The smell of rubbing alcohol hit her like a slap. They had driven through the night—four hours from D.C. to the South Fork, Chloe gripping the wheel while Johana stared at her phone, willing it to ring. By the time they pulled into the Southampton Hospital parking lot, the first gray light of dawn was bleeding into the sky. Johana stopped dead in the doorway of the ER, her chest heaving.
Dalton's eyes locked onto hers. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in them-surprise, maybe. But it was gone instantly, replaced by that same cold, hard mask he wore in the driveway.
Kamren Hubbard stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. He walked toward her, his hand extended. "Miss Neal. I'm Kamren. We spoke on the phone."
Johana ignored his hand. She looked past him, at the other men in the room. One of them was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear. He was tall, with slicked-back hair and an open collar. Zane Croft.
"...I don't care about the optics," Zane was hissing into the phone, his back half-turned. "Just handle it. I want a full-spectrum sweep. No digital ghosts, you understand?"
Johana's blood ran cold. She stepped around Kamren and confronted Zane. "What did you do to her?"
Zane glanced at her, annoyed. "Who the hell are you?"
"Where is Hazelle?" Johana demanded, her voice rising. "What did you do?"
Kamren stepped in, his hand lightly touching her elbow. "Miss Neal, please. Lower your voice. The doctors are working."
"Don't touch me!" Johana yanked her arm away. She pointed at Zane. "I heard him. He's talking about a digital sweep. You're covering something up."
The waiting room went quiet. A nurse at the station looked up, frowning.
Dalton stood up. He moved slowly, his presence commanding the space. He walked over until he was standing right in front of Johana, looking down at her.
"This is a hospital," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Not a courtroom. Making a scene won't help your friend."
"Help her?" Johana's voice cracked. "You people did this to her. You're destroying evidence."
"We are ensuring her privacy," Dalton said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Unlike you, we are trying to keep this out of the news."
Before Johana could scream at him, the ER door swung open. A young man in a rumpled suit hurried in, followed by a woman carrying a briefcase.
The man in the suit walked straight to Dalton. "Mr. Black. We've retained Dr. Feldman. He's the best trauma specialist on the East Coast. He's been consulted via teleconference and has already arranged for Miss Olson's immediate transfer to a private suite at a facility upstate,where he will personally oversee her case."
Dalton nodded once. "And the hospital?"
"Taken care of," the assistant said. "No records will leak. Mr. Croft's team is handling the digital footprint as we speak."
Johana listened in horror. It was all true. They were erasing the night. They were making Hazelle disappear.
"You're monsters," she whispered.
Zane Croft hung up his phone and sneered at her. "Listen, sweetheart, you don't know who you're dealing with. Back off."
Dalton's head snapped toward Zane. One look. Just one icy glare. Zane's jaw tightened. He shot a look back that was half defiance, half grudging respect, before turning away and muttering under his breath.
Dalton turned back to Johana. "We are providing your friend with the best medical care money can buy. If you care about her at all, you will let us do our jobs."
His words were logical. His tone was infuriating. He was treating her like a problem to be managed.
The door to the treatment rooms opened. A nurse stepped out, holding a clipboard. "Family of Hazelle Olson?"
"I'm here," Johana said, pushing past Dalton. "How is she?"
The nurse looked at her sympathetically. "She's been sedated. She was highly agitated. The doctor will come out to speak with you shortly."
Johana's knees buckled. The adrenaline was crashing. She reached out for the wall, missing, and started to fall.
A hand caught her arm. Firm, warm, steadying her. Dalton.
She looked up at his hand on her skin, then up at his face. The disgust in her eyes was absolute.
She ripped her arm out of his grip. "Don't touch me."
She steadied herself against the wall, breathing hard. "I don't want your money. I don't want your doctors. I want the truth. And I will find out what you did to her."
Dalton let his hand drop to his side. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't defend himself. He didn't argue. He just watched her, his blue eyes dark and intense.
"Okay," he said quietly.
