Chapter 5
Detective Russo’s face tightened into a scowl as Rachel ended the call. The two uniformed officers behind him shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uncertain glances. They were used to dealing with civilian lawyers and wealthy entitlement, not a decorated military officer effectively declaring martial law over a hospital room.
"You can't just invoke military jurisdiction on a civilian matter, Colonel," Russo said, though his tone had lost some of its previous bite. "This is a local precinct issue. Your daughter is a civilian. Mr. Vance is a civilian."
"My daughter is a military dependent, covered under my benefits and protection," Rachel countered, stepping closer to Russo. Her black dress uniform seemed to absorb the clinical light, making her appear larger, more imposing. "Furthermore, the intelligence my daughter possesses involves military-grade infrastructure being illegally built into city contracts. That makes it a matter of national security. The local police are officially out of their depth."
Russo crossed his arms. "I haven't seen any proof of this 'infrastructure' claim."
"And you won't," Rachel said sharply. "Because the man paying your commissioner's salary is the one building it. Now, you have two choices, Detective. You can arrest me, take me out of here, and explain to a convoy of heavily armed Military Police why you interfered with an active federal investigation. Or, you can step outside that door, tell Nicholas Vance you are investigating his counter-claims, and buy me the time I need."
Russo stared at her, his jaw working as he weighed his options. He was a seasoned cop. He could look at Abigail’s battered face and know Nicholas Vance was lying about a fall. But he also knew the political suicide of crossing the Vance family in this city. Rachel was offering him an out—a way to step back without looking like he was bending to a criminal.
"Ten minutes," Russo finally said, holding up a finger. "I'll go talk to Vance. Keep him distracted. But if your MPs don't show up, Colonel, I have a job to do. I can't ignore an assault in front of witnesses."
"Understood," Rachel said.
Russo turned on his heel and walked out, taking his officers with him.
The moment the glass doors slid shut, Rachel spun back to the bed. Her calm demeanor vanished, replaced by hyper-focused tactical urgency.
"Abby, can you walk?" Rachel asked, moving to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. She found Abigail’s bloodied coat and shoes in a clear plastic hospital bag.
"I... I think so. My ribs hurt when I breathe deeply," Abigail whimpered, pushing the blue blankets aside and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She hissed in pain as her bare feet touched the cold linoleum floor.
"We aren't waiting for the MPs," Rachel said, tearing the plastic bag open and tossing the coat to Abigail.
Abigail looked confused. "But you just called them. You said—"
"I called my commanding officer's voicemail," Rachel interrupted, helping Abigail slip her unbruised arm into the coat sleeve. "It’s 11:00 PM. It will take JAG at least an hour to navigate the red tape to get MPs dispatched here legally. I bluffed Russo to get him out of the room."
Abigail’s eyes widened in panic. "Mom! If Nicholas finds out you bluffed—"
"He won't, because we won't be here," Rachel said, strapping Abigail’s shoes onto her feet. "The Vance family owns the hospital board. Patricia is probably upstairs right now getting a corrupt doctor to sign a psychiatric hold on you. If we stay here, they trap us in the legal system. In a civilian hospital, Nicholas has the home-field advantage. We are leaving."
"How?" Abigail asked, her breathing growing ragged as panic set in. "Nicholas is in the waiting room. The police are out there. There are security cameras everywhere."
Rachel stood up, adjusting her black tie and smoothing the front of her uniform. "We don't go through the waiting room. Put your hood up. Keep your head down."
Rachel moved to the door and peered through the blinds. Nurse Higgins was at the charting station, aggressively ignoring Detective Russo, who was walking down the corridor toward the main waiting area. The hallway to the right led to the ambulance bays and the morgue—staff access only.
"Let's go," Rachel commanded.
She wrapped her arm around Abigail’s waist, supporting her weight. They slipped out of Trauma Bay four, moving silently down the sterile white corridor. Abigail stifled a groan with every step, her ribs protesting the movement, but Rachel kept a ruthless, steady pace.
They reached a set of heavy double doors marked Authorized Personnel Only. Rachel pushed through them into a dimly lit, industrial hallway lined with laundry carts and surplus medical supplies.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the far end of the hall.
"Hey! You can't be back here!"
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Rachel stopped. Standing thirty feet away, blocking the exit to the loading dock, was one of Nicholas’s private security men. He wore a tight black suit, an earpiece curling behind his ear, and a smug expression.
"Mr. Vance thought you might try to sneak out," the guard said, reaching inside his jacket. "He said you were smart. But you're not going anywhere, Colonel."
