18. Walt
EIGHTEEN
Walt
A few days later, the door to my hospital room opens, and in strides CJ carrying a tablet under his arm. Ethan and Blake follow on his heels. CJ yanks the bedside table close and sets the tablet down.
From his posture, something’s changed.
“Got something interesting.” He powers up the tablet, fiddles with a connection, and suddenly, we’re in a briefing with Sam, Forest, Mitzy, and another face I recognize.
Robert Collins, tech billionaire and previous Guardian HRS client.
“We’re on,” CJ says.
“Walt.” Sam’s voice carries barely contained energy. “Sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Collins has information you need to hear.”
I push myself straight in the bed, ignoring how the movement pulls at my stitches. “Mr. Collins. Last time we met, we rescued your daughter from a human trafficking ring.”
“Please, call me Robert.” He looks older than I remember, new lines etched around his eyes. “And I’m here about Ally. She’s missing—again.”
I don’t see how this can be related to Malia’s kidnapping, but I play along. I don’t have the energy for much beyond that. “Missing? Since when?”
“She was working on her doctoral thesis at CERN under her advisor, Dr. Wally Whittman.” His hands clench at his sides. “Top quantum physicist, pioneer in fusion containment theory. Ally missed the defense of her doctoral thesis. Whittman also missed it. Neither of them showed up for work the next day. Her apartment is empty. There’s no sign of a struggle.”
“Wittman co-authored several papers with Malia’s brother on quantum tunneling effects in plasma containment,” Mitzy chimes in. The tablet suddenly flashes with several journal articles on cold fusion.
“Or weaponize them.” Forest’s gravelly voice carries grim understanding.
“Malikai?” My head snaps up. “You’re sure?”
Forest turns to Collins. “When exactly did your daughter disappear?”
The conversation continues. I lean back because the act of sitting is too exhausting. It’s a lot to process, but maybe we can find something in Ally’s disappearance that will lead us to Malia.
“Found something.” Mitzy’s back in charge. I know this because the screen suddenly flickers and flashes with journal article after journal article. “Mr. Collins, we’re following the abduction of Malikai Singh. He was taken three days ago by a professional extraction team. They took his sister as leverage. I cross-referenced papers published by Whittman and Singh and found something disturbing.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a Dr. Chen from Berkeley—a theoretical physicist and cold fusion specialist. He specializes in plasma containment. Dr. Rodriguez disappeared, as did his daughter. He’s a theoretical physicist in quantum tunneling effect and applications to cold fusion. There’s a Dr. Williams, same field of study—fusion dynamics—who also went missing with his wife. Now, we have Malia and her brother—the latest scientist taken, and your daughter and her mentor, Dr. Whittman. They’re all connected through collaborations in publications in theoretical physics and/or cold fusion. It’s the same pattern. The same people. Someone is collecting quantum physicists and using their families to ensure cooperation.”
“Which means…” Collins swallows hard. “Ally wasn’t taken because she’s my daughter this time. I feel as though I should be relieved that her life isn’t in danger because of me, but she’s still missing. She was taken because she’s Whittman’s doctoral candidate. Because she knows enough about their research to be valuable.”
“That seems to be the case.” Forest steps in with his rumbly voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to get her back.”
“We need everything you have on Whittman’s research.” Ethan’s already reaching for his phone. “We also need to know what Ally was working on—anything you can give us. Mitzy, if you haven’t already, find out what you can about the other scientists. There must be a thread we can pull that will show us where they might have been taken.”
“I’ll have Ally’s lab notes sent over.” Collins runs a hand through his hair. “But most of it’s beyond me. Quantum mechanics, fusion dynamics… And, of course, her phone. My people have already tried tracking it, but maybe you can find something we missed. Do whatever it takes to bring my girl home. Bring them all home.”
Damn straight.
The video call ends with a sharp click, Collins’ face disappears from the screen. The weight of his final words lingers in the room like a storm cloud.
Bring my girl home. Bring them all home.
I stare at the blank screen for a beat, the steady hum of the hospital room monitors filling the silence. My fingers twitch against the blanket, the restlessness clawing at me like a caged animal. They’re out there—Malia and the others—somewhere.
And I’m stuck here, tied down by beeping machines and white sheets.
Helpless.
Useless.
I shove the blanket aside, the cool air biting my legs as I swing them over the edge of the bed. Pain ripples through my side, sharp but bearable.
“Walt.” Ethan’s warning comes too late. “What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed.” Fire rips through my chest, but I force myself upright. “I’m not spending another minute in this bed while Malia’s out there.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering.” Ethan steps closer, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’ve rested enough. There’s no recovery while they’re still out there.” My feet touch the cold tile, and I exhale sharply, straightening despite the pull of stitches and the protests of my battered body. “Every second I spend here is another second wasted.”
“And what exactly are you planning to do? Fall flat on your face before you make it out the door?” Blake crosses his arms, his expression dark.
“Whatever it takes.” My jaw tightens as I take a step, the pain slicing through me like a hot blade. I don’t let it stop me. “We don’t have time, and I’m not sitting on the sidelines while the rest of you figure it out without me.”
Ethan watches me for a long moment, the tension thick between us. Finally, he lets out a low growl, shaking his head. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, gripping the back of the chair for balance. “That’s why you made me a Guardian.”
“Fine.” Ethan exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath as he moves to the door. “But don’t come crying to me when Doc Summers rips you a new one.”
“She’ll have to catch me first,” I shoot back.
“Doc Summers will sedate you if you try to leave.” Blake rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“Let her try.” I yank the IV from my arm, ignoring the trickle of blood. I manage two stumbling steps before my legs betray me. The room tilts sideways as darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. Strong hands catch me before I hit the floor—Blake and Ethan, moving with tactical precision to keep me from face-planting.
“And this is why we can’t have nice things.” Doc Summers’ voice cuts through the fog as they half-carry, half-drag me back to bed. “Do you have any idea how much damage you could have done?”
“Had to try,” I mutter as they resettle me against the pillows. The world’s still spinning, but I refuse to close my eyes. Won’t give them the satisfaction.
“No, you didn’t.” She snaps on fresh gloves, already examining where I yanked out the IV. “You had to be stubborn and reckless because that’s your default setting. Stuck on stupid. Hold still.”
The sharp stick of a new IV makes me wince. “We’re wasting time?—”
“You know what wastes time?” She tapes down the line with more force than necessary. “Having to restitch wounds that won’t heal because someone won’t stay in bed. Having to monitor a patient who keeps spiking fevers because he won’t rest.”
“Doc—”
“No.” She cuts me off, her dark eyes fierce. “You want to help Malia? Then, be a good patient. Rest. Recover. Heal. Because right now, you’re barely able to stand, let alone fight. And when we find them—because we will find them—we’re going to need you at full strength.”
“Fine.” I sink back against the pillows, hating how the simple act of trying to stand leaves me drained and feeling like I just finished a marathon. “Then, at least let me be useful from here.”
“We’ll have Mitzy set you up a virtual office,” Doc Summers says, her sharp eyes narrowing as they rake over me. She doesn’t miss a thing—the tension in my jaw, the way my hand grips the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Her gaze flicks to CJ. “But if his vitals spike again?—”
“They won’t,” I interrupt, my voice a growl.
Doc Summers doesn’t dignify me with a response. Instead, she reaches for a syringe and attaches it to the IV port. “This isn’t a negotiation, Walt. You need to rest, and I need you stable. You’ll thank me later.”
“Like hell, I will,” I mutter, but it’s already too late.
The sedative courses through my veins, a heavy, unwelcome warmth that drags me under. My protests fade, slurring into incoherence as the world blurs around the edges. The last thing I see is Doc Summers’ silhouette and Ethan’s disapproving scowl.