Page 81 of Beneath the Surface

Dillon nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but call me if anything seems off.”

“Of course,” Harris said with a reassuring smile. “This way, Officer.”

As Riley followed the head of security down the corridor, Dillon moved closer to Isobel, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Riley followedHarris into a small office tucked away from the main waiting area. The man closed the door behind them and gestured to a monitor on the desk. “We noticed a potential breach in this section here.” He pointed to a portion of the hospital floor plan displayed on the screen.

Riley leaned in, his brow furrowed as he studied the map. But before he could ask questions, a sharp, numbing pain shot through his neck. His hand flew up instinctively, grasping at the needle that had been plunged into his skin. His vision blurred as he stumbled backward. The last thing he saw was the calm, calculated expression on “Mitchell Harris’s” face.

Back in the waiting room,a nurse hurried in, her face pale. "Officer Dillon?"

Dillon turned sharply, his stance immediately alert. "Yes?"

"The surgeons need to speak with you immediately," she said, her hands wringing nervously. "It’s about the patient you brought in—Molly Everhart. They asked for you specifically."

Isobel’s head snapped up from where she was seated. "Why? What’s going on? Is Molly okay?"

"I don’t have details, ma’am," the nurse replied quickly. "They just requested the officer in charge."

Dillon’s jaw tightened, his gaze darting to Isobel. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned back to the nurse. "She’s coming with me."

The nurse hesitated. "That wasn’t what…"

Dillon cut her off, "I’m not leaving her here alone. Lead the way."

The nurse opened her mouth to argue, then nodded and gestured for them to follow. Isobel rose from her chair, her anxiety mounting as they moved quickly through the hospital corridors. Dillon’s hand hovered near his holster, his sharp gaze sweeping their surroundings as they walked.

"Why would the surgeons need you?" Isobel whispered to him.

"No idea," Dillon muttered. "But I don’t like the way this feels. Stay close, and don’t say a word unless I tell you to."

They turned a corner into a quieter hallway. The nurse led them toward a side corridor that seemed far removed fromthe hospital's bustling main floor. Dillon slowed. Isobel’s spine crawled. Something wasn’t right.

"Hold up," he said sharply.

The nurse turned, her expression blank for a moment before shifting into something more predatory. Too late, Isobel registered the movement behind them. A sharp blow struck the back of Dillon’s head, and he staggered forward, his vision blurring.

"Mark!" Isobel screamed as he hit the ground, groaning. She spun to face the attacker, but the man, a tall figure dressed in a hospital security uniform, was already advancing. Isobel stepped back, panic rising as she glanced down at Dillon, who was struggling to get back to his feet.

The nurse lunged for Isobel, but this time Isobel was ready. She twisted out of the way, her adrenaline spiking. "Help! Somebody!"

Her cry was cut off as the man seized her from behind, a cloth pressed over her mouth. The acrid smell of chemicals filled her nostrils, and she thrashed violently, her vision dimming. Dillon, still groggy, managed to pull his weapon but couldn’t aim before another blow to his temple sent him back to the floor.

Isobel’s vision swam as her strength gave out. The last thing she heard was the man’s cold, detached voice: "Move. Quickly."

Dillon came to,disoriented and unaware of how much time had passed. He groaned, attempting to push himself up on unsteady hands. His body screamed in protest, his head pounding as if a vise was crushing his skull. His gun—gone. And so was Isobel.

Two strong hands pressed him back onto the bed with surprising gentleness but firm authority. "Stay still," a deep voice commanded.

Dillon blinked, his focus sharpening. The familiar face of Dr. Tristan Blackwell loomed over him, concern etched into his features.

"Isobel," Dillon rasped, his voice raw. He struggled against the restraint of Blackwell’s hands. "He got her."

"We know," Tristan said. "It’s been called in. You were found about ten minutes ago. They’re already looking for her."

"Dammit," Dillon hissed, anger mixing with the gnawing edge of guilt as he tried to sit up again.

"Officer Dillon, you have a skull fracture." Tristan’s voice was sterner now as he reached for a penlight. "You’re in no shape to move. Let me do my job." He clicked on the light and shined it into Dillon’s left eye, watching for a reaction.

---