Chapter 3
The swinging door creaked open with agonizing slowness. Leo stepped into the treatment room, his broad shoulders almost filling the narrow space between the exam table and the supply cabinets. His eyes immediately locked onto the silver charm bracelet resting in Clara’s palm. For a terrifying second, Clara thought he might lunge across the steel surface. Instead, he simply reached out, his calloused fingers gently taking the bracelet from her hand and slipping it into his pocket with chilling methodicalness.
“You shouldn't look at things that don’t belong to you, Clara,” Leo said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of the jagged panic that had marked his entrance into the clinic.
Clara backed up until her hips hit the edge of the sink, her lab coat rustling sharply in the quiet room. “Leo, where is Maya? What have you done? The police will be wondering where the children are. People notice when a twelve-year-old girl vanishes from her own front porch.”
“Nobody is looking for her yet,” Leo replied quietly, leaning his weight against the edge of the table near the blue carrier. “And nobody will be, if you keep your professional discretion. The money on that counter is more than this clinic makes in three months. Take it. Buy your new surgical lights. Fix the roof. Just forget you opened this box.”
“You’re talking about your own daughter,” Clara whispered, horror washing over her in cold waves. She looked past Leo’s shoulder through the small wired-glass window of the door, catching a fleeting glimpse of Toby sitting alone in the waiting room, his small shoulders hunched in deep despair. “How can you stand there and bargain with me while your son is bleeding and your daughter is—God knows where?”
“Toby fell,” Leo said flatly, his gaze hardening like tempered steel. “He tried to stop something he shouldn't have seen. Children get clumsy when they panic. But he’s alive. Maya is… confused. And I am trying to keep this family from tearing itself completely apart. You have a choice, Clara. You can take the money and treat the kitten, or we can have a very different conversation about what happens to a lonely veterinarian who sticks her nose into matters of domestic privacy.”
The threat hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Leo wasn't just a desperate father; he was a desperate man backed into a corner of his own making, dangerous and unpredictable. Clara swallowed hard, forcing her trembling hands into the deep pockets of her lab coat to hide their violent shaking.
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“The kitten needs antibiotics,” she managed to say, her voice miraculously steady. “Its paws are chemical burns. Or worse.”
“Then treat it,” Leo said, turning toward the door. “And then you’re going to help me clean up the waiting room. Toby tracked mud inside. Red mud.”
