Page 141 of Anchor
Reid lay still, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other curled protectively around her belly. He could feel the subtle pressure of the fetal monitor secured around her. The cable snaked out from under the blanket like a lifeline, and maybe it was. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, jaw tight.
The hum of the medical equipment filled the room: steady, controlled, watching everything. Tuck promised a round-the-clock team. And he delivered. But none of that changed the truth.
Claire had collapsed in the hallway. Her blood hit the floor. And Reid hadn’t gotten there in time. His fingers drifted across the swell of her abdomen, barely grazing the curve where their child moved. He felt a flicker beneath his palm. She was still here and still fighting.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening further. The muscles in his forearm twitched. He had trained for every breach, every battlefield, and every unthinkable scenario. But knowing she suffered while he was unconscious, and then her bleeding after—he hadn’t prepared for that. He hadn’t protected her.
If Vos got near her again, and if Heather Bowman somehow helped facilitate that…
He stopped the thought, pushing it down into a darker place, where rage simmered beside guilt. He shifted slightly, pulling Claire closer without waking her. Her breath hitched softly then steadied. She and their baby were safe.
MONTENEGRO – PRIVATE COASTAL VILLA – JUST AFTER SUNSET
The villa was quiet, the kind of quiet that never meant peace. Heather stood at the edge of the open terrace, staring out over the ink-black sea. The scent of iodine and scorched surgical tape clung to her skin no matter how many showers she took. The fresh stitches behind her jaw pulled with every breath. The salt air stung in the raw places.
Vos was on the phone inside the villa. It wasn’t really a call but an encrypted voice relay. It was slow, deliberate, and fractured into segments that made no sense unless you already knew what you were listening for. She had stopped trying to understand the details. The pieces she did understand were enough to keep her stomach clenched.
She turned to listen as an inside door opened. One of Vos’s men spoke. He was local, loyal, terrifyingly young and loud. “The shipment is en route,” he said. “The decoy team in Albania is staged under the full diversion protocol.”
Vos stepped onto the terrace. He sat in the carved wood armchair near the fire, his face still partially bandaged but healing faster than expected. His eyes were clearer now, focused and alive with cold anticipation. “It’s time,” he said simply.
Heather didn’t move. “Time for what?”
Vos’s smile wasn’t cruel, not exactly. Just… inevitable. “To take the child.”
Her stomach flipped. “No,” she said too quickly. “Not now. She’s not due for months.”
“Which is why we go in now,” Vos said. “Before the full term. Before she bleeds more. Before Ian realizes how far we’ve actually gotten. Before they see us coming.”
Heather’s hands went cold. “She’s under lockdown. You can’t breach Chase Denver.”
He stood slowly and crossed the room. “I don’t have to. I only have to draw them out.” He pulled a small case from beneath the table, showing her one of his new biometric relay drones.
She’d seen the prototype in Prague. It could mimic heat, voice, even pulse if needed. Enough to throw off guards, to split teams, to pull the right people out of place. To put his people inside.
Vos tapped the drone once. “This little miracle will lead them where I want.”
Heather stared at the device, her mouth dry. “And then what?”
Vos leaned close. “And then, we take the heiress. We finish what I started before they ever knew the war began.”
Heather tried to speak, but no words came. Only silence. What she’d helped unleash began to finally settle… because this wasn’t about revenge anymore. This was legacy. And Vos—monster, visionary, and madman—was playing his endgame.
CHASE DENVER – REHAB SUITE – 1042 HOURS
Claire’s skin was crawling. She reclined on the bed, a light blanket tucked over her legs. Her laptop was open but untouched on the side table. She hadn’t typed a word in fifteen minutes. What she was allowed to see was minimal. She couldn’t play another game of solitaire.
Outside the glass doors, she could hear faint movement—Tree Town One rotating shifts, or someone murmuring in the kitchen. But it wasn’t that. It was… something else. Something she couldn’t name.
She shifted her hand to her stomach, brushing gently against the soft curve beneath her cotton shirt. Twenty-five weeks. The baby fluttered softly, as if echoing her unease.
Her phone buzzed. There was no call, no text, only a flash. Was it a glitch? Claire frowned and picked it up. The screen was intact. There were no alerts and no messages. But her pulse was rising anyway.
The lights didn’t flicker. The air didn’t shift. But she sat up, heart thudding, as if some invisible thread had gone taut around her ribs. She didn’t know how to explain it. But something, somewhere was circling out there.
She reached for the remote and flicked the intercom to call. “Reid?” Her voice was steady but low. “You nearby?”
A moment passed. Then his calm words came back, “Sweetness, I’m in the hallway. Be there in ten seconds.”
