Chapter 8 - THE HEARTBEAT
The emergency room doors swallowed Sarah at 12:31 a.m.
Declan arrived still wearing handcuffs.
The federal agent beside him made three calls and eventually removed them under armed supervision.
Declan barely noticed.
Dr. Weaver met them inside.
“Bleeding does not automatically mean miscarriage.”
“Then tell me what it means.”
“I need you to let us work.”
Sarah reached for Declan before the nurses moved her.
He took her hand.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m here.”
“They’re taking me away.”
“I’ll be on the other side of the door.”
Her fingers tightened.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
The doors closed.
Declan stood outside for forty-three minutes.
He had been shot twice in his life.
Stabbed once.
Held at gunpoint more times than he could remember.
Nothing compared to those forty-three minutes.
Thomas sat beside him.
“Arthur’s talking.”
Declan did not respond.
“Michael too.”
Nothing.
“The Bureau wants the Bishop ledgers and your cooperation.”
Declan stared at the floor.
“I’ll give them everything.”
“You could lose the company.”
“I know.”
“The houses.”
“I know.”
“Most of the organization.”
Declan finally looked at him.
“I know.”
Thomas nodded.
For years, he had believed Declan would die protecting the Hayes empire.
Instead, Sarah Mitchell had given him something more valuable to protect.
A future outside it.
Dr. Weaver appeared.
Declan stood.
“Sarah is stable.”
“And the baby?”
A pause.
“Heartbeat is present.”
Declan closed his eyes.
Thomas looked away.
Weaver continued.
“She has a placental complication. The poisoning may have contributed, although we cannot say definitively. She needs strict monitoring.”
“Can I see her?”
“Yes.”
Sarah looked tiny beneath the hospital blankets.
Declan sat beside her.
“The baby?”
“Still stubborn.”
He smiled.
“Gets that from you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sarah.”
She looked at him.
“I love you.”
There was no performance in it.
No grand speech.
No demand.
Sarah’s eyes filled.
Declan continued.
“I should have said it in Miami.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
“You should have said it when you came back from Chicago.”
“I know.”
“You definitely should have said it before I found out you might marry Catherine Bishop.”
“I know.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
“I love you too.”
Declan bowed his head against her hand.
“But.”
His head rose.
Sarah almost smiled.
“You don’t get rewarded for finally telling the truth.”
“Fair.”
“You’re going to cooperate with the government.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going legitimate.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to therapy.”
Declan blinked.
Thomas, listening outside, covered his mouth.
Declan looked toward the door.
“Is he laughing?”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“I’ll fire him.”
“You’re not allowed to solve emotional discomfort through unemployment either.”
Declan stared at her.
Then Sarah laughed.
It hurt.
But she laughed anyway.
Three days later, Declan signed the cooperation agreement.
The consequences were enormous.
Federal investigators seized records.
Several Hayes associates were arrested.
Arthur Bishop was indicted on conspiracy, attempted murder, trafficking, bribery, and financial crimes.
Michael faced kidnapping, conspiracy, obstruction, and multiple other charges.
Thomas received limited immunity in exchange for testimony.
Eleanor disappeared from Boston society.
Catherine entered protective custody.
And Hayes Global Logistics lost nearly forty percent of its value in six days.
Declan did not complain once.
Sarah noticed.
“You really don’t care about the money?”
“I care.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I just care about something else more.”
His hand settled gently over her belly.
At twenty weeks, doctors found no major structural abnormalities.
At twenty-four, the baby kicked so hard during an ultrasound that Sarah laughed.
At twenty-eight, Declan converted a room in his Beacon Hill house into a nursery.
Sarah stood in the doorway.
“You bought six cribs.”
“I didn’t know which one was safest.”
“You could have read reviews.”
“I did.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“How many?”
“Approximately four thousand.”
Sarah laughed until she had to sit down.
For a few months, life became almost ordinary.
Then at thirty-two weeks, Dr. Weaver called.
He wanted them at the hospital immediately.
The fetal heart rhythm had changed.
Declan drove.
Sarah sat silently beside him.
At the hospital, three specialists entered the room.
That was when Sarah knew.
Something was wrong.
Dr. Weaver sat down.
“The cardiac mutation we discussed earlier appears to be expressing.”
Declan’s hand found hers.
“What does that mean?” Sarah asked.
“It means your baby has developed an arrhythmia.”
Her throat tightened.
“Can you treat it?”
“We believe so.”
“Believe?”
Weaver chose his words carefully.
“We need to prepare for an early delivery.”
Declan squeezed her hand.
“When?”
May you like
Dr. Weaver looked at both of them.
“Possibly tonight.”
