Chapter 5 - The Baby With the Match
Patrick Callahan wasn't dead.
His funeral had been theater.
Seven years earlier, Patrick developed a rare blood disorder.
Public knowledge of his illness would have invited rivals.
So the Callahans buried an empty coffin.
Even Vincent believed it.
Only Eleanor and three physicians knew.
“Why lie to your own son?”
Eleanor's voice came through the radio.
“Because Patrick ordered it.”
Vincent looked ready to destroy the radio.
“Where is he?”
No answer.
Then Patrick spoke.
“Close.”
I held my daughter tighter.
“What does he want with my baby?”
Patrick answered me himself.
“Nothing that will harm her.”
“That's what men say before they harm someone.”
Silence.
Vincent almost smiled.
Then Patrick explained.
Years earlier, Daniel Mercer had been more than his partner.
Daniel's family carried an unusual genetic marker.
Patrick's doctors believed a close descendant might provide compatible stem cells for treatment.
My blood had been tested secretly years ago.
Not compatible enough.
My baby's prenatal screening showed something different.
A stronger match.
My stomach turned.
“You tested my unborn child?”
Eleanor answered.
“Evan did.”
I remembered every appointment.
Every blood draw.
Every time my husband volunteered to handle paperwork.
“He married me for this?”
Nobody answered quickly enough.
That was the answer.
Vincent's face became murderous.
“Patrick sent him?”
“No,” Eleanor said.
“Then who?”
Before she could answer, explosions shook the cabin.
Not large.
Controlled.
The front barricade splintered.
Evan's men were coming.
Vincent shoved the radio at Declan's man.
“Tunnel.”
I couldn't walk properly.
Vincent lifted me.
I protested.
“Save your strength.”
“My baby—”
“You hold her. I'll hold you.”
We entered the tunnel.
Behind us, men breached the cabin.
Shots echoed, distant and brief.
Then footsteps followed.
We reached an underground junction.
Two paths.
Eleanor's voice guided us left.
Vincent stopped.
“Right.”
“Vincent—”
“You lied about my father's death for seven years. You don't get to choose directions.”
He went right.
For once, paranoia saved us.
Seconds later, gunfire erupted down the left passage.
Eleanor screamed through the radio:
“They knew!”
Someone inside Patrick's operation had leaked the escape route.
Vincent carried me deeper.
We emerged inside an abandoned ranger station.
Declan waited with armed men.
Safe.
Temporarily.
Then Declan handed Vincent a folder recovered from Evan's SUV.
Marriage records.
Bank transfers.
Medical reports.
A contract.
Evan had received $2 million six months before meeting me.
Payment source hidden behind shell companies.
Vincent traced the signature authorization.
He stared.
“Impossible.”
“What?”
He turned the page toward me.
The payment had been authorized by:
DANIEL MERCER.
My dead father.
Vincent looked toward the snow.
“Claire…”
I couldn't breathe.
First Patrick.
May you like
Now Daniel.
Apparently the dead had been running my entire life.
