Chapter 12 - Caroline’s Warning
Caroline Hart had been missing for twenty years.
She remembered eighteen of them.
The first two were nothing but white walls, locked doors and medication cups.
She told her story from a private hospital room guarded by federal agents.
Abigail sat beside her bed.
Tessa stood near the window.
Evelyn remained in the corner.
Caroline looked at her first.
“You survived.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightened.
“So did you.”
“I tried to find you.”
“So did I.”
Neither woman hugged.
Some reunions were too full of ghosts.
Abigail held her mother’s hand.
“Where were you?”
Caroline closed her eyes.
“Everywhere they thought nobody would look.”
Private clinics.
Religious institutions.
A rehabilitation center in Virginia.
A psychiatric facility in Pennsylvania.
For six years, she lived under the name Helen Marsh.
Then one nurse noticed something wrong.
Caroline was not delusional.
Her medical history had been fabricated.
The nurse helped her escape.
“Why didn’t you come home?” Abigail asked.
Caroline looked at her daughter.
“Because Caleb told me you would die if I did.”
Abigail began crying.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe that.”
“I watched you from far away.”
“What?”
“Graduation. Your wedding. Your father’s funeral.”
Abigail stared.
“You were there?”
“Across the street.”
Tessa looked toward Evelyn.
“Why come out now?”
Caroline’s expression changed.
“Because Caleb is running out of time.”
Monroe leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
“He isn’t trying to protect Hart Biotech anymore.”
“What is he protecting?”
Caroline looked at Abigail’s stomach.
“The baby.”
Everyone froze.
Abigail covered her belly.
“What about my baby?”
Caroline’s voice became quiet.
“Hart Biotech’s original trust was written by Eleanor.”
“So?”
“If Samuel’s legitimate bloodline ends, controlling ownership transfers.”
“To who?” Monroe asked.
Caroline looked at Evelyn.
“Eleanor’s oldest surviving descendant.”
Evelyn stared back.
“Me.”
Caroline nodded.
Tessa understood.
“If Abigail dies before the baby is born…”
“Evelyn becomes the controlling beneficiary.”
Evelyn laughed bitterly.
“I don’t want the company.”
“Caleb doesn’t care.”
Monroe frowned.
“Why would he want Evelyn to inherit?”
“He doesn’t.”
Caroline looked at them.
“He needs both women dead.”
Silence.
“Then who inherits?” Tessa asked.
Caroline swallowed.
“Caleb’s son.”
Abigail frowned.
“Caleb doesn’t have a son.”
Caroline looked toward the door.
“Yes, he does.”
Grant Holloway stood there.
His face went white.
“No.”
Caroline stared at him.
“Your mother was Rebecca Holloway.”
Grant backed away.
“No.”
“Caleb paid for your education.”
“No.”
“He arranged your job at Hart Biotech.”
“Stop.”
“He pushed you toward Abigail.”
Grant looked sick.
Abigail stared at him.
“You married my sister because Caleb told you to?”
Grant shook his head.
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you know he was your father?”
“No!”
Caroline continued.
“Caleb does.”
Grant sat heavily.
Tessa thought of the trust.
If Abigail and her child died.
If Evelyn died.
Grant could inherit.
And Caleb could control him.
“You were never the mastermind,” Tessa said.
Grant looked at her.
“No.”
“You were a backup plan.”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
Abigail turned away.
Grant had betrayed her family.
He had forged records.
He had helped cover the medication changes.
But now it seemed even his betrayal belonged to someone else.
Caroline suddenly grabbed Abigail’s wrist.
“Listen to me.”
“What?”
“You cannot give birth at St. Catherine’s.”
Abigail frowned.
“Why?”
“Caleb owns people there.”
Monroe shook his head.
“We replaced the staff.”
“You replaced the names you know.”
Caroline’s breathing quickened.
“He has been preparing for this baby for months.”
Abigail’s face went pale.
“Preparing how?”
“A neonatal transfer.”
Tessa stepped closer.
“What transfer?”
Caroline whispered:
“They’re going to tell you your daughter died.”
Abigail stopped breathing.
“No.”
“They did it once before.”
Evelyn stared at Caroline.
“With me.”
“Yes.”
Caroline squeezed Abigail’s hand.
“They will take your baby alive, create a death record and move her.”
“Why?”
“Control.”
Tessa felt fury rise.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Monroe immediately called the federal task force.
Plans changed within the hour.
Abigail would be transferred to a secure military medical facility under an alias.
Nobody outside five people would know.
At 2:00 a.m., they moved her.
No ambulance.
No marked vehicles.
Tessa sat beside Abigail in the rear of an armored SUV.
Caroline followed separately.
Rain fell heavily.
For twenty miles, nothing happened.
Then Abigail gasped.
Tessa looked over.
“What?”
Abigail gripped the seat.
“My water broke.”
Tessa’s heart slammed.
“You’re sure?”
Abigail looked down.
Water spread across the seat.
Then pain twisted her face.
“Oh God.”
The driver accelerated.
Monroe called the medical team.
“Eight minutes out.”
Another contraction hit.
Abigail screamed.
Tessa held her hand.
“You’re okay.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“The baby’s coming.”
“Not in this car.”
Abigail laughed through tears.
“Tell her that.”
The SUV suddenly swerved.
A truck blocked the road.
The driver hit the brakes.
A second vehicle appeared behind them.
Monroe drew his weapon.
“Ambush.”
Tessa looked at Abigail.
“No.”
Men stepped from the truck.
Masks.
Rifles.
Monroe shouted into the radio.
No response.
Signal jammer.
The first bullet struck the windshield.
The driver returned fire.
Tessa pulled Abigail onto the floor.
“Stay down.”
Abigail cried out.
Another contraction.
Too close.
Too fast.
Monroe looked back.
“How far apart?”
Tessa checked the time.
“Less than two minutes.”
His face changed.
“That’s bad.”
“No.”
“For a thirty-minute drive?”
“Yes.”
Gunfire exploded outside.
The rear window shattered.
Tessa covered Abigail.
Then headlights appeared behind the attackers.
A third convoy.
The masked men turned.
Federal agents poured out.
The road erupted.
Within six minutes, the attack was over.
But Abigail was no longer listening.
She screamed and grabbed Tessa’s arm.
“I need to push.”
Monroe stared.
“No.”
Abigail yelled, “Detective, unless you know how to negotiate with a baby, shut up!”
Tessa almost laughed.
Instead, she climbed beside her.
The medical facility was still five minutes away.
The baby was not.
At 2:37 a.m., on a rain-soaked highway outside Washington, Abigail Hart gave birth to a daughter in the back of an armored SUV.
The baby cried.
Tessa cried.
Abigail laughed and sobbed at the same time.
Monroe wrapped the child in his coat.
For one perfect minute, nobody thought about Caleb Mercer.
Then Tessa noticed something around the baby’s ankle.
A thin red mark.
Not from birth.
Not from the blanket.
A tiny injection site.
Tessa stared.
“How?”
Abigail looked at her.
“What?”
The baby’s crying weakened.
Monroe’s face drained of color.
May you like
Someone had injected Abigail before they ever left the hospital.
And whatever had entered her bloodstream had just reached her newborn daughter.
