Chapter 4 - The Ghost in the Glass
Rain whipped through the jagged opening where the window had been, spraying cold water across the delivery bed. The wind howled, tossing Clara’s damp hair as she huddled over the infant.
The figure who had breached the window was small, agile, and moved with impossible speed. Instead of reaching for a weapon, the intruder drew a compact stun baton, striking the mercenary wrestling Marcus squarely between the shoulder blades. High-voltage electricity crackled with a violent blue snap, and the mercenary convulsed once before going entirely limp on the floor.
Marcus scrambled backward, breathing heavily, raising his fists in the flickering crimson light. "Stay back!"
The intruder reached up with gloved hands, pulling off the ballistic helmet and heavy rain goggles. A waterfall of soaked, dark braids spilled over the shoulders of a sleek tactical suit.
Clara gasped, her knuckles turning white against the bed sheets. Marcus froze, the air freezing in his throat.
Standing before them in the ruined, rain-swept room was Dr. Althea Sterling.
She had a jagged scar tracing from her left temple down to her collarbone, and her eyes were hardened with an exhaustion that went deeper than bone. But there was no mistaking her face. She was alive.
"Althea?" Marcus breathed, unable to process the phantom standing five feet away. "You were dead. The state coroner confirmed the dental records."
"A corpse bought with enough money can look like anyone, Marcus," Althea said, her voice raspy, tight with emotion. Her gaze shifted from Marcus to the bed, locking onto the bundle in Clara's arms. For a fraction of a second, the lethal operative dissolved, revealing a mother on the brink of shattering. "Is she... is she breathing?"
"She's fine," Clara stammered, tears mixing with the rain on her face. "She's healthy."
"She won't be if we stay here another ninety seconds," Althea said, her voice snapping back to razor-sharp authority. She holstered her baton and pulled two compact emergency respirators from her tactical vest, tossing one to Marcus. "The men who just breached this wing aren't mercenaries. They're Apex Bio-Sec. They've deployed aerosol neurotoxins on the third floor to wipe out the hospital staff and leave no witnesses to this recovery."
"What about Croft?" Marcus asked, pointing to the bleeding federal agent on the floor.
"Croft doesn't work for the Department of Justice," Althea said coldly, stepping toward the bed and extending her hands. "Croft was the broker who sold my lab coordinates eight months ago. Now give me my daughter, Clara. We have to run."
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Clara looked into Althea’s eyes, then down at the child she had carried, nurtured, and birthed through agonizing labor. Every fiber of her body screamed against parting with the newborn.
Before Clara could make a choice, the hall door swung open again, and a voice cold as dry ice echoed through the smoke: "Reunion cut short, Dr. Sterling."
