Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
Kieran stood beside Reid, arms crossed, eyes on the large screen. Reid sat in the adaptive chair built with part rehab and part necessity in mind. He still hated the way it made him feel not quite functional. But today, that wasn’t what hit him in the gut. It was the image on the screen. Her.
Dark sunglasses and a scarf wrapped tightly around the lower half of her face. A bandage rode up just beneath the edge, tucked in like a surgical afterthought. She was as much of a traitor as Vos. In the sanctity of their suite, Claire told him what Heather Bowman did.
She moved with stiffness, discomfort riding her posture like a second shadow. Reid knew that walk. She always tried to look taller when she was hiding something.
Vos was broader and slower, walking like his inner ear was still recalibrating. But everything in his bearing reeked of control.
“Vos,” Reid muttered. “Plastic surgery doesn’t hide evil.”
Kieran didn’t answer. He just tapped the screen, and the video shifted to a wide angle.
The two of them entering a sleek black town car. Vos climbed in first. Heather followed, favoring her left side.
The license plates pinged. The voice from the comm feed whispered into the room like a ghost, “Confirmed. Stride profile, posture match, height within two centimeters of pre-op estimates.”
The timestamp read four days ago.
“They were seen again at Letňany Airfield,” Kieran said. “Boarded a private charter to Montenegro.”
“Alone?” Reid asked.
“Just them. But someone paid in cash. Local team confirms the pilot isn’t local. And the driver didn’t speak Czech. We suspect it was his enforcer, Scour.”
The next image showed the plane lifting off in the dull gray light. Its sleek wings caught the fog above the airstrip.
Kieran finally spoke again, low. “We put a tracker on the undercarriage. The Montenegro team is ready.”
“That won’t matter unless we’re ready here. If they want Claire, they’ll come for her.” Reid chewed his lip, jaw tightening as he thought about the future they’d barely had time to imagine. He sat straighter, ignoring the burn in his side. “They’re not finished,” he said. “But neither am I.”
He turned to the screen again. “Send that footage to Lincoln. I want Tree Town One watching that frame like it’s oxygen.”
Kieran gave him a quiet nod.
“They changed their faces,” Reid noted. “How do I tell Claire?”
After a stretch of silence, Kieran finally exhaled. "You don’t.” Then he added gently, "Not yet."
Reid gave him a sharp look.
"She’s already dealing with a high-risk pregnancy," Kieran continued. "Tuck’s got her on a tight watch. You drop this on her now, she’ll either shut down or do something reckless. You know her better than I do."
“I do,” Reid cut in. “That’s why I can’t lie to her.”
“You’re not lying,” Kieran said. “You’re triaging.”
Reid looked back at the screen, at the image of Heather boarding the car. The tilt of her chin. The way Vos moved like he was still rehearsing his own gravity. "You think I should keep it from her.”
“I think you should buy us forty-eight hours,” Kieran answered. “Let Tree Town One deploy and get feet on the ground. Let Lincoln lock down the maternity wing. Let Tuck get her through her next scan without a panic spike. Then we tell her, together.”
Reid’s hand curled around the arm of the chair. “She’s going to ask me,” he argued. “Claire always knows when something’s coming.”
“Then don’t lie,” Kieran said. “Just… hold the storm until we know which direction it’s blowing.”
Reid’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking to the timestamp again.
He hated that Kieran was right. He hated that, somewhere in Montenegro, Vos was building the next phase of a war that had never ended.
And Claire, the woman who’d already bled enough for a dozen wars, was about to be in the crosshairs again.
Kieran’s voice broke through one more time, softer now. “She’s strong. But right now, you’re her shield. Hold the line.”
Reid nodded once. “Forty-eight hours,” he said. “Then we tell her everything.”
REHAB SUITE – 1104 HOURS
Claire lay working in bed. She slammed her laptop shut, her heart hammering.
The file was buried behind three layers of clearance.
It sat in a standard backup partition, mislabeled.
But she knew Kieran’s naming conventions too well.
She found the Prague footage. And worse, an internal memo from Ian: “Planned OB-GYN extraction likely. Pediatric support confirmed.”
Her head spun. She tossed aside the bed tray and kicked off the covers. In yoga pants and a tee shirt with soft maternity socks covering her feet, she stormed into the elevator and out toward Kieran’s office, fury overriding everything else. She needed answers. She made it to outside his door.
Her vision tilted, and her knees gave out—followed by the unmistakable warmth of blood rushing down her legs. A sharp gasp escaped her lips. One hand caught the wall, the other pressing instinctively to her belly.
“Help,” she croaked. “Someone… help…”
Footsteps thundered from around the corner. Patrick Hedges got to her first, with Seth a breath behind. They had been in a meeting in Seth’s office next door.
Claire didn’t see them. She was already sinking to the floor, her head spinning with one truth. What have I done?
REHAB UNIT – PT ROOM – SAME TIME
The bar shook in his grip, not from weakness but from defiance.
Reid pushed against the resistance band one more time, arms trembling, shoulders slick with sweat.
Every inch of his recovery was earned, and every breath hurt, but not as much as not knowing.
Not knowing what Vos wanted and not knowing how long he'd have to lie to Claire.
The door opened behind him. He didn’t have to look. Kieran’s steps were always clipped. Lincoln’s were heavier, more methodical. They approached with the kind of stillness that never meant anything good.
Kieran didn’t bother softening the blow. “Tree Town One is airborne. Ian got a full, actionable package from D.C. Vos and Heather are confirmed in Montenegro.”
Lincoln stepped in. “And they didn’t go alone. They have two Prague-based doctors, an OB-GYN and pediatrician, with them.”
Kieran handed Reid a slim folder. “Here. Read it.”
Reid scanned quickly—passenger manifests, charter logs, names circled: Dr. Lenka Marova, obstetrics. Dr. Petr Novak, pediatrics.
The next page hit harder. Intercepted comms: incubator, continuity of care protocols.
Notations about a Montenegro villa retrofitted with biometric locks and a surgical suite.
And at the bottom, a red-flag entry: Bowman is in Denver.
Attached was a limited, fragmented medical abstract.
No digital trace. A single note in Tuck’s handwriting: Claire Bowman, 13 weeks. Records on paper only.
Reid shut the folder, jaw tightening. “He’s not planning a strike. He’s planning to kidnap our baby. He’ll only get to her over my dead body.” The words were a vow.
Kieran’s temper flared sharp as he turned on Lincoln.
“We lock her down. Only high-level, long-term operators on her and Tree Town One.” His voice cut harder.
“Her medical files are on paper only. The fact they have that abstract is not chance. There’s another mole in Ann Arbor, and Vos’s people—and possibly Vos—are already inside Denver. ”
The room held still. Reid’s vow and Kieran’s fury left no air to breathe.
Reid’s hands curled into fists. “I was going to tell her. I waited too long.” He was already reaching for the towel, wiping sweat from his face, grabbing for his shirt. His ribs pulled tight, and his hip locked on the pivot, but he pushed through.
An overhead alert hit. “Medical emergency—Executive Wing.”
Tuck was nearby, speaking with the head PT about facility needs, when the alarm rang out. He rushed across the room. “Reid, it’s Claire. She went down in front of Kieran’s office.”
The elevator doors opened ahead of him in a flurry of motion and voices. Reid saw the blood first. A deep, wet stain seeping into the floor. Then the edge of her sock, limp and barely visible beneath the folded edge of her blood-soaked leggings.
“Claire…!” He nearly fell reaching her, hip locking from the sprint, hands fumbling past Patrick and Seth.
She was crumpled on her side, barely conscious, lips parted as if trying to form words. Her hand was still at her belly.
He dropped to his knees. “I’m here. I’m here, baby, look at me, just look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze found him for a second.
Tuck had his medical bag in one hand, gloves clenched in his other fist. “Move,” he ordered.
Patrick slid down opposite Reid, helping turn Claire’s body gently, laying her flat as Tuck dropped beside them. “Who got to her first? Was she conscious?”
“Barely.” Patrick had already started an IV.
“Reid, did she have any bleeding when you were together?”
Reid shook his head.
Tuck’s drawl slipped into clinical precision as he pressed gloved hands to her pelvis, then grabbed a portable Doppler from his bag. “We’ve got a previa,” he said under his breath. “Goddamn it…”
He found the heartbeat. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh… “Baby’s still ticking,” he muttered. “Claire’s going into shock.”
Technicians arrived with a board and stretcher.
“Pat, let’s get her onto the transport board. Once she’s on the stretcher, elevate the bottom of the board. Seth, start another line, 500 of saline, open wide.”
Patrick moved fast, lifting Claire’s legs onto a rolled blanket while Seth hung the bag of IV fluid. Tuck adjusted the angle of her hips, taping the Doppler in the area of the heartbeat. The staccato of the baby’s heartbeat was reassuring.
Reid didn’t speak. He just held her hand. The world felt like it was falling apart again, but this time, they weren’t alone. They’d never be alone again.
Tuck glanced up. “She’s unstable, but the blood loss is slowing down. We won’t know how bad this is until I’ve done a full scan. Hopefully, the uterus isn’t contracting. Let’s get her to the med suite.”
Reid nodded, jaw clenched. He leaned down, brushing her forehead with his lips, voice rough but steady. “You hold the line, Claire. I’ve got you.”
Her fingers curled faintly around his.