Page 139 of Anchor
They didn’t speak unless they had to. That was why Reid trusted them.
“You good?” Apex’s voice was just above a whisper.
Reid gave a small nod. “You got here fast.”
“Because Ian didn’t ask. He ordered.” Apex pushed off the wall, walking toward him. His gait was silent, even on tile. “You look better.”
“I’m not.” Reid didn’t say it with self-pity, just honesty.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re moving. You’re aware. You’re pissed. That’s all you need.”
Reid managed half a smile. “You got the report?”
Apex nodded once. “Prague. Montenegro. Vos and Heather. We read it twice before we even boarded.”
“And now?”
“Now we wait. And we listen.” Apex’s voice dropped lower. “He’s circling your perimeter, Hanlon. He’s not coming straight at you. But he’s watching how you respond.”
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll respond loud.”
“Not yet,” Apex said. “You’ve got something more fragile to protect than your pride.”
Dr. Rowan Vale, new lead of the medical detail, appeared from the side hallway. He was compact, wiry, with salt-and-pepper stubble and a kind of relaxed severity that only came from battlefield medicine.
“You want a readout?” Rowan asked.
Reid straightened. “Anything new?”
“She’s stable. Amniotic fluid levels are up. Fetal heartbeat’s regular. Still previa, but no more bleeding. We’ve started a low-dose anticoagulant to prevent clot risks and are tracking every contraction. If she spikes blood pressure again, I’ve got a protocol lined up, and there’s a chopper fueled.”
Reid looked him square in the eyes. “And her mental state?”
Rowan’s voice softened. “That’s your part, Hanlon.”
Reid nodded slowly, jaw tightening as he glanced back at the quiet hallway to the room where Claire slept behind locked doors and silent alarms. “She deserves peace.”
Apex didn’t flinch. “Then we build her a wall no one gets through.”
Reid turned back toward the suite. “She’s going to wake up soon. And she’s going to see what we’ve done to this place.”
Apex raised a brow. “You think she’s gonna like it?”
Reid offered a wry smile. “I think she’s going to hate it, but she’ll understand.” He pushed the door open. Time to face her.
MONTENEGRO – PRIVATE VILLA ABOVE THE COAST – 1100 HOURS
The bandages itched. Vos sat propped on pillows in the oversized bed, curtains drawn tight against the Mediterranean glare. A tray sat untouched beside him, his tea cooling, fruit wilting in the morning heat. His jaw ached like bone-deep thunder. The second reconstructive surgery had gone well, according to the doctor. He had a finished new face. But the eyes? They were still the same, icy and calculating.
Heather sat in a velvet chair nearby, her own face partially concealed beneath fresh bandages and dark glasses. She hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes, not since the pediatrician left.
Vos’s voice, though hoarse, was deliberate. “Lenka is en route with the birthing kit. I’ve decided to send her with the extraction team. She’ll use the clinic in Cetinje when Claire arrives. It’s quiet and isolated. Equipment is already prepped.”
Heather blinked behind her glasses. “And the pediatrician?”
“Dr. Petr Novak is housed two miles down the road. He thinks he’s here for a neonatal trial.” Vos smirked. “He’s not.”
She swallowed, visibly uneasy. “This plan… It’s not stable, not with the security she has?—"
