34. Erik
ERIK
Ilower my weapon because Orell's got the barrel pressed against Rowan's side and because she's watching me hard enough to make it clear she understands why.
She looks terrible. Bruising covers one side of her face, her hair's come loose around her shoulders, and dried blood marks the cuff of her sweater.
She's standing, which is more than I expected after the footage from the estate, the crashed van, and the ranger station.
She's also positioned half a step in front of Orell instead of being held against a wall or strapped to a table. That matters.
Orell watches my gun move toward the floor. "Wise choice."
I keep both hands visible and let the muzzle point down. "You wanted me here."
"I wanted what you have."
"You could've asked."
Rowan gives me a look that'd be familiar under better circumstances.
Orell notices. "You still find each other amusing."
"Sometimes." I look at Rowan instead of him. "She's funnier than I am."
Her mouth moves slightly before she stops it. She's scared. I can see that now that I know where to look, but she's also thinking. That's useful.
Makari should be one room east of me. I heard his team clear the lower treatment corridor before I reached the surgical wing.
Peter's people have the main dock occupied from outside the killing lane, and Orell still believes the charter approach is the active threat.
The western service corridor behind this room remains the only uncertain route.
I need Orell talking long enough for that uncertainty to disappear.
He shifts his stance and keeps Rowan between us. "Jeremy Bennett's originals."
"You can have them." Rowan looks at me, but I don't acknowledge the reaction. "Whatever version you think exists, I'll give it to you."
Orell studies my face. "The decrypted copy too."
"Yes."
He presses the gun more firmly into Rowan's side. I stop myself from moving.
"Your compliance has improved."
"You finally asked for something specific."
Rowan looks at me again, this time with irritation. That's encouraging. If she can still be annoyed with me, she can still think.
Orell's attention stays on me. "I also want signing authority over the Danilov Foundation accounts."
I don't answer immediately. That pause isn't for him. Makari needs time.
Orell sees hesitation and mistakes it for calculation. "You've transferred enough legitimate assets through the foundation that control of those accounts gives me access to the companies Liya moved outside your direct authority."
"That isn't how the structure works."
His expression changes. "You created it."
I shrug. "Liya created most of it. I signed what she put in front of me."
Rowan almost smiles.
Orell notices again. "You find this entertaining?"
She shifts slightly inside his grip. "I find the idea of Erik reading foundation governance documents entertaining."
I look at her. "I read some of them."
She scoffs. "You signed them. That isn't the same thing."
Orell pulls her closer, ending the exchange. "Enough."
Rowan gets quiet, but her weight has changed. She's no longer standing evenly. Her left foot's slightly behind her right, with one knee loose rather than locked.
I taught her that stance at the range.
My stomach drops. She's preparing to move. I keep my attention on Orell. "You want authority over the foundation accounts. Fine."
"Not temporary authority."
"Full signing access."
He nods once. "Yes."
"You'll have it."
He studies me again, trying to decide whether capitulation is real. It is, in the only sense that matters. If he puts a document in front of me, I'll sign it. I'll sign the foundation, the legitimate companies, the penthouse, and anything else he can think to demand.
I can rebuild money, but I can't rebuild Rowan or three children I learned about two days ago and haven't had the chance to hear her tell me exist.
A door closes somewhere beyond the surgical corridor. Orell hears it. His attention shifts toward the glass doors for less than a second before he looks back at me. "Where are the originals?"
"Not here."
His grip changes on Rowan's arm. "Where?"
"Boston."
"That isn't an answer."
I square my shoulders. "It's the answer you're getting until she walks away from you."
Rowan's eyes close briefly.
Orell's expression loses the faint amusement he's carried since I entered. "You're not negotiating."
I stare at him. "I just agreed to everything you asked for."
"You agreed to words."
I keep my voice level through sheer willpower. "I don't have a foundation transfer form in my pocket."
His mouth hardens. There's nothing sophisticated about him now.
At the gala, Orell explained his system as if he'd evolved beyond men like me. He preferred leverage to violence, respectable people to soldiers, and committees to threats. He made other people dirty their hands while he stayed far enough away to call himself a businessman.
Now he's standing in a surgical room with a pistol pressed against a pregnant woman. He isn't more evolved. He's just a man with a gun who's losing.
The glass doors open behind him, and Evelyn comes into the corridor alone. Her hair's come loose, and a dark mark is forming along one side of her face. She stops when she sees me, then looks at Orell.
"The marine diversion has shifted south." She moves closer but stays outside the room. "Coast Guard traffic is closing the western lane."
Orell doesn't take his attention from me. "Then the boat leaves now."
"It can't." Evelyn looks toward the window beyond the nurses' station. "The eastern approach is blocked by the charter confrontation, and the western lane is under federal control."
Rowan watches Evelyn instead of me.
Orell finally turns his head. Not much. Fifteen degrees, maybe less, but enough to acknowledge her. "You were responsible for the records."
Evelyn stops.
Orell continues before she can answer. "Aaron's notes survived because you failed to identify what he retained."
Her face drains. "Aaron's notebook wasn't in the clinic archive."
"You had access to his workspace."
She takes a step back. "I had access to documents, not his personal property."
"You had four semesters with Rowan Bennett and still failed to understand what she would preserve."
Evelyn flinches.
Orell shifts another fraction toward her. The gun moves with him, though the barrel stays against Rowan's side. "You knew Jeremy had distributed copies. You knew Aaron was tracking the medical route and Harper Bell had the notebook."
Evelyn shakes her head. "I only knew she had it after Aaron died."
"You knew enough."
Rowan moves.
She drives her heel into the outside of Orell's knee and turns at the same time, rotating toward the gun instead of away from it, exactly the way I taught her. Orell's leg buckles. Rowan traps his wrist against her side for one second, drops her weight, and twists free.
The gun aims away from her as I raise mine. Orell recovers faster than I want him to and brings his weapon up while Rowan's still moving away.
I fire.
The first round hits high in his chest and turns him sideways. He stays on his feet. I cross the room before he can recover and catch Rowan around the waist, pulling her behind me.
Orell raises the gun again, so I fire twice more. He falls against the surgical table, hits the edge, then goes down beside it.
The sound inside the room is enormous. Rowan grabs the back of my shirt while I keep my weapon on Orell. He moves once before stopping.
I kick the weapon away and turn to Rowan. "Are you hit?"
She stares at me for a second before shaking her head. "No."
I put my gun away and turn her toward me, checking her sweater and jeans for blood I haven't already seen. "Where are you hurt?"
"Erik."
"Where?" I start at her shoulders, then stop myself before touching the bruised one.
She catches my forearm. "My shoulder, my hip, my face, my throat, and probably several places I'll discover later. I'm not shot."
My attention drops to her abdomen before I can help it. Rowan sees where I'm looking and puts one hand over my wrist.
"There's no bleeding. I've checked every time I could."
My throat closes hard enough that I have to swallow before speaking. "Cramping?"
"Not now."
I look back at her face. "What does that mean?"
"I had one earlier when Evelyn brought the sedative." Rowan turns toward the corridor at the same moment I do.
Evelyn is gone.
Makari appears through the glass doors almost immediately, moving fast with his pistol raised. Blood runs across the back of one hand, and two fingers are already swelling.
"Where's Grant?"
"She was there." Rowan points toward the corridor Evelyn used. "She left when Orell went down."
Makari touches his earpiece while moving toward the nurses' station. "Peter, Grant is moving."
Static answers first, then Peter's voice comes through. "Main dock is closed. I don't have her."
Makari turns toward the far end of the surgical wing. "Secondary route."
I catch sight of his hand again when he reaches for the door. "What happened?"
"Rahil." Makari flexes once and grimaces. "He lost."
Rowan shifts beside me, trying to look past him toward the corridor. "Is he alive?"
Makari glances back. "Yes. Restrained downstairs."
That matters enough that she exhales and leans slightly into my side.
Makari hears something through his earpiece and stops at the doors. "Say again."
Peter's voice comes clearer this time. "Small service launch on the north side. We missed the secondary dock. Female passenger, one operator."
Evelyn.
Makari starts moving. I catch his shoulder before he gets through the doors and look pointedly at his swollen hand.
He gives me a brief but grim smile. "I've got another one."
"That isn't what I meant."
"I know." Makari pulls free and disappears into the corridor anyway.
Rowan watches him leave, then looks up at me. "You're surrounded by difficult people."
"You chose this group." I slide one arm around her waist when she sways.
"I chose Harper."
"That was the gateway mistake."
She laughs once, then winces and presses her fingers against her side.