Through the window blinds, red and blue emergency flashers washed across the foyer ceiling. Heavy tires splashed through the flooded curb outside, followed by the solid slam of two vehicle doors.
I turned back toward Elena. The woman I had known for six years, who had held my hand during every ultrasound scan, was staring down at her fingers.
"You weren't at the clinic this afternoon," I said, every word hitting like dry stone. "You took my car to St. Jude."
"David—"
"The ultrasound sleeve on the floor," I pointed to the torn plastic folder and the black-and-white printouts scattered over the wet wood. "Those aren't from Dr. Miller's office. St. Jude's logo is on every margin. You were in their basement lab today. Why did that woman call you an unregistered third gestation cycle?"
Heavy boots came up the wooden steps of the porch. A loud knock rattled the front doorframe.
Elena looked up at me. Her tears were gone, replaced by a rigid, hollow look that made the room feel completely foreign.
"If you show that yellow paper to the police," Elena whispered as the front latch turned, "they will not take me to the hospital. They will take our baby."
CHAPTER 2 CONTINUED
"Clear the doorway," Bradley commanded, his flashlight cutting through the dim foyer. "Where is the intruder?"
"Fled on foot down Cedar three minutes ago," I said, forcing my voice into a level cadence. I stepped sideways to block his line of sight toward the stairs, my heel pressing against the bottom riser where the yellow carbon slip and the crushed glass rested. "She was alone. Olive trench coat, dark slacks."
"Dispatch has cruisers circling the perimeter," Bradley said into his shoulder radio, calling in the description. "Any weapons? What was the entry point?"
"The front door wasn't locked yet," I said. "She forced her way in right behind my wife."
The paramedics were already down on the hardwood beside Elena. The younger one, Sarah, knelt and placed a warm hand on Elena's forearm while her partner unpacked a blood pressure cuff and an ultrasound Doppler wand.
"Ma'am, can you tell me where you're hurting?" Sarah asked gently.
Elena kept both arms clamped across her abdomen. "My lower back... and my left side. She dragged me by my hair. I felt a sharp pull when I struck the table."
"Let's check the baby's rhythm first," Sarah said, reaching for the hem of Elena's sweater.
Elena flinched, pulling backward until her shoulders hit the wall. "Mercy General," she said, her voice shaking with an urgency that made both paramedics pause. "Take me to Mercy General. Do not take me to St. Jude."
Bradley looked over from the doorway, his pen poised over a notepad. "St. Jude is three miles closer, ma'am. With third-trimester trauma, protocol routes you to the nearest emergency center."
"No," Elena said, her eyes locking onto mine. "Not St. Jude. Mercy has my records. My doctor is credentialed at Mercy. If you take me to St. Jude, they won't treat me properly."
The second officer, scanning the floorboards with a tactical light, stopped his beam on the edge of the hallway runner. "Sergeant. Look here."
The bright beam caught the crimson smear soaking into the fringe where Elena had been hauled down. The fluid was already congealing in thick, dark beads across the wool fibers.
"Is that yours, ma'am?" Sarah asked, her hands moving toward Elena's skirt.
"No," Elena said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "No, it was... on the floor."
"What was on the floor?" Bradley asked, walking into the hallway. His wet soles squeaked against the wood. "Sir, was there a weapon? Did the intruder cut herself?"
My pulse hammered against my throat. The yellow carbon sheet on the second step was less than three feet from Bradley's right boot. If he looked down, he would see the St. Jude letterhead, the delivery code, and the blood on the broken vial. He would see that the blood had come from an archival specimen taken from a hospital vault an hour earlier.