Page 75 of Anchor
Reid leaned in, voice low but firm. “What kind of thoughts, Claire? What did you see?”
Her hand curled tighter against the table, nails tapping into the wood.
Reid didn’t move, just held her gaze. “Any words?”
Claire swallowed. “One phrase, always the same.The tide will turn.Every night, like it was stitched into me.”
The room went still, the air heavy with what she’d just said.
Apex finally spoke. “He wasn’t checking her fever. He was planting code.”
Reid’s jaw flexed, anger taut in every line of him. “Vos wanted to see if she was as bright as Joe crowed about.”
Claire’s breath caught. She blinked hard, then whispered, “He was testing me. And I remembered.”
TWENTY-FIVE
CHASE EXECUTIVE SUITE – 0730 HOURS
The war room went silent. The words landed like shrapnel, no one moving, no one breathing.
Claire’s voice trembled. “He gave me something before he left. A picture, colored pencils. Said coloring would make me feel better.”
Her fingers tapped the edge of the table unevenly, harder with each beat. “It was a beach scene. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t just that. The borders of each photo…” Her breathing hitched. Her tapping quickened into a staccato rhythm, the sound sharp against the table.
Reid leaned closer, instincts firing even before he knew why. “Claire?”
Her chest heaved, shallow, frantic. Her eyes went glassy, pupils darting at things he couldn’t see. Then the words spilled out, frantic, low, and terrifyingly precise: “Four-eight-two… red-blue-green… arc-seven-nine… repeat, repeat, tide-turn, tide-turn…”
Reid’s stomach dropped. Not nonsense. Rhythm. Code.
“Two-one-five-four… border-line… storm-path-seven… repeat…”
He caught her as she slid, her body rigid and shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. Her pulse hammered so violently, it jolted through his chest.
“Claire,” he whispered, “stay with me. You’re not there. You’re here.”
But she didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him. Her voice cracked on: “Firefly… four, one, zero, turn, turn, turn…” Her body jerked once, then sagged into him, her breath catching. Her words dissolved into silence.
The door burst open. Pete Walter was at the front of the team, calm and precise, even as his eyes narrowed at the sight. “Anchor, put her on the bed. Now.”
Reid obeyed, carefully laying her against the sheets in her bed. His hands lingered until Pete moved in.
“Pulse racing, BP unstable.” Pete checked her vitals manually before clipping an oxygen mask over her face. “Oxygen, ten liters.”
A nurse handed him a line. Pete slid the IV home, practiced hands working with terrifying speed. “Start fluids. And,” he drew up a syringe, “Ativan, two milligrams, IV push.”
As the medication flowed into her system, Claire’s chest hitched, her frantic tremors softening. Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, flickered toward Reid. Somehow, through the blur, she found him.
Her lips parted. Not words, just breath, soft and raw. But her gaze clung to him, and for a heartbeat, she connected.
Reid leaned down, his hand wrapping around hers, steady and warm. “I’m here.”
Her chest eased, her breathing slowing under the oxygen’s hiss. Then her eyes closed, lashes wet against pale skin, and she drifted into sleep.
Pete exhaled, nodding once. “She’s stable. For now.”
The door opened again. Apex stepped back in, Ian Chase at his side. Ian’s gaze went immediately to the bed, then to Reid. Claire’s eyes remained shut as he sat, anchored at her side, his hand wrapped tight around hers, thumb moving in small circles against her knuckles, grounding himself as much as her.
