“Or they have someone inside the hospital,” the agent said quietly. “Admissions, records, staff access.”
The words slid cold through Jack’s chest. Sarah Mitchell didn’t just have money. She had infrastructure. Reach. Time. He thought of Annie being admitted, of her name going into a system that dozens of people could touch. “Where is Annie?” he asked.
“Agent Chen is evacuating her to a secure location.”
The reassurance didn’t land. Jack had seen what Sarah Mitchell’s people were willing to do. The fact that they had breached a hospital told him this was no longer intimidation. This was execution.
His phone vibrated again. The agent read the screen, and the tightening of his jaw told Jack enough before he spoke.
“‘Room 314. We know exactly where you are.’”
Jack’s pulse spiked. “They’re here.”
The agent was already speaking into his radio, issuing rapid instructions. As he did, the sound rose through the hospital like a gathering storm—raised voices, the clipped echo of boots, the distant keening thread of alarms. Not panic. Movement. Direction.
Another transmission cut through the channel. “We’ve confirmed multiple armed individuals inside the building. They appear to be conducting a coordinated search.”
Jack pushed himself upright despite the tearing protest in his shoulder. “How many?”
“Unknown. But this isn’t containment. It’s a sweep.”
The words settled heavily. This wasn’t about silencing one witness anymore. Sarah Mitchell was willing to turn a hospital into a battlefield. Patients. Nurses. Families. All of them leverage.
“What about my parents?” Jack asked. “The ranch.”
The agent checked in, listening, then nodded once. “They’re secure. No activity reported.”
Relief came, sharp and brief, before resolution locked in around it. Annie was being moved. Eric was guarded. But the rest of the building was exposed. “I need out of this bed,” Jack said.
“Detective—”
“I’m the one person here who understands how these people operate,” Jack cut in. “I’ve been inside their patterns, their priorities. And this isn’t random. This is structured. Which means it has an objective.”
Before the agent could respond, another voice broke across the radio. “Confirmed at least six armed individuals. Floor-to-floor progression. They’re searching for specific targets.”
Specific. The word lodged in Jack’s chest. Annie. Eric. Himself.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, the agent angled the screen so he could see it.
Last chance. Give us the locket, and we’ll let the others live.
Jack stared at the message. It wasn’t just a threat. It was a negotiation. And negotiations meant uncertainty.
“Can you trace it?” he asked.
“Our tech team is working on it.”
Jack nodded, but his attention had already moved past the device in his hand. Somewhere in this hospital, Annie was being moved through hallways under armed protection. Somewhere else, men were advancing room by room. Eleanor’s locket was no longer just evidence. It was a trigger point.
He closed his eyes, and Eleanor Blackwood rose in his mind—not as a name in a file, but as a woman who had written,knowing she might not live, who had hidden truth inside a locket because she believed it would outlast her. She had accepted the cost. And she had trusted someone would finish what she started.
“They don’t understand what they’re threatening,” Jack said quietly. “The locket isn’t leverage. It’s already a confession. Whatever’s in that box is going to surface whether they stop us or not.”
The agent watched him carefully.
“She didn’t hide the truth, so it could be traded,” Jack continued. “She hid it so it could survive.”
