Page 134 of Anchor
Her head spun. She tossed aside the bed tray and kicked off the covers. In yoga pants and a tee shirt with soft maternity socks covering her feet, she stormed into the elevator and out toward Kieran’s office, fury overriding everything else. She needed answers. She made it to outside his door.
Her vision tilted, and her knees gave out—followed by the unmistakable warmth of blood rushing down her legs. A sharp gasp escaped her lips. One hand caught the wall, the other pressing instinctively to her belly.
“Help,” she croaked. “Someone… help…”
Footsteps thundered from around the corner. Patrick Hedges got to her first, with Seth a breath behind. They had been in a meeting in Seth’s office next door.
Claire didn’t see them. She was already sinking to the floor, her head spinning with one truth.What have I done?
REHAB UNIT – PT ROOM – SAME TIME
The bar shook in his grip, not from weakness but from defiance. Reid pushed against the resistance band one more time, arms trembling, shoulders slick with sweat. Every inch of his recovery was earned, and every breath hurt, but not as much as not knowing. Not knowing what Vos wanted and not knowing how long he'd have to lie to Claire.
The door opened behind him. He didn’t have to look. Kieran’s steps were always clipped. Lincoln’s were heavier, more methodical. They approached with the kind of stillness that never meant anything good.
Kieran didn’t bother softening the blow. “Tree Town One is airborne. Ian got a full, actionable package from D.C. Vos and Heather are confirmed in Montenegro.”
Lincoln stepped in. “And they didn’t go alone. They have two Prague-based doctors, an OB-GYN and pediatrician, with them.”
Kieran handed Reid a slim folder. “Here. Read it.”
Reid scanned quickly—passenger manifests, charter logs, names circled: Dr. Lenka Marova, obstetrics. Dr. Petr Novak, pediatrics.
The next page hit harder. Intercepted comms:incubator, continuity of care protocols.Notations about a Montenegro villa retrofitted with biometric locks and a surgical suite. And at the bottom, a red-flag entry:Bowman is in Denver.Attached was a limited, fragmented medical abstract. No digital trace. A singlenote in Tuck’s handwriting:Claire Bowman, 13 weeks. Records on paper only.
Reid shut the folder, jaw tightening. “He’s not planning a strike. He’s planning to kidnap our baby. He’ll only get to her over my dead body.” The words were a vow.
Kieran’s temper flared sharp as he turned on Lincoln. “We lock her down. Only high-level, long-term operators on her and Tree Town One.” His voice cut harder. “Her medical files are on paper only. The fact they have that abstract is not chance. There’s another mole in Ann Arbor, and Vos’s people—and possibly Vos—are already inside Denver.”
The room held still. Reid’s vow and Kieran’s fury left no air to breathe.
Reid’s hands curled into fists. “I was going to tell her. I waited too long.” He was already reaching for the towel, wiping sweat from his face, grabbing for his shirt. His ribs pulled tight, and his hip locked on the pivot, but he pushed through.
An overhead alert hit. “Medical emergency—Executive Wing.”
Tuck was nearby, speaking with the head PT about facility needs, when the alarm rang out. He rushed across the room. “Reid, it’s Claire. She went down in front of Kieran’s office.”
The elevator doorsopened ahead of him in a flurry of motion and voices. Reid saw the blood first. A deep, wet stain seeping into the floor. Then the edge of her sock, limp and barely visible beneath the folded edge of her blood-soaked leggings.
“Claire…!” He nearly fell reaching her, hip locking from the sprint, hands fumbling past Patrick and Seth.
She was crumpled on her side, barely conscious, lips parted as if trying to form words. Her hand was still at her belly.
He dropped to his knees. “I’m here. I’m here, baby, look at me, just look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze found him for a second.
Tuck had his medical bag in one hand, gloves clenched in his other fist. “Move,” he ordered.
Patrick slid down opposite Reid, helping turn Claire’s body gently, laying her flat as Tuck dropped beside them. “Who got to her first? Was she conscious?”
“Barely.” Patrick had already started an IV.
“Reid, did she have any bleeding when you were together?”
Reid shook his head.
Tuck’s drawl slipped into clinical precision as he pressed gloved hands to her pelvis, then grabbed a portable Doppler from his bag. “We’ve got a previa,” he said under his breath. “Goddamn it…”
