Chapter 8 - The Empty Bed
Adrian’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the live video feed on his phone screen. The hospital bed in trauma room four was stripped down to the bare mattress. The IV poles were gone, the heart monitors were unplugged, and the room was completely dark.
"Clara!" Adrian screamed, throwing open the passenger door of the cruiser.
"Miller, wait, it could be a trap!" Vance shouted, grabbing for Adrian's jacket, but he was already out on the pavement, sprinting back toward the hospital entrance.
His lungs burned with every breath as he pushed through the automatic sliding doors, flashing past the security desk without breaking stride. He didn't wait for the elevator; he slammed his shoulder into the heavy metal door of the stairwell and took the steps three at a time, his heavy boots clattering loudly against the concrete.
When he finally burst onto the fourth-floor corridor, the hallway was eerily silent. The nurses' station was completely deserted, rolling carts abandoned halfway down the hall with paperwork fluttering gently in the draft from an open window.
Adrian raced to room four and threw the door open, slamming it against the wall.
The room was freezing cold. The window was smashed inward, shards of glass scattered across the sterile floor just like the windshield of the SUV earlier that day.
"Clara! Lily!" Adrian yelled, his voice echoing off the bare walls.
There was no answer. He fell to his knees beside the empty bed, his fingers brushing against a small piece of white fabric caught on the splintered window frame. It was a torn scrap from Clara’s white blazer.
A heavy shadow fell across the doorway. Adrian spun around, bracing for a fight, but found Detective Vance standing there with his gun drawn, breathing heavily.
"They're gone," Adrian whispered, holding up the torn piece of fabric. "Someone took them."
"Look at the floor," Vance said, pointing his flashlight toward the corner of the room near the bathroom door.
Adrian crawled over and picked up a heavy gold signet ring resting in a small pool of dark, fresh blood. It was a ring he recognized instantly—the exact ring worn by Marcus Sterling, the billionaire owner of the shipping yard where Adrian used to work.
"Sterling was here," Adrian growled, his fists clenching so hard his freshly torn knuckles split open again, dripping blood onto the linoleum floor.
"If Sterling has your wife and daughter, he's not taking them for ransom," Vance said grimly, stepping closer to inspect the ring. "He's taking them to tie up loose ends."
May you like
Suddenly, the hospital's emergency generator kicked on with a loud groan, and the wall-mounted television screen in the room abruptly flickered to life, broadcasting a live security feed of Sterling’s private airfield across town.
---
