Chapter 4 - The Second Attack
Carter was pushed into the hallway as six medical professionals rushed into Cynthia’s room.
The doors closed in his face.
He hated closed doors.
His father had died behind one.
His mother had left behind another.
Now Cynthia was somewhere beyond glass while Carter stood uselessly outside.
Dr. Shah emerged twelve minutes later.
“Postoperative bleeding. We caught it.”
“Is she going back to surgery?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have right now.”
Carter forced himself to stop.
Doctors were not soldiers.
Hospitals were not his world.
Here, intimidation could not repair an artery.
“I’m sorry.”
Dr. Shah studied him, apparently surprised.
“She needs quiet. And security that does not interfere with medical care.”
“You’ll have it.”
Carter doubled security anyway.
That decision saved Cynthia’s life a second time.
At 3:08 the next morning, a woman wearing hospital scrubs approached Cynthia’s room carrying a syringe.
The Moretti guard outside checked her badge.
It was convincing.
But Carter had ordered Luca to verify every person entering the floor against the active staffing roster.
The woman was not on it.
She ran.
Luca caught her before she reached the elevator.
The syringe contained enough potassium chloride to stop Cynthia’s heart.
That changed everything.
The shooting had not simply been an attempt on Carter.
Someone wanted Cynthia dead.
“Why?” Ethan demanded.
They were standing inside an empty conference room.
Carter had finally told him enough of the truth to frighten him.
“I don’t know.”
“She’s a nurse.”
“I know.”
“She doesn’t know anything about you.”
Carter stopped.
Maybe she did.
Not consciously.
He remembered Vance’s access to his records.
Cynthia had discovered the digital medication errors that morning.
Errors.
Records.
Vance.
“What exactly did your sister report about the computer system?”
Ethan shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Cassie did.
She brought Cynthia’s incident report.
Carter read it twice.
Seven medication orders had been altered.
Not erased.
Altered.
The medications belonged to seven specific patients.
Luca searched their names.
His face darkened.
“All seven are connected to us.”
One was a retired judge who had protected Carter’s father years ago.
Another was a union official.
A third was Carter’s accountant’s wife.
Someone had been using the hospital network to target people connected to the Moretti organization while making their deaths look medical.
Cynthia had accidentally found the mechanism.
That was why Vance had humiliatedated her into silence.
That was why she had become a target.
The bullets were meant for Carter.
The syringe was meant for her.
Carter looked at Cassie.
“Where are her printed records?”
“Locked medication room.”
They searched.
Gone.
But Cynthia had made copies.
Cassie remembered Cynthia stuffing papers into her lunch bag because she planned to review them at home.
The lunch bag had disappeared during the shooting.
Security footage showed someone taking it.
Preston Vance.
At sunrise, Cynthia stabilized.
Carter entered alone.
She was awake.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
He sat beside her.
“What do I do?”
“Yes.”
He considered lying.
Then remembered what Cassie had said about cages.
“My family controls businesses across Boston. Construction. Shipping. Clubs. Private security.”
“That sounds suspiciously like the answer someone gives when the real answer is illegal.”
“It is.”
Cynthia stared at him.
“Are you mafia?”
Carter almost smiled at how plainly she said it.
“My family has been called that.”
“Oh.”
She stared at the ceiling.
After several seconds she whispered, “That explains the suits.”
“The suits?”
“Normal people don’t have six men wearing identical black coats outside intensive care.”
Despite everything, Carter laughed.
It surprised both of them.
Then Cynthia winced.
“Don’t make me laugh. Everything hurts.”
His amusement vanished.
“I’m sorry.”
She studied him.
“You really are sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You took three bullets for me.”
“For a patient.”
“Would you have done it for Vance?”
She thought about it.
“Yes.”
Carter looked offended.
That made her smile.
“You're impossible.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“You almost died.”
“And you're alive.”
His voice dropped.
“That is not a fair trade.”
Something in his expression silenced her.
Cynthia looked away first.
“Ethan?”
“Safe.”
“My bills?”
Carter hesitated one fraction too long.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Carter.”
He had faced federal investigators with greater comfort.
“I paid some things.”
“How many things?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Cynthia—”
“Carter.”
“Sixty-one thousand three hundred dollars.”
She stared at him.
“You paid Ethan’s debt?”
“Yes.”
“Undo it.”
“That’s not how payment works.”
“Then let me repay you.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“I didn’t save your life so you could buy mine.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward.
“I paid because while you were bleeding on a floor, you asked if I was hurt. Because your brother punched me twice and then apologized for getting blood on my shirt. Because you have spent years choosing between dignity and keeping him alive.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t need saving.”
“I know.”
“Then stop trying.”
Carter became quiet.
“What do you need?”
The question surprised her.
She looked toward the window.
“The truth.”
“About?”
“Why somebody tried to kill me last night.”
Carter froze.
She saw it.
“Somebody did, didn’t they?”
He said nothing.
Cynthia’s hand moved toward the call button.
“Tell me.”
Carter finally nodded.
“Someone came into the hospital with a syringe.”
Her face went pale.
“Why?”
“We think you found something in the medication system.”
Cynthia stared at him.
Then her expression changed.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“The seventh chart.”
“What seventh chart?”
May you like
She looked directly at him.
“It wasn’t a patient.”
