapped my newborn daughter securely against his broad chest, and turned to me.
“Can you walk, Chloe, or do I carry you?”
May you like
“I can walk,” I said, a sudden surge of fierce, maternal adrenaline overriding every ounce of my physical exhaustion. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, slipped my feet into my slippers, and grabbed my coat.
“Stay directly behind my shoulder,” Luka instructed, pulling a sleek, matte-black sidearm from a holster beneath his jacket. “We’re heading out through the service stairwell.”
