Chapter 4 – The Imposter At The Hospital

“Someone took it from her,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Someone at the hospital.”

Adrian’s grip on his gun tightened. “Hayes didn’t just come to the greenhouse to stop us. He came from the hospital.”

I looked at the rosary. The silver cross was slightly bent, as if there had been a struggle. “If Hayes was there, Evie is completely defenseless right now. The doctors think she just had a stroke.”

“Marco!” Adrian shouted as his security chief sprinted across the lawn.

“Boss, we got Hayes,” Marco said, looking at the broken glass.

“Lock him in the basement cell,” Adrian ordered. “Then call the men at the hospital. Have them put a guard inside Evie’s room immediately. No nurses, no doctors enter without our men checking their ID.”

Marco pulled his radio. “Boss… I tried calling the detail at the hospital five minutes ago. They aren’t answering.”

Adrian’s eyes went cold. “Change of plans. We go to the hospital first. We save Evie. Then the airport.”

The ride to Chicago General Hospital took twelve minutes. Adrian drove his black SUV like a madman, weaving through traffic with terrifying precision. I sat in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle.

“Why would they want Evie dead now?” I asked. “They already stopped her from giving you the photos at the party.”

“Because Evie knows where Leo is being kept before the flight,” Adrian said, gripping the steering wheel. “She tracked the money. She knows the safehouse. If she wakes up and speaks, Vivian’s entire plan falls apart.”

We pulled up to the emergency entrance. Adrian didn’t bother parking. He left the car on the curb and strode through the sliding glass doors, his coat concealing the weapon at his side.

I followed closely behind.

We took the elevator to the ICU wing on the fourth floor.

When the doors opened, the hallway was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Adrian’s two security men were slumped over in chairs near the nurses’ station, fast asleep.

“Sedated,” Adrian muttered, checking their pulses. “They’re alive.”

We rushed down the hall to Room 412.

The door was slightly ajar.

Adrian pushed it open, his hand on his weapon.

The room was empty. The bed was unmade. The IV lines were cut, dripping clear fluid onto the linoleum floor.

Evie was gone.

“They took her,” I whispered, staring at the empty bed.

Then I noticed something on the pillow.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on crumpled hospital paper.

I picked it up. It was a drawing of a tall tower with a clock at the top, and a little boy looking out a window.

“Adrian,” I said, handing him the paper.

He stared at it, his face going pale. “I know this tower. It’s the old clock tower at the abandoned railyard on the South Side. My father used to take me there when I was a kid.”

He turned the drawing over.

Written on the back in red crayon were five words.

Daddy, the bad lady hurts.

TITLE: The Boy In The Clock Tower

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