Chapter 320

She turned to the hallway. The door to Azalea’s room was ajar.

“Azalea?” Eliza pushed the door open.

The room was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in. The closet doors were wide open, hangers bare. The massive suitcase was gone.

On the nightstand, propped against the lamp, was a black American Express Centurion card and a piece of paper torn from a notebook.

Eliza picked it up. Her hands shook so hard the paper rattled.

I’m going to save the world. Or at least this family. I found a lead on Dr. Lin through Forrest’s old contacts at Doctors Without Borders. Don’t follow me. Take care of Dad. Love, A.

The floor seemed to tilt. Eliza gasped for air. She turned and sprinted down the hall, pounding her fist against the heavy oak door of the study.

“Dallas! Dallas, wake up!”

The door was yanked open instantly. Dallas sat in his wheelchair, fully dressed in black tactical gear, a gun holster strapped to his thigh. His eyes were sharp, alert, dangerous.

“What?” he barked.

“She’s gone,” Eliza screamed, thrusting the note at him. “Azalea is gone!”

Dallas snatched the note from Eliza’s hand. His eyes scanned the scrawled handwriting in a fraction of a second.

Dr. Lin.

The blood drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. He spun his wheelchair around and rolled furiously toward the bank of monitors on his desk, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Weston!” he roared into his headset. “Track Azalea’s phone. Now!”

Eliza stood in the doorway, her chest heaving. “Who is Dr. Lin? Where did she go?”

“A neurosurgeon,” Dallas said, not looking up. “A specialist in nerve regeneration. He went off the grid five years ago. Last known location was a refugee camp in Beirut.”

“Beirut?” Eliza felt her knees give way. She grabbed the doorframe for support. “She went to a war zone? To find a doctor — for you?”

“She’s a child,” Dallas hissed. “A stupid, brave child.”

Weston’s voice came through the speakers, tight with panic. “Boss. I have a hit. She took a burner cab to Teterboro. A private charter took off twenty minutes ago. Flight plan filed for Istanbul, then a connection to Lebanon.”

“Intercept it,” Dallas ordered.

“I can’t,” Weston said. “It’s already in international airspace. And — Boss, the charter company is a shell. It’s linked to a mercenary transport network. She didn’t just buy a ticket. She hired an extraction team.”

Dallas slammed his fist onto the desk. The monitor wobbled. “She used the black card. She bought herself a war.”

He spun the chair around. “Prep the Gulfstream. I want wheels up in ten minutes. Get the gear.”

He rolled toward the door, but Eliza blocked his path. She was pale and shaking, but her eyes were blazing.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Dallas said. He tried to maneuver around her.

“She is my daughter too!” Eliza screamed. “In every way that matters! I am not staying here while you both go to die!”