Page 40 of Tempting My Billionaire Master

“Cut it out, Chloe,” Mary scolded gently, while Amanda fixed an oxygen mask over Ethan’s face.

“Stop insulting my work,” Amanda added sternly. “For as long as he is in my care his life is not in any danger.”

Mary squeezed my arm. “Hush now. Amanda knows her stuff. Mr. Hamilton will be right as rain.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Patrick cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, I really have to report all of this…”

“Please don’t,” I begged once more. “We can’t trust the police.”

Susan placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “We have no reason to doubt you. But my grandson is a good boy, Chloe.”

“I believe that,” I said. “But how can we know for sure about the rest of the precinct? Ethan’s life is at stake here. We can’t take any chances.”

“Alright, I’ve got a plan,” Patrick announced suddenly, determination in his eyes. “I’ll get some of my buddies from the precinct, guys I trust, and bring them here. Then I’ll report it to the precinct. Even if the others are bought out, they won’t openly oppose their own.”

Amanda glanced up from her work as she hooked Ethan to the IV, a glint of approval in her eyes. “That’s actually quite clever.”

Patrick puffed up at the praise, grinning like a doofus.

Susan nodded. “Go on then, but stay away from Ronny McAllister. That good-for-nothing can’t be trusted.”

“Ronny’s a grown man now, Nana,” Patrick replied defensively. “He’s got kids and everything, they’re gonna make him lieutenant next year.”

“Fine, just hurry up,” Susan relented.

With one last nod, Patrick hurried out of the building. Amanda turned to the rest of us, her expression serious. “I’m going to start removing the bullet now. The faint of heart should look away.”

Susan, Mary, Elisabeth, and I took the warning to heart and turned our backs as Amanda began her delicate work.

“So,” Elisabeth whispered conspiratorially. “How exactly did you meet the dashing Mr. Hamilton? What’s he like? How big is his yacht?” She nudged me with her elbow. “If you know what I mean.”

“Elisabeth!” Mary scolded while Susan shook her head. “Hush, you old gossip!”

A sudden scuff of shoes in the waiting room made us all freeze. Susan called out, “Did you forget something, Patrick?”

But it wasn’t Patrick standing in the doorway.

It was Gordon.

Chapter Fifteen

Chloe

The moment Gordon walked into the room, I could feel the temperature drop. His gaze was cold, and the gun in his hand felt like a death sentence. There was nowhere to run. My stomach churned with fear and desperation, as I stared into his icy eyes. The room fell silent as everyone stared at him, trying to grasp what was happening.

“You,” Susan defiantly stepped forward, her wrinkled face set in determination. “I knew you were up to no good from the very start,” she snapped. “You’d better get out of here before my grandson returns with his police buddies.”

Gordon smirked, his scar twisting on his cheek. “I don’t care,” he said, his voice like gravel. “For my daughter, I will kill the police, I will kill everyone in this town. But it doesn’t need to come to that. Just give me Ethan, and then I’ll walk away.” Silence enveloped the room once more—suffocating, stifling silence.

My mind raced. There had to be a way out of this. His daughter? I latched onto that, grasping at straws. “What’s next?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Do you really think Ethan’s enemies will keep their word? That they’ll release your daughter once Ethan is dead?”

Gordon hesitated, pain flickering across his face. “I have no choice. Once Ethan is gone, I’ll send them proof. They have to set her free.” His voice trembled as he repeated, “They have to.”

“What kind of evidence do you need?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, belying the panic flooding my veins. My gaze held his, willing him to listen. To trust me.

“Stop stalling!” Gordon snapped, pointing the gun at me. I didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. I walked closer until the cold metal touched my forehead, the metal pressing against my skin a grim promise of what was to come. I could feel the sweat beading on my temples, my palms grew clammy. Still, I met his eyes and asked again, calmly, “What evidence do you need?”

---