Chapter 1 - THE BLOOD MATCH
Before sunrise, David Carter was supposed to die.
That was what the surgeon told me.
Not might die.
Not could die.
Die.
I stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of St. Catherine Memorial Hospital with my eight-year-old daughter beside me, gripping her backpack while she colored a horse purple.
She had no idea that the man fighting for his life upstairs was her father.
And I intended to keep it that way.
For eight years, I had protected Chloe from David Carter.
I had built our life in Madison far away from Chicago, away from black SUVs, expensive restaurants, whispered threats, and men who carried guns beneath tailored jackets.
I had convinced myself that David belonged to another lifetime.
Then Dr. Elena Winters called.
Three days ago, I had been sitting at my kitchen table grading essays when my phone rang.
"Is this Natasha Simmons?"
"Yes."
"This is Dr. Winters from St. Catherine Memorial."
I immediately knew something was wrong.
Doctors never called strangers casually.
Then she said his name.
David Carter.
My hand went numb.
I hadn't heard it spoken aloud in years.
"Why are you calling me?"
There was a pause.
"Because Mr. Carter listed you as his emergency contact."
I almost laughed.
Eight years.
Eight years without a call.
Without a message.
Without a single sign that he even remembered I existed.
And somehow, he had never removed my name.
Then she explained the rest.
David had undergone emergency surgery after being attacked during what the hospital records described as a "private security incident."
His condition had deteriorated.
He had lost an enormous amount of blood.
His blood type was rare.
But it wasn't simply the blood type.
His antigen profile was extraordinarily difficult to match.
Hospitals throughout Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin had been contacted.
Nothing.
Then they found my medical records.
Years earlier, during my pregnancy, doctors had discovered that my blood profile was unusual.
Dr. Winters wanted me tested.
I refused at first.
I wanted nothing to do with David.
But then she said something that changed everything.
"Without a compatible donor, he may not survive the night."
So I drove to Chicago.
And I brought Chloe.
Because there was no way I was leaving her alone while I walked into the world I had spent eight years avoiding.
Now we sat in the waiting room.
Chloe colored.
I watched the elevator.
"Mom?"
I looked down.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Is the sick man really important?"
I swallowed.
"Very."
"Is he famous?"
"Something like that."
She frowned.
"Why are there so many scary men?"
I looked around.
Six men in dark suits stood near the elevator.
They weren't hospital security.
They were Carter men.
I recognized the type immediately.
"I don't know," I said.
That was a lie.
I knew exactly why they were there.
David Carter was not merely wealthy.
He was the head of the Carter organization, one of Chicago's most feared criminal families.
People didn't discuss him loudly.
They didn't challenge him casually.
And they certainly didn't betray him twice.
But Chloe knew none of that.
She only knew that someone was sick.
I crouched beside her.
"Remember when the doctor told you your blood was unusual?"
"Yeah."
"The man upstairs has blood that's unusual too."
Her eyes widened.
"Can mine help?"
"Maybe."
She looked at her purple horse.
"Then I want to help."
My heart broke a little.
That was exactly the kind of answer I had expected from her.
Chloe had always been compassionate.
She had also inherited something from her father.
Fearlessness.
Dr. Winters approached.
"Natasha."
I stood.
She glanced at Chloe.
"The preliminary results are back."
My pulse accelerated.
"And?"
She hesitated.
"The match is extremely strong."
I frowned.
"How strong?"
"Strong enough that we need to perform additional testing before we proceed."
"Why?"
Her expression became serious.
"Because Chloe's blood profile is remarkably similar to David's."
I stared at her.
She lowered her voice.
"There's another possibility."
"What?"
"Biological relationship."
The room seemed to disappear.
I looked at Chloe.
She was still coloring.
Her blue eyes lifted toward me.
Exactly like his.
Eight years ago, I had promised myself that David would never know.
I had believed distance could protect us.
I had believed secrets could stay buried.
I was wrong.
"Are you saying—"
"I'm saying we need a legal guardian's authorization for further testing."
I looked toward Chloe.
"Does she need to know?"
"Not yet."
Relief flooded through me.
Then another voice spoke.
"Know what?"
I turned.
A tall man stood several feet away.
Black suit.
Cold eyes.
Scar across his jaw.
I recognized him.
Michael Carter.
David's younger brother.
He had been in the newspapers several times.
His gaze moved from me to Chloe.
Then back to me.
He stared at her face for several seconds.
His expression changed.
"That's impossible."
I tightened my grip on Chloe's backpack.
Michael stepped closer.
"Who is the little girl?"
"My daughter."
"What's her name?"
"Chloe."
His eyes narrowed.
"Chloe what?"
"Simmons."
He looked toward the ICU doors.
Then back at Chloe.
She smiled politely.
"Hi."
Michael didn't smile.
Instead, he reached for his phone.
"Call everyone."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"Because I think my brother has a daughter."
My blood turned cold.
May you like
Eight years of secrecy had just collapsed in a hospital waiting room.
And upstairs, the man who had no idea he was a father was fighting for his life.
