The confession hung in the damp air, instantly chilling the blood in Heidi's veins. The warehouse fire. Four years ago.
Heidi didn't panic. Her eyes went completely dead. She pressed the barrel of the Glock harder into Bobbie's eyeball, forcing his head back against the concrete.
"Who is The General?" she asked, her voice dropping to a terrifying, icy whisper.
Bobbie trembled violently. "I don't know his real name! I swear! I just poured the gasoline that night! Brigette wanted the original wife dead so she could steal the Page heirs! Please, if you want to ruin Brigette, I'm your best weapon!"
Heidi's stomach twisted. The General. Brigette wasn't working alone four years ago. There was a deeper rot.
Before she could interrogate him further, the piercing wail of police sirens shattered the night. The heavy thud of helicopter rotors shook the tin roof of the factory.
Blinding white searchlights swept through the broken windows, illuminating the dust in the air.
Heidi cursed under her breath. Christian's men had tracked her.
She couldn't let Christian find Bobbie. If Christian interrogated him, Brigette and The General would realize their past crimes were exposed, and her ultimate targets would scatter into the shadows before she could destroy them piece by piece.
Heidi flipped the gun. She slammed the heavy steel grip directly into Bobbie's temple. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped unconscious to the floor.
She turned and ran to the pillar. She grabbed Caleb and Seraphina. "Close your eyes. Don't look at the blood."
She dragged them toward a rusted iron grate she had spotted on the blueprints. She kicked it open and pulled the children down into the dark maintenance tunnels just as the front doors exploded inward.
A SWAT team flooded the factory, laser sights cutting through the dark.
A moment later, Christian walked through the shattered doors. He wore his black overcoat, flanked by his elite security detail.
His dark eyes scanned the room. He saw the empty metal chairs. He saw the massive pool of fresh blood on the concrete.
His assistant knelt next to Bobbie. "Sir. Suspect is unconscious. Gunshot wound to the wrist. Blunt force trauma to the head."
Christian walked closer. His expensive leather shoe crunched on something metallic.
He looked down. He picked up a 9mm brass casing. He rubbed his thumb over the scratches on the metal. Suppressor marks.
The Surgeon wasn't just a doctor. She was a trained killer. The violent contradiction didn't push him away; it ignited a dark, obsessive fire in his chest.
"Mr. Page," a bodyguard called out from the corner. "Found this."
The guard handed Christian a tiny, black metal device. It was Caleb's SOS transmitter. Engraved on the back was a microscopic letter C.
Christian stared at the device. The metal was cold in his palm.
Suddenly, a memory slammed into his brain like a freight train. The blurry ultrasound photo from four years ago. The way the woman in the garage felt in his arms. The way the little girl at the airport had looked at him.
His heart started to hammer against his ribs. A wild, impossible theory clawed its way up his throat.
What if she didn't die? Whose children were those?
Christian turned his head, staring at the open grate leading into the tunnels. He could almost feel her ghost slipping away in the dark.
He dropped the brass casing and the transmitter into a plastic evidence bag. He handed it to his head of intelligence.
"Extract the DNA and fingerprints from this device," Christian ordered. His voice was a lethal, vibrating hum. "Run them through every database we have access to. I want to know who this child is. And run a facial recognition scan on the mother against all global records, cross-reference with any known associates of the Page family from four to five years ago. If anyone leaks this, I will bury them."
The wind howled through the broken factory windows, whipping Christian's coat around his legs. He stood in the blood-soaked room, his eyes burning with absolute certainty.
The game of hide and seek was over.
