Page 24 of Against the Wind

We burst around the corner. Empty. But the closet door stood ajar, supplies scattered across the floor. Someone had been searching for something specific.

“They’re working their way toward the exam rooms,” Daniel whispered.

My stomach clenched. If they found the drug lockup…

A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Daniel’s arm shot out, shoving me into a shallow alcove where we took patient vitals. His body pressed against mine, shielding me as footsteps approached.

The power flickered, plunging us into darkness for two terrifying heartbeats before the emergency lights sputtered back on.

The footsteps stopped.

I held my breath, feeling Daniel’s muscles coiled tight against me. Ready to move. Ready to protect.

The metallic thud of something striking the drug lockup door echoed down the hallway. My fingers dug into Daniel’s arm as we listened to repeated impacts, each one more frustrated than the last.

“Damn it!” A male voice growled. More strikes against the door, then silence.

Daniel’s breath was warm against my neck as we stayed frozen in the alcove. The emergency lights cast strange shadows, making it impossible to see clearly down the hall.

Another crash, followed by cursing. “Why’s the fucking backup generator not on?”

My decision to save the generator might have just saved our drug supply. But we were still in here with a criminal. Daniel’s body remained tense against mine, ready to move at any moment. But moving meant revealing our position. As long as the intruder focused on the door, we were safer staying hidden.

Footsteps paced in front of the drug room, wet shoes squeaking against the tile floor. “There’s gotta be another way in.”

Daniel’s hand found mine in the darkness, squeezing once. A silent question: ready to move if we need to?

I squeezed back. Yes.

The sound of doors being thrown open grew closer. He was methodically searching each room, working his way toward us. The alcove wouldn’t hide us for long.

A beam of light swept past our hiding spot—flashlight. Daniel’s muscles tensed against me, his body coiled like a spring. The intruder’s footsteps squeaked against the floor, drawing nearer to our alcove.

A shadow fell across us. The moment the figure stepped into view, Daniel exploded into action. He drove his shoulder into the man’s midsection, tackling him backward. The flashlight went flying, spinning across the floor, casting wild shadows as it rolled.

I pressed myself flat against the wall, heart hammering as the two men grappled. Fists flew. Bodies slammed against walls. The intruder was shorter but stocky, matching Daniel’s height advantage with raw power.

They crashed into a supply cart, sending it clattering across the floor. The emergency lights cast everything in surreal shadows, making it hard to track their movements. A grunt of pain as the intruder caught Daniel with an elbow to the face.

He stumbled, his grip loosening. The man seized his chance, shoving Daniel hard. Daniel’s feet tangled in the fallen supplies, and he went down hard.

The intruder bolted, shoes squealing on the wet floor as he sprinted for the exit. Daniel scrambled up, blood trickling from his nose.

“Stay here!”

Before I could say another word, they’d both disappeared through the open door, straight into the belly of the hurricane still raging outside. Lightning flashed, illuminating their silhouettes for a split second before darkness swallowed them again, and I was left alone and terrified.

SIXTEEN

DANIEL

The rain stung my bare skin as I chased the shadow ahead through sheets of wind-driven water. My feet scraped against rough, debris-strewn pavement, but adrenaline dulled the pain. That face—I’d stared at his mugshot for hours during briefings. Mickey Doyle. Street dealer. According to intel, he usually worked the pier bars all along the Outer Banks. Suspicion was that he had connections higher up the chain that we hadn’t mapped yet.

A branch whipped past my head. The wind howled, drowning out everything except the blood roaring in my ears.

My mind raced faster than my feet. What was he doing at the clinic? Our intelligence suggested the operation moved product through fishing boats, not medical facilities. And the product they moved was generally cocaine or fentanyl. Had they started branching out, looking for prescription drugs? Or was this simply a crime of opportunity?

A piece of debris slammed into my shoulder. I stumbled, but kept moving. Mickey was fading into the darkness ahead. The rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet. Thunder cracked, and a sudden gust all but knocked me sideways.

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