Chapter 7
The air in the subterranean clinic went dead.
"What did you say?" Wyatt whispered, his hands dropping to his sides. "Her brother... Richard Vance?"
"Richard needed Evelyn dead to claim the majority share of the family trust," Clara said, her voice entirely stripped of emotion. "When she came in for that aneurysm, I deliberately adjusted the intraoperative vasodilators during your clipping procedure. I caused the bleed, Wyatt. Your hand didn't slip. I made sure the vessel ruptured right under your blade."
Wyatt looked down at his own trembling hands as if they belonged to an alien creature. The crushing, soul-destroying guilt that had driven him to madness, the nights of sobbing on the edge of our mattress, the ruin of our marriage—it had all been an engineered lie.
"You set me up," Wyatt choked out. "You destroyed my life... to murder a girl for an inheritance?"
"I gave you an out!" Clara snapped, backing toward the rear exit door that led to the utility tunnels. "I offered to let you 'cure' her with my peptide once Richard's legal probate cleared! But you grew a conscience. You brought your wife into this. And now, you're both collateral."
The double doors of the room burst open.
Two armed hospital security guards entered, Luke right behind them. "Nobody move! Keep your hands where we can—"
Clara didn't hesitate. She pressed a red emergency button on the wall junction box.
Instantly, the halon fire-suppression system engaged. Dense, blinding white chemical fog erupted from the ceiling vents with a deafening roar, plunging the entire room into zero visibility.
Coughing and choked screams erupted as the security guards stumbled back, blinded by the pressurized gas.
"Nora!" Wyatt’s voice cut through the whiteout. His hand gripped mine with desperate, crushing strength. "Run! The service stairwell behind the freight elevator—go!"
"Maisie!" I screamed against the burning chemical fog, coughing violently. "She has people at Maisie's school!"
"Take my keys!" Wyatt shoved a heavy ring of brass keys and an electronic fob into my coat pocket. "Go out the loading dock! My truck is parked by bay four. Get to Maisie before Clara's courier reaches the office! I'll hold Clara here!"
"Wyatt, no!"
"Nora, please!" Wyatt grabbed my face in both of his hands through the swirling smoke. His eyes were red, weeping from the gas, but clearer than I had seen them in years. "I destroyed our life. Let me save our daughter. Run!"
He shoved me backward toward the maintenance exit just as a muffled gunshot echoed through the fog.
A sharp gasp ripped from Wyatt's throat.
He staggered forward, his shoulder slamming into the wall. Through the drifting white chemicals, I saw Clara standing near the tunnel door, a small-caliber pistol raised in her gloved hand.
"Wyatt!" I shrieked.
May you like
"Go, Nora!" he roared, blood spraying from his lips as he threw his entire weight across the room, tackling Clara to the tile before she could aim the weapon at me.
I turned and ran.
