"It won't work if Arthur isn't there to corroborate," I said. "Robert knows we're onto him. He won't wait. He’s going to Golden Years right now to pull Arthur out before we can do anything."
Bear pulled his phone from his vest. He dialed a number and held it to his ear. "Grizz. It's Bear. I need the club at Golden Years on Route 9. Right now. Block the exits. Nobody leaves."
He hung up and looked at me. "Get in my truck."
I didn't hesitate. We ran to Bear’s heavy pickup parked behind the bikes. Slim and Tank fired up their motorcycles, their engines roaring to life in the quiet neighborhood. We sped toward the care facility, running two red lights along the way.
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't hold my phone still. I was terrified. Everything Robert had said about my past was true. I had failed Clara. I had let a greedy family destroy an innocent person because I wasn't strong enough to fight their lawyers. If I filed this injunction and lost, I would go to jail.
But I looked down at the brass key Arthur had given me. You protect Martha's garden.
We pulled into the parking lot of Golden Years just as the sun was setting. Four other motorcycles were already parked aggressively across the front entrance, blocking the automatic doors. Heavily tattooed men in leather vests were standing on the sidewalk, ignoring the terrified looks of the facility staff inside the glass.
I jumped out of the truck before Bear even put it in park. I ran through the front doors, pushing past a bewildered security guard.
"Hey, you can't be in here!" the guard yelled.
I ignored him, sprinting down the hallway toward the second floor. I reached room 214 and pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
The bed was stripped. The closet doors were open and bare. The photo of Martha was gone from the nightstand.
"No," I choked out, running into the small bathroom. Empty.
A nurse in blue scrubs hurried down the hallway, holding a clipboard. "Excuse me, you can't be in here. The patient in this room was discharged."
"Discharged?" I yelled, spinning around. "When? By who?"
"His son," the nurse said, taking a nervous step back. "Mr. Covington had a medical emergency. His son arranged a private transport about twenty minutes ago. They already left through the rear loading dock."
"Where did they go?" I demanded, tears of frustration stinging my eyes.
"I don't know, it was a private service," she said defensively. "The son had all the proper paperwork."
Bear walked into the room, filling the doorway. He looked at the stripped bed, then at my face.
"They're gone," I said, a sob breaking in my throat. "Robert took him. We're too late."
Bear walked over to the nightstand. He looked at the empty space where Martha's photo had been. Then, he looked down at the small plastic wastebasket beside the bed.
He reached down and pulled out a crumpled, damp paper towel. He unfolded it.
Inside the paper towel was a single, black, dead marigold.
Arthur hadn't been completely drugged. He had left us a message.
"He didn't take him to another facility," Bear said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, deadly calm. "He took him back to the house."
"Why?" I asked, wiping my eyes. "Why take him back there?"