I jolt awake when we come to a stop. When I open my eyes, I realize we are already back at the housing complex. Stepping off the shuttle, I glance instinctively toward the entrance, half expecting to find my missing admirers waiting to interrogate me again. But, nothing. Nothing except the guard, who barely looks up as a handful of us walk past.
After entering my apartment, I drop my bag on the chair and kick off my shoes. Not bothering with the lights, I head straight for the bathroom, peeling off my scrubs as I go. The shower sputters, then warms, steam filling the tiny space. Under the water, my head falls forward until my hair is plastered to my face. The day drains out of me quickly enough to make me dizzy.
When I shut off the water, the silence in my tiny apartment is even louder than usual. I wrap myself in a towel and step out. After taking a seat at the desk, I open my notebook andpull out the photo of my parents. I trace my fingertip along the side of my mother’s face. “You would’ve loved it here.”
Much to my father’s disappointment, I eagerly followed in my late mother’s footsteps, traveling halfway around the world to provide medical care for those who need it most. While I have gotten myself in one hell of a predicament, the work we do here is gratifying in ways that I can’t describe. On a blank page, I jot down my wins from today. When I finally close it, the apartment feels a little less heavy.
After a brief stop in the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, I change into a worn pair of pajamas and crawl into bed. I stare at the ceiling fan as it lazily spins overhead. For the first time in days, nothing is demanding my attention. I flip off the light and lie in the dark, listening to the hum of the air-conditioning unit and the distant sounds of the city outside.
Tomorrow, my world could come crashing back down again, but tonight, I’m going to allow myself this smallest sliver of peace—even if it feels borrowed. Closing my eyes, sleep takes me quickly.
I’m sprawled in a chair that definitely wasn’t designed for someone my height—or size—boots hooked on the edge of the scarred wooden table in the center of the room as the four of us discuss the job.
“And the hospital staff still swear they don’t know anything?” Hawk asks.
“Each and every one of them.” I shrug.
Damon leans forward and rests his elbows against his knees. “I still get the feeling that surgeon, Dr. Hart, knows more than she is telling us.”
We’re all going to know soon enough. Mattis has been digging into her since we talked to her, seeing whether our suspicions are correct. Hawk’s phone rings, and after a short greeting, he tosses it onto the table between us.
“I did a deep dive on Dr. Blake Hart,” Mattis shares. “I just emailed all of you the full file, triple-layer encrypted.
“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”
Gunnar groans, not even remotely hiding his eye roll as I pick up my tablet. I swipe into the Aegis app to open the file transfer.
Dr. Blake Marie Hart
“All right,” Hawk says. “Highlights.”
Mattis sighs, the long-suffering sound of a man who would much rather be trying to hack into the NSA again. “Dr. Blake Marie Hart. American. Born in Baltimore, Maryland.”
I swipe through the folder, glossing over her impressive transcripts.
“She went to Johns Hopkins for undergrad,” Mattis continues, “med school at Columbia, and surgical residency at Mass General.”
Damon whistles softly. “That’s not nothing.”
“No, quite impressive.” Mattis agrees. “She practiced in the US just long enough to meet the criteria for Physicians Beyond Frontiers.”
I scroll through certifications, commendations, and letters of recommendation that make her out to be the next Mother Teresa.
“And then?” Hawk asks.
“And then she never stops moving,” Mattis says. “Conflict zones. Disaster relief. Epidemics. She’s been in South Sudan, Haiti, Yemen, Ukraine, bouncing around nearly as much as you guys do.”
Gunnar snorts. “So, she’s either a saint or running from something.”
Mattis clears his throat. “She’s clean.”
I pause my scrolling. “Defineclean.”
“Likereallyclean.” Mattis emphasizes every word. “Impeccable credit score. Donates to charity. Calls home at least once a week. No suspicious travel patterns, beyond the obviousgoes where people are dyingthing.”
I lean back in my chair, tapping the edge of the tablet. “So, either she’s the most ethical human being on the planet…”
“Or she’s very good at not being seen,” Damon finishes.
