“No.”
“Did somebody want you?”
That startled me.
“I'm adopted.”
She watched my face for a while.
“Being discovered can sometimes mean being chosen,” she said.
I hadn't understood what she meant. Until those men appeared on Sunday, I hadn't given it another thought.
Now there were four bikers in front of me, an infant beside them, and a woman dying upstairs.
I made a choice that might have cost me my nursing career.
CHAPTER 4
“It's Room 304.”
They didn't move.
I glanced at the clock.
“In two minutes, I'm due for a break.”
The oldest raised his eyebrows.
“Twenty minutes after that, I'll be back at this station.”
Still, they waited.
“As far as I'm aware,” I told them, “nobody has gone down that corridor.”
The younger man's relief was the first to show.
The mustached biker murmured his thanks.
“Save it.” I pointed at the group. “If anything goes wrong—”
“Nothing will.”
“If a member of staff asks you to stop, you stop. Right away.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“If Sophie becomes distressed, bring her straight back.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And anyone holding her needs to support her head.”
The younger biker looked almost insulted.
“I've handled eighty-three diaper changes since January.”
The older man turned.
“Caleb.”
“What? I keep count.”
I very nearly laughed.
Taking my badge, I added, “I'll come along.”
That surprised the leader.
“Aren't you supposed to be having your break?”
“I am.”
“While accompanying us?”
“I'd like to maintain some plausible deniability.”
This time, he smiled fully.
“I'm Hank.”
“I never asked.”
“Thought you might get around to it.”
I walked out from behind the desk.
“Evelyn.”
His expression altered almost imperceptibly.
“What's your surname?”
“Hart.”
His gaze lingered a fraction too long before he turned away.
At the time, I scarcely registered it. Later, I remembered every detail.
We entered the elevator together. Caleb took a corner with the carrier, and Hank stood alongside him. The gray-mustached man had introduced himself as Ray. The quiet fourth biker was Marcus.
Confined in the elevator, their size seemed even more pronounced.
My attention settled on Hank's vest. Beneath a motorcycle patch, a date had been stitched in faded thread.
6-14-88.
I gestured toward it.
“What does that date stand for?”
He glanced at his chest.
“Which date?”
“June fourteenth, 1988.”
His palm moved over the stitching without apparent thought.
“That takes some explaining.”
“An anniversary for the club?”
“No.”
“A birthday, then?”
He looked at me.
“Close to it.”
The elevator opened onto the corridor leading to Room 304.
I believed I was helping Sophie meet her great-grandmother.
I had no inkling that the date sewn onto Hank's leather vest was connected to my life.
CHAPTER 5
Outside Room 304, Linda Ruiz was already waiting.
The moment she spotted us, her expression loosened with relief.
“You got here.”
Hank nodded.
“How is Dorothy?”
Linda's face gave him the answer before she spoke.
“She isn't doing well.”
Her eyes dropped to the carrier.
“How's Sophie holding up?”
“She's comfortable,” Caleb said. “Had a feeding twenty minutes ago.”
Linda briefly laid her hand on the handle, then noticed me.
“Why are you up here?”
“I seem to have chosen the most stressful break in my nursing career.”
She understood without further explanation.
“The administrators are on their way.”
“Yes, I've heard.”
“The legal department signed off. So did the neonatal attending. Administration is aware. Your floor supervisor just hasn't received the message.”
“Naturally.”
Linda nearly smiled.
The door swung open, and a respiratory therapist emerged.
“She won't stop asking whether the baby's come.”
Hank shut his eyes briefly. Then he took off his red bandana.
“Let's see her.”
He knocked before stepping inside.
I remembered that afterward: a man big enough to occupy almost an entire doorway taking the trouble to knock for a woman who could barely move.
Dorothy looked smaller even than she had the previous evening. White bedding surrounded her slight body. Only a few wisps of silver hair lay against her pillow, and oxygen tubing rested beneath her nose.
Her hands lay on top of the blanket, so fine and delicate the skin seemed almost transparent.
They looked like hands that had been working since long before my own life began.
Her eyelids lifted slowly. Her gaze traveled from Hank to Ray, then Marcus, then Caleb.
Recognition brightened her expression.
“You're here.”
Hank approached her bedside.
“Yes, ma'am.”
She swallowed with difficulty.
“Is the baby with you?”
Caleb came closer, and Dorothy tried to lift her head.
“Have you brought my little girl?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he answered, his voice breaking.
He put the carrier beside her bed.
“Just a moment,” I said instinctively.
Everyone paused while I raised Dorothy's bed, supported one arm with another pillow, and shifted her oxygen line. Linda helped me arrange the bedding.
When everything was positioned correctly, I nodded to Caleb.
He lifted Sophie out.
She was astonishingly small. Six days into the world, with fine dark hair and tightly curled hands, she lay bundled in a light-colored hospital blanket.
A fold slipped, allowing cool air across her face. Her features scrunched, and she let out a thin cry.
Dorothy drew in a sharp breath.
It wasn't discomfort. Something in that sound had reached her.
Caleb lowered Sophie with great care while I positioned Dorothy's arm beneath her. Linda supported the other side.
At last, the newborn lay against her great-grandmother's chest.
The room went quiet.
Sophie cried once, then again.
Dorothy raised a shaking finger to the baby's cheek.
The crying ceased at once.
Looking down, Dorothy whispered a greeting so softly it was scarcely more than breath.
“Hello there, darling.”
Tears escaped the outer corners of her eyes.