Chapter 5 - THE HUNTED TRUTH
The unmarked cruiser tore through the empty streets of the city, the siren wailing like a banshee, the flashing red and blue lights painting the storefronts in chaotic strobes. Detective Miller was driving like a man possessed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, taking corners at terrifying speeds.
"I need every available unit to St. Vincent Medical Center right now!" Miller roared into his radio. "Lock down the maternity ward! Secure the perimeter! The suspect is armed, dangerous, and has breached his release conditions!"
I sat in the passenger seat, my phone pressed to my ear, praying for Dr. Harrison or the nurse to pick up. The line just rang and rang.
"Why isn't anyone answering?!" I panicked, my voice cracking. "He's going to kill her, Detective. He knows we have the evidence. He knows his life is over. He has nothing left to lose."
"He won't get to her," Miller said through gritted teeth. "I have two armed uniforms outside her door."
But Victor was a man who planned for every contingency. He knew the layout of that hospital. He had donated heavily to its construction fund five years ago; his name was on a plaque in the lobby. He knew the service elevators, the blind spots in the camera network, the fire exits that didn't trigger immediate alarms.
We arrived at the hospital in under ten minutes, the cruiser screeching to a halt near the emergency room entrance. Several black-and-white patrol cars were already parked haphazardly across the curb. Officers were sprinting through the sliding glass doors with their weapons drawn.
I didn't wait for Miller. I threw my door open and ran into the hospital, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might shatter them.
The lobby was in chaos. Patients and nurses were huddled behind the reception desks. The alarms were blaring, a high-pitched, rhythmic siren that signaled a violent intruder.
"Third floor! Maternity and ICU!" Miller yelled, catching up to me and grabbing my arm to keep me behind him. "Stay behind me, Mrs. Bennett. Do not step in front of my weapon."
We hit the stairwell, bypassing the slow elevators, and sprinted up three flights of concrete stairs. My lungs burned, but adrenaline fueled my legs.
When we burst through the fire doors onto the third floor, the scene was a nightmare. The two police officers who had been stationed outside Clara's door were unconscious on the floor. One of them had a bloody gash on his forehead; the other had been tased. Victor hadn't come with a gun; he had come with a heavy, tactical stun baton, utilizing the element of surprise against men who expected a wealthy architect, not a trained predator.
Clara's hospital room door was wide open.
"Clara!" I screamed, pushing past Miller, entirely forgetting his warning.
I ran into the room. The bed was empty. The IV pole had been knocked over, the saline bag ruptured, dripping fluid onto the linoleum. The window was open, but we were on the third floor—they couldn't have gone out that way.
"He took her," I choked out, a wave of sheer, paralyzing terror washing over me. "He took my baby."
Miller was rapidly checking the unconscious officers, calling for medics on his radio. "He can't have gotten far. She can barely walk, and she's seven months pregnant. He's dragging dead weight. He must be heading for the roof or the subterranean parking garage."
"The garage," a weak voice groaned.
I looked down. Dr. Harrison was slumped behind the privacy curtain, clutching his ribs. His white coat was torn, and his glasses were broken on the floor.
"He came in through the service corridor," Dr. Harrison gasped, wincing in pain. "He hit the officers from behind. I tried to stop him... he threw me into the wall. He had a syringe. He injected Clara with something to sedate her. He threw her over his shoulder and went toward the freight elevator. It leads directly to the underground loading dock."
"I'm going down," Miller said, racking the slide of his service weapon. "Mrs. Bennett, stay here with the doctor."
"Like hell I will," I snarled, picking up a heavy metal oxygen tank wrench from the bedside table. "That's my daughter."
Miller didn't have time to argue. He nodded once, and we sprinted toward the freight elevator. The digital floor indicator showed the car was currently on Level B2—the deepest level of the parking structure, reserved for maintenance vehicles and medical waste disposal.
We bounded down the service stairs, the heavy metal doors echoing with our frantic footsteps.
When we reached Level B2, the air was thick with the smell of exhaust and damp concrete. The subterranean garage was dimly lit, shadows stretching long and menacing between the massive concrete pillars.
"Victor!" Miller’s voice boomed through the cavernous space, his gun raised, sweeping the area. "It’s over! The building is surrounded! Put her down and put your hands in the air!"
Silence answered us.
Then, the sharp screech of tires peeling against concrete echoed from the far end of the garage. A black SUV, its headlights off, surged from behind a dumpster, accelerating violently toward the exit ramp.
"He’s making a run for it!" Miller shouted, raising his weapon.
But before Miller could fire, a figure stumbled out from behind a concrete pillar, directly into the path of the speeding SUV.
It was Clara.
She was swaying on her feet, fighting the effects of whatever sedative Victor had injected her with. She had managed to break free from him before he could load her into the car.
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Victor slammed on the brakes, the heavy vehicle skidding to a halt mere inches from Clara. He threw the driver's side door open and stepped out, his face twisted into a mask of absolute, homicidal fury. He didn't care about the police anymore. He only cared about destroying the woman who had finally defied him.
He lunged toward Clara, his hands outstretched, aiming for her throat.
