Jessica Andersen - Classified Baby

The echoes bounced off the walls and door, faint beneath the refrigerator’s hum.

Breath clogging in her lungs, she tugged frantically at the straps securing her to the gurney, but succeeded only in pressing her body into the thin mattress beneath her. She felt very small and weak and scared. Worse, she realized she’d stopped shivering, and when she exhaled, the vapor was faint, warning that her core temperature was falling. She was probably only minutes away from hypothermia, maybe an hour away from death.

She sucked in a breath and screamed, “I’m in here! Somebody! Anybody, get me out of here! ”

Her only response was the hum of the cooling unit.

ETHAN STOOD at the main admittance desk, cold anger pounding in his veins. “She’s not in the hospital. The bastards took her.”

Robert clasped his shoulder briefly. “We’ll find her.”

But they both knew that by then it could be too late.

Around them, the admitting area bustled with normal hospital activity, plus the tension of an organized search. All free personnel were on the lookout, and security officers had spread throughout the complex. If she’d been transported somewhere else, though, the effort was useless.

“Call the cops,” Ethan said, possibilities flickering through his mind in a gruesome slide show. “You’ve got friends there. They’ll look if you push them.”

“Already done,” Robert said. “Given that she’s the only witness who might have seen—”

“Mr. Moore, Mr. Prescott!” A woman’s hail interrupted and Ethan turned to see Dr. Eballa rushing toward them, followed closely by a tall teenager wearing blue scrubs and a volunteer’s badge. “I may have something.” When she reached the men, she urged the teen forward. “Tell them.”

The dark-haired youth looked at a nearby uniformed security officer, flushed and stared at his feet. “There was a guy in the back stairwell.”

When he fell silent, Ethan was tempted to grab him and shake the story loose. Instead, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. When he caught the faint scent of pot, he said, “Look, kid. Nobody cares what you were doing or where. Just tell me what you saw.”

The teen glanced from Ethan to the guard and back, then mumbled, “Promise?”

“You won’t get in trouble for smoking in the stairwell,” Ethan said. “At least not this time. After that, you’re on your own.”

“’Kay.” The kid nodded. “So listen, I was in the back stairwell, okay? And this guy came up from the basement wearing a white coat, okay? Only he wasn’t a doctor—his clothes were all wrong and he didn’t have a badge. Besides, why would a doctor be coming up from the basement? Ain’t nothing down there but empty rooms. And he was using a phone, and that’s not allowed in here, right?”

Robert interjected, “What did he say?”

“Something like, ‘Make up your goddamn mind already.’ I didn’t hear the rest because I took off before he saw me.”

“Are you sure he didn’t see you?”

The kid bobbed his head. “Positive.”

Ethan turned to Dr. Eballa. “Where are these stairs?”

“I’ll take you.” As they hurried through the hospital corridors, she said, “He’s right, there’s not much down there. Mostly empty storage rooms we use as overflow during disasters.”

Something chilled inside Ethan. If the white-coated guy in the stairwell had taken Nicole, he might have hidden her down there.

Or he might have dumped her corpse.

He swallowed hard. “What sort of overflow?”

Dr. Eballa pushed through a doorway marked Stairs, then glanced back. “Bodies. Two of the rooms are set up as temporary morgues. We only run the refrigerators when we need the space, though.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed through a set of heavy doors. The corridor was dimly lit. The cement walls were painted a muted green and the floor was white laminate, like much of the rest of the building. But down in the basement, the color scheme didn’t seem soothing. It felt swampy. Ominous.

Tension vibrating through every fiber of his being, Ethan shouted, “Nicole? Are you down here?”

When there was no answer, he strode down the corridor, checking doors as the doctor hurried in his wake. The first two rooms were dark and silent. The window of the third was blurred with condensation, and when he felt the door handle, it was cold to the touch.

Robert and a handful of security officers appeared at the far end of the corridor. Ethan shouted, “In here!” He worked the door handle and shoved through, gut tight with apprehension. “Nicole?”

His heart stopped, simply stopped when he saw the motionless figure strapped to a gurney. Dark curls fanned out from a too-pale face, and her lips were the same blue as the thin blanket that covered her body.

“ Nicole! ” He skidded to her side and yanked at the straps holding her down. When she was free, he felt for her carotid pulse and nearly shuddered at the feel of her corpse-cold flesh. Then, miraculously, he felt a faint flutter beneath his fingertips. Another.

“Move!” Dr. Eballa hustled him aside. “We’ve got to get her upstairs, stat!”

She turned the gurney toward the door. As she did so, Nicole’s eyelids flickered open. She looked around wildly for a moment, then her eyes fixed on Ethan. Her lips formed the words, Thank you .

Then she was gone, whisked away by the doctor, who snapped orders about heating blankets, warm-water lavages and an ultrasound. Ethan followed, but Dr. Eballa barred him from cramming into the car with the gurney and the security officers. “Meet us up there, you’ll just be in the way.” Then she paused, and said, “I’ll put a guard on the door, and she’ll get the best medical team in the state. God willing, she and the baby will both be fine.”

Then the elevator doors slid shut, leaving Ethan behind. He wasn’t alone, though. He could hear Robert in the cold room, ordering the security officers to seal the scene and call in the PD, and Evangeline stood in the hallway nearby. He saw the knowledge in her eyes when she said, “Let’s head upstairs. You’ll want to be there when they’ve got her stabilized.”

It’s not what you think , Ethan wanted to say. I can’t be a father .

Instead, he turned and headed for the stairs, rubbing absently at his chest where an ache had gathered.

Robert emerged and fell into step at his side. “They’ll secure the room and I’ll make sure the pothead sits down with a sketch artist. I’ll put some men on Miss Benedict’s room. Once she’s conscious, we’ll want the artist in with her, too.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for, our chance to nail these bastards.”

Instantly furious, Ethan grabbed his boss and slammed him up against the green-painted wall. He crowded close, levered an arm across Robert’s throat and got in his face, growling, “Stay the hell away from Nicole. She’s not a break in your case, she’s not bait, and she’s not a pawn in one of your spy games.”

The big man didn’t give him the satisfaction of struggling. He merely narrowed his eyes. “Then what is she?”

Ethan didn’t hesitate, knowing the lie was a necessary evil. “She’s mine.”

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