Chapter 216

Hilliard went still, staring out at the dark, wet city.

It wasn’t just Cailin who had disappeared. The board was being cleared.

“Find them,” Hilliard said quietly. “Find everyone.”

Cailin stumbled out of the hospital’s service alley, the cold air a shock against her feverish skin. The van that had picked her up — Kegan’s men — had been forced to abandon her two blocks later, their vehicle flagged by a police scanner broadcast describing a suspicious black van leaving the scene. One of the men had shoved a wad of cash into her hand. “Go to ground. Find a terminal. We’ll re-establish contact.” Then they were gone.

Now she was alone. A ghost in the machine. Hunted.

She saw them at the end of the block — two men in dark suits, the same kind who had been stationed at the hospital exits. English family security. They were expanding their search grid.

She ducked into a side alley and spotted her chance: a janitor’s cart left unattended beside a service entrance. Without hesitation, she stripped off her blood-stained coat and stuffed it beneath a pile of trash bags, then pulled on a grimy, oversized janitor’s uniform hanging from the cart’s handle. It smelled of bleach and exhaustion, but it was a shield. A disguise.

She forced herself to walk, not run, blending into the city’s late-night shuffle of service workers. Every siren made her flinch. Every pair of headlights felt like a searchlight. Her left arm hung dead and heavy in the sling, throbbing with a dull, nauseating rhythm.

She stopped.

Across the street stood the 12th Precinct — a beacon of blue light and uniformed officers. The law.

She took one step forward. This was her last chance to let the system work, before she disappeared for good. She would walk in. She would tell them everything: about Charla, about the attempts on her life, about the children.

Then a black sedan pulled up to the curb.

The rear door swung open, and Gregg English stepped out. He wasn’t in handcuffs. He was smiling. He crossed the sidewalk and shook hands with a man in a white uniform shirt — the Police Captain. They laughed, clapping each other on the back like old war buddies.

Cailin froze, her foot hovering over a puddle.

Gregg handed the Captain a thick envelope. It disappeared inside the Captain’s jacket in the space of a blink.

Cailin stepped back into the shadows, her breath catching in her throat.

There was no law for people like the English family. There was only inventory. And the police were just another asset they owned.

If she walked in there, she wouldn’t be filing a report. She would be delivering herself — and by extension, her children — straight into the hands of the people trying to kill them.

She turned and ran.

She stumbled down the alley, slipping on wet garbage, her shoulder screaming with every stride. She needed a phone. A secure line.