Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR WHO SOLD MY NAME
I left Asheville before sunset.
Not because Declan had found me.
Because someone else was looking.
Mrs. June Whitaker stood beside my bed while I stuffed clothes into the same battered suitcase I had arrived with fourteen weeks earlier.
“You running from a man?”
I froze.
June was seventy-one, sharp-eyed, silver-haired, and had survived two husbands, one bankruptcy, and what she described only as “the seventies.”
“I’m running from several.”
She nodded.
“Usually how it goes.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“I need to leave.”
“You need a car.”
“I can take a bus.”
“You’re pregnant and scared enough to jump every time my furnace clicks.”
She tossed keys onto the bed.
“Take my Buick.”
“I can’t.”
“You can bring it back when nobody’s trying to kill you.”
My head snapped up.
June shrugged.
“I’m old, not stupid.”
Thirty minutes later, I drove east.
No destination.
Just distance.
Gavin’s warning repeated inside my head.
Obstetrics records.
I had told exactly one person in Chicago about the pregnancy.
My doctor.
Dr. Melissa Hart.
She had been kind.
Professional.
She had squeezed my hand after the ultrasound and told me not to panic about mild cramping.
Could someone have bought my medical information?
At a gas station outside Hickory, I used a prepaid phone.
Northwestern Memorial connected me to the clinic.
“Dr. Hart’s office.”
“This is Amelia Bennett.”
Silence.
Then the receptionist lowered her voice.
“Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“Dr. Hart has been trying to reach you.”
“I changed numbers.”
“Please hold.”
Thirty seconds later, Dr. Hart came on.
“Amelia.”
She sounded frightened.
“Are you safe?”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“For now.”
“You need to know someone requested your records.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I refused.”
Relief came too quickly.
Then she added:
“But someone accessed them anyway.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“We detected unauthorized access two days ago.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Did they see the ultrasound?”
“Yes.”
“Bloodwork?”
“Yes.”
“Estimated due date?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything.
“Have police been notified?”
“Hospital security has.”
“No police.”
“Amelia—”
“Please.”
I could not explain that police records in Chicago might travel faster through crime families than official channels.
Dr. Hart became quiet.
Then said, “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The person searched for paternity information.”
Cold spread through my chest.
“There is no paternity information.”
“I know.”
“Then why search?”
“I don’t know.”
After ending the call, I sat inside June’s Buick until the windows fogged.
Paternity.
Declan.
Savannah.
Calloway.
I suddenly understood something ugly.
An unborn Voss child would threaten Savannah’s position.
In their world, blood mattered.
Inheritance mattered.
Names mattered.
I hated that my baby could become valuable before even taking a breath.
My prepaid phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
No one spoke.
I heard breathing.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Congratulations.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“Who is this?”
“You really should have chosen a hospital farther from Chicago.”
Savannah.
I recognized her voice from television.
My hand moved protectively over my belly.
“What do you want?”
“To understand why my fiancé has spent four months looking for a woman who apparently disappeared carrying something that belongs to him.”
“My child belongs to no one.”
Savannah laughed softly.
“Then it is his.”
I had made the mistake.
She had not known.
Now she did.
I ended the call.
The phone rang again immediately.
I threw it onto the passenger seat.
Then headlights appeared behind me.
Black SUV.
I started the engine.
Another vehicle blocked the gas station exit.
My pulse exploded.
Three men stepped out.
Not Gavin.
Not anyone I recognized.
I locked the doors.
One approached.
Then gunfire cracked across the parking lot.
Glass shattered.
People screamed.
I ducked over my stomach.
A second SUV slammed into the first vehicle.
Someone ripped open my passenger door.
I screamed.
“Amelia!”
Gavin.
“Move!”
He dragged me low across the seat while his men fired toward the other vehicles.
“Get in!”
He pushed me into his SUV.
Then climbed beside me.
The driver accelerated.
My entire body shook.
“Who were they?”
Gavin looked behind us.
“Calloway.”
“How did they find me?”
His expression turned grim.
“We’re still trying to understand that.”
“Take me somewhere safe.”
“I am.”
“Not Chicago.”
He looked at me.
“Amelia—”
“Not Chicago.”
Then Gavin said the words I had feared most.
“I don’t have that option anymore.”
“Why?”
He turned the tablet toward me.
A photograph showed Declan standing inside Voss Tower.
Not smiling.
Not controlled.
Furious.
On the screen beside him was an image from the gas station security feed.
Me.
Pregnant.
“Declan knows,” Gavin said.
My breath stopped.
“How?”
“He hacked my vehicle feed.”
Of course he did.
Then Gavin’s phone rang.
He looked at the caller.
Declan.
He answered.
“Boss.”
Declan’s voice came through cold and deadly.
“Put Amelia on.”
I shook my head.
Gavin remained silent.
Declan spoke again.
“Gavin.”
“I’m here.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“The baby?”
Gavin looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
Then Declan said something that stunned both of us.
“Turn around.”
Gavin frowned.
“We’re heading to the safe house.”
“No.”
“Boss?”
“My house is compromised.”
Gavin went still.
“What happened?”
May you like
Declan’s voice lowered.
“Someone inside my organization gave Savannah Amelia’s location.”
