Chapter 6
The dim fluorescent lights of the service hallway flickered, casting long, erratic shadows across the concrete floor. Rachel tightened her grip on Abigail’s waist, feeling her daughter tremble violently against her.
"Get behind me, Abby," Rachel murmured, her voice a low, steady hum.
Abigail stumbled backward, leaning against a towering canvas laundry cart. Rachel stepped forward, squaring her shoulders. The gold insignia on her black dress uniform gleamed faintly in the low light. She looked at the man in the black suit. He was young, heavily muscled, and clearly accustomed to intimidating civilians.
"You are making a profound mistake," Rachel said, her tone devoid of emotion.
The guard scoffed, pulling a collapsible steel baton from his jacket and snapping it open with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Mr. Vance pays me to keep his wife safe. And right now, she’s coming back to her room."
"I am an active-duty Army Colonel," Rachel stated, taking a slow, measured step toward him. "You are impeding the movement of a military officer. I will give you one opportunity to collapse that baton and walk away."
"Or what, grandma?" the guard sneered, taking a step forward himself. "You're gonna punch me like you did the boss?"
Rachel didn't waste another word. She moved with a speed that defied her age, a blur of black fabric and focused violence. The guard swung the steel baton in a wide, sweeping arc aimed at her shoulder. Rachel didn't block it; she slipped inside his guard, ducking the blow entirely.
Before the guard could recover his balance, Rachel drove the heel of her palm upward, striking the nerve cluster tucked just under his armpit. The man gasped, his arm going instantly numb. The baton clattered to the concrete floor.
Rachel grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, pivoted her hips, and used his forward momentum to throw him hard into the cinderblock wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him with a sickening thud. As he slumped downward, Rachel delivered a precise, punishing knee strike to his solar plexus.
The guard crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, completely incapacitated. The entire altercation took less than four seconds.
Rachel didn't pause to admire her work. She picked up the steel baton, collapsed it, and shoved it into her uniform pocket.
"Come on," Rachel said, turning back to a wide-eyed Abigail.
They hurried past the groaning guard and pushed through the heavy steel doors leading to the loading dock. The cold night air hit them instantly. Rain was pouring down in thick, relentless sheets, washing the city in a gray, hazy gloom.
Rachel’s government-issued SUV was parked a hundred yards away in the ambulance bay, but running across the open, illuminated tarmac was tactical suicide. Nicholas’s men would be watching the perimeter.
"We need a different ride," Rachel muttered, scanning the loading dock.
A delivery van for a medical supply company sat idling near a pile of broken pallets, its driver nowhere to be seen. The keys were dangling in the ignition.
"Get in the back," Rachel ordered, sliding open the cargo door. She helped Abigail climb inside, pushing her gently onto a pile of soft, sealed foam mattresses meant for hospital beds. "Stay low. Do not make a sound."
Rachel slammed the cargo door shut, ran to the driver’s side, and jumped in. She shifted the van into drive, leaving the headlights off, and slowly rolled out of the loading dock into the rainy alleyway behind the hospital.
As they merged onto a dark side street, Rachel risked a glance in the rearview mirror. Flashing red and blue police lights were suddenly swarming the main entrance of Mercy General. Nicholas had realized they were gone.
"Mom?" Abigail’s voice called out from the dark cargo hold, shaky and small. "Are we safe?"
"For the moment," Rachel replied, flicking the headlights on as they blended into the late-night city traffic. She pulled her phone from her pocket and tossed it onto the passenger seat, engaging the speakerphone.
She dialed a secure number. It was answered on the first ring.
"Gardner." The voice was deep, gravelly, and wide awake despite the hour. Sergeant Major Thomas Vance—no relation to Nicholas, a cosmic irony Rachel usually ignored—had served under Rachel in three different combat zones. He was fiercely loyal, a master of logistics, and officially retired, running a private security consulting firm outside the city.
"Tom, I have a code red domestic," Rachel said, navigating the van through the slick streets, putting as much distance between them and the hospital as possible. "I have Abigail. We are mobile in a stolen civilian vehicle. Nicholas Vance has compromised the local police and deployed private security."
"Understood, Colonel," Tom replied instantly, the sound of keys jingling in the background. "Is Abby hurt?"
"Battered. Ribs fractured, concussion. He held her hostage for three days. Tom... she saw blueprints. Vance Enterprises is building subterranean bunkers under the waterfront project."
There was a heavy pause on the line. "That’s federal contract territory, Rachel. If Vance is doing that off-book, he’s fronting for a cartel, foreign intel, or a rogue agency. No wonder he’s hunting her."
"I need a safehouse," Rachel said. "Off the grid. And I need clean transport."
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"I have a cabin in the Shenandoah Valley. No cell service, no cameras. I’ll meet you at the old train yard in sector four to swap vehicles in twenty minutes. Bring her home, Colonel."
"Copy that," Rachel said, ending the call. She gripped the steering wheel, her eyes burning with a cold, protective fire. Nicholas Vance had picked a fight with the wrong mother.
