Chapter 3 - The Woman Beside the Bed
The scream belonged to Dominique’s private nurse.
When Bridget and Rafael burst from the bathroom, they found her against the wall with both hands raised.
Gabriel stood beside Dominique’s bed.
A gun was pointed at his chest.
Not Adrian’s.
Dominique’s.
The dying man had somehow found enough strength to hold it.
His arm shook violently.
Gabriel stopped moving.
“Dom.”
Dominique stared at his brother as though looking at a ghost.
“You came.”
Gabriel’s face tightened.
“You called.”
The gun lowered.
Bridget crossed the room quickly.
“Don’t move.”
Dominique looked at her.
“You brought him.”
“Yes.”
A weak, almost invisible smile touched his mouth.
“Knew you would.”
She did not know why those three words hurt.
Maybe because nobody powerful had ever needed her before.
Maybe because Dominique had trusted her before she trusted herself.
Rafael pushed Dr. Vale into the room.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
“What did he say?”
“No antidote,” Bridget answered. “Stop the poison and Dominique may stabilize.”
Gabriel approached the IV pole.
“What’s in the bag?”
The nurse stared at him.
“Saline.”
“Replace it.”
“I already did forty minutes ago.”
Everybody looked at her.
The nurse went pale.
“What?”
Bridget stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
“I changed the bag.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Dr. Vale.”
Vale swore.
Rafael grabbed him.
The nurse looked between them.
“I don’t understand.”
Gabriel ripped the IV line from Dominique’s arm.
Blood appeared.
Dominique grimaced.
Bridget pressed gauze against the site.
“Easy.”
Vale laughed from across the room.
“You fools.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You said another full dose would kill him.”
Vale’s smile vanished.
“He’s already had it.”
Bridget’s heart stopped.
“No.”
Vale looked at the clock.
“Perhaps ninety minutes.”
Gabriel crossed the room so fast Rafael had to intercept him.
“You son of a—”
“Kill me and you’ll lose the only person who knows the compound concentration.”
That stopped him.
Bridget hated the doctor for smiling again.
She turned toward the nurse.
“Can we flush it?”
“We need a toxicologist.”
“Call one.”
“Who?”
Dominique whispered a name.
“Eleanor… Shaw.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Still alive?”
Dominique closed his eyes.
“Hopefully.”
Rafael was already dialing.
Bridget held pressure on Dominique’s wrist.
His eyes opened.
“Bridget.”
“I’m here.”
“If I pass out…”
“You won’t.”
“If I do.”
She swallowed.
“What?”
“Don’t let Adrian take me.”
His gaze moved toward the door.
She followed it.
Adrian was gone.
She had not noticed him leave.
Neither had anybody else.
Gabriel cursed.
“Rafael.”
“I’ll find him.”
“No. Lock the floor.”
Rafael moved.
Bridget leaned closer to Dominique.
“What does Adrian want?”
Dominique struggled to answer.
“My signature.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You gave him power of attorney?”
“Temporary.”
“You idiot.”
Dominique managed a faint smile.
“Missed you too.”
Despite everything, Bridget almost laughed.
Then Dominique’s body jerked.
His monitor screamed.
The nurse shouted.
“V-tach!”
Bridget stepped back as trained hands descended around him.
Gabriel stood frozen.
Dominique convulsed.
The monitor became a violent pattern.
Dr. Vale watched from across the room.
Almost calmly.
That was the moment Bridget knew.
He had seen this before.
“Shock him!”
Pads were placed.
Dominique’s body lifted from the mattress.
Again.
Again.
Bridget pressed both hands over her mouth.
Finally the monitor changed.
A rhythm.
Weak.
But present.
The nurse exhaled.
Gabriel gripped the bedrail so hard his knuckles whitened.
The door opened.
Rafael entered with an older woman wearing a black coat over green scrubs.
Her silver hair was tied at the neck.
She carried no fear in her face.
“Who poisoned him?”
Gabriel pointed at Vale.
Dr. Eleanor Shaw looked once at Dominique.
Then at the medication tray.
“Everybody out except the nurse and the woman holding the vial.”
Bridget blinked.
“Me?”
“Do you have the original?”
She nodded.
“Then stay.”
Gabriel hesitated.
Eleanor turned.
“If you want your brother alive, leave me room to work.”
For the next forty minutes, Bridget became hands.
Hold this.
Pass that.
Write the time.
Tell me when he last received medication.
Describe the vial.
What did Vale inject?
What did he say?
Bridget answered everything.
Eleanor worked with ruthless precision.
She ordered blood draws.
Activated charcoal was useless now.
Specific antibody fragments were requested under another diagnosis to avoid alerting whoever controlled the hospital supply chain.
The nurse administered magnesium.
Another drug followed.
Then another.
Dominique’s rhythm steadied.
Barely.
Eleanor finally looked up.
“He might survive the night.”
Might.
Bridget sank into a chair.
Across the room, Vale had been tied to a visitor chair.
His confidence had faded.
Gabriel returned.
“Adrian’s gone.”
“Security?”
“Two guards missing.”
Rafael placed a tablet on the table.
“Camera footage was erased between 9:12 and 9:31.”
Eleanor looked at Vale.
“Who has hospital access?”
He said nothing.
Gabriel stepped forward.
“Marcus.”
Still nothing.
Dominique’s eyes opened.
Everyone stopped.
His voice was faint.
“Let him go.”
Gabriel stared.
“What?”
“Let Vale go.”
Bridget looked at Dominique in disbelief.
The doctor did too.
Dominique repeated it.
“Let him go.”
Gabriel walked to the bed.
“He tried to kill you.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Dominique’s eyes remained on Vale.
“Because frightened men run to whoever scares them more.”
Understanding spread across Gabriel’s face.
“You want him followed.”
Dominique closed his eyes.
“Finally.”
Vale protested.
“You can’t—”
Rafael cut him loose.
“Congratulations, doctor.”
Vale rubbed his wrists.
“You think I’ll lead you somewhere?”
Rafael smiled.
“No.”
Vale’s expression faltered.
Rafael opened the door.
“We think you’ll try not to.”
Vale left.
Bridget stood.
“I don’t like this.”
Dominique looked at her.
“Good.”
“What?”
“People who like plans like this die young.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I used to be.”
She adjusted his blanket.
“You used to stand up.”
His gaze sharpened.
There was a strange warmth there.
Then the nurse handed Bridget a folder.
“This was under the medication cart.”
Inside were copied medical records.
Dates.
Blood tests.
Dosages.
Several pages had Dominique’s name.
Others did not.
Bridget flipped through them.
One name stopped her.
Thomas Collins.
She stared.
Her father.
Dead twelve years.
According to every record she had ever seen, Thomas Collins had died of sudden cardiac arrest at fifty-four.
Her hands began shaking.
“No.”
Eleanor noticed.
“What?”
Bridget turned the page.
Thomas Collins.
Patient ID.
Cardiac arrhythmia.
Unidentified glycoside exposure.
Experimental consultation: M. Vale.
Bridget could not breathe.
Gabriel took the page.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
Dominique opened his eyes.
He looked at the name.
Then at Bridget.
His face changed.
He knew.
Bridget saw it immediately.
“You knew my father?”
Dominique did not answer.
She stepped closer.
“Dominique.”
“Bridget…”
“You knew him?”
His silence answered first.
Her eyes burned.
“Why is my father’s name in your doctor’s files?”
Dominique swallowed.
“Because Thomas Collins worked for my father.”
The room disappeared around her.
“No.”
“He did.”
“My father drove a city bus.”
“After.”
“After what?”
Dominique looked toward Gabriel.
Gabriel seemed equally stunned.
Bridget’s voice cracked.
“What did my father do?”
Dominique stared at her.
“He kept our books.”
She laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“No.”
“For seven years.”
“My father hated organized crime.”
“That’s why my father trusted him.”
Bridget backed away.
Every childhood memory rearranged itself.
Late nights.
Unexplained money.
Her father’s fear during his final year.
The locks he checked three times before bed.
The envelope he once made Bridget promise never to open unless something happened to him.
She had forgotten that envelope.
No.
Not forgotten.
Buried.
After his death, her mother had moved everything into storage.
Bridget grabbed her bag.
“Where are you going?”
“My mother’s.”
Gabriel blocked her path.
“Not alone.”
“That envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“My father left something.”
Dominique tried to lift his head.
“Bridget.”
She looked at him.
“If Thomas left records, Adrian will know.”
“How?”
“Because Adrian worked for him.”
Her blood turned cold.
“My father?”
Dominique nodded weakly.
“Before he worked for me.”
Bridget stared.
Twelve years.
A dead father.
A dying mafia boss.
One doctor.
One adviser.
One poison.
This had begun long before she entered Dominique’s room.
Her phone buzzed inside her bag.
She turned it on.
One voicemail.
From her mother.
Time stamped eight minutes earlier.
Bridget hit play.
Her mother’s frightened voice filled the room.
“Bridget, honey, there’s a man at the door. He says he knew your father. He says you’re coming to collect something.”
Then came a knock on the recording.
Her mother whispered one final sentence.
“He says his name is Adrian.”
May you like
The voicemail ended.
Bridget was already running.
