Chapter 23: Stolen Moment
The silence in the ER cubicle thickened, congealing around Callum’s words. She says it was a cop. The fluorescent lights buzzed like a trapped insect. The distant, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor from another bay felt like a countdown.
Teresa’s hand was still under Callum’s. She turned hers, lacing her fingers with his, a grounding gesture for both of them. His skin was warm, his grip tight.
“Which hospital is she in?” Teresa asked, her voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the storm in her eyes.
“St. Vincent’s. Downtown.” Callum’s mind was visibly racing, his detective’s brain running scenarios, cross-referencing faces from his own department, from the staties, from the private security firms Vance employed. “My sister says she’s guarded. An officer outside her door.”
“One of ours.”
“Yeah.”
The two words hung there, laden with dread. An officer outside her door could be protection. Or it could be a sentry.
Callum pushed himself off the bed, wincing as the movement jostled his newly-slung arm. He snatched his jacket from a chair with his good hand, shrugging it awkwardly over his shoulders. “We need to get to her. Now.”
“Your captain—”
“Can wait.” His tone was final. He grabbed his phone and his service weapon from the bedside tray, tucking it into his holster. “He’s getting a sanitized version until we know what we’re dealing with. Come on.”
They moved through the ER, a study in contrasts. Callum, tall and purposeful despite the sling, his face a mask of professional detachment. Teresa, a step behind him, her blonde hair a bright shock against the institutional beige, her expression raw with a volatile mix of hope and fury. Nurses and orderies gave them a wide berth.
The drive to St. Vincent’s was a tense, silent fifteen minutes. Callum drove one-handed, his knuckles white on the wheel. Teresa stared out the window, watching the city blur past. Her mind replayed fragments: Cassadee’s laugh, the last cryptic text message about ‘kids with no files,’ the sterile horror of that boat. And now a cop. A face she trusted, maybe. A face Callum worked with.
St. Vincent’s was a monolith of glass and steel. They parked illegally by a hydrant, Callum slapping his detective placard on the dash. The lobby was a cacophony of quiet despair, but they bypassed it, heading for the secured elevators that led to the private wing.
The hallway on the seventh floor was tomb-quiet. Halfway down, a uniformed officer sat on a chair beside a door, scrolling on his phone. He looked up as they approached, his posture shifting from boredom to casual alertness. Teresa recognized him—Officer Finley, a young guy who’d sometimes help with traffic duty near the school. He had a nice smile.
“Detective Nicholson,” Finley said, standing. His eyes flicked to Teresa, curious.
“Finley. Who posted you?”
“Sergeant Daley’s orders, sir. After the tip came in she’d been found.” Finley’s gaze was open, guileless. “She’s awake. Docs say she’s weak, but talking. A D.A. rep was here earlier.”
Callum’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Daley was solid. “Anyone else been in?”
“Just medical staff. And her brother. He’s in there now.”
Cassadee’s brother, Eric. Teresa felt another knot loosen. She nodded to Finley and pushed the door open.
The room was dim, lit only by the grey daylight seeping through slatted blinds. The smell was familiar—antiseptic, closed air, the faint metallic scent of IV fluids. And in the bed, dwarfed by pillows and tubes, was Cassadee.
Teresa’s breath hitched. Her friend was a pared-down version of herself, her black hair dull against the starch-white pillowcase, her skin nearly translucent. A butterfly tape held an oxygen cannula under her nose. Her eyes were closed.
Eric sat in a chair by the window, a big man folded into a small space. He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. He gave Teresa a tired, grateful nod.
Then Cassadee’s eyes fluttered open. They landed on Teresa, and for a second, there was no recognition, only a foggy, drug-hazed fear. Then it cleared. “Teresa?” The word was a dry rasp.
Teresa was at the bedside in three strides, her hand hovering, unsure where to touch her fragile friend. She settled for gently covering Cassadee’s hand where it lay on the blanket. “Hey, Cass. It’s me.”
A tear traced a path from the corner of Cassadee’s eye into her hairline. “You found me.”
“We found you,” Teresa corrected, her voice thick. She looked at Callum, who had remained near the door, a respectful silhouette. “Callum helped.”
Cassadee’s gaze shifted to him, and a different kind of tension entered her body. Her fingers twitched under Teresa’s. Her breath hitched on the monitor.
“It’s okay,” Teresa soothed. “He’s one of the good ones.”
Cassadee’s voice was a whisper. “Are you sure?”
The question, so faint, cut through the room. Leo straightened in his chair. Callum took a single step forward, his good hand raised, palm out. “Cassadee, I need you to tell me what you remember. Can you do that?”
She swallowed with difficulty. Leo handed her a cup of water with a bent straw. She sipped, closed her eyes, then opened them again, fixing on a point on the ceiling. “The parking garage. Under my building. I was late, rushing. He was just… there. By my car.” Her voice gained a thin, reedy strength. “He said my name. Knew me. Said he had questions about my report. About the pediatric files.”
“What did he look like?” Callum asked, his voice deliberately soft, non-threatening.
“Tall. Big. Not fat, just… solid. Salt-and-pepper hair. Cut short. He had a badge.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “He was calm. So calm. He said it would be easier if I came quietly. I had my key in my hand. I tried to…” She trailed off, a shiver wracking her thin frame.
“It’s okay,” Teresa murmured.
“He took my arm. Not rough. Polite. And then…” Cassadee’s face contorted. “The van. The door was open. Something… a cloth. Smelled sweet. I woke up in a room. Like a… a nice room. Not a cell. A bedroom. They brought me food. Asked me questions.”
“What questions?” Callum pressed gently.
“About the files. Who I’d told. If I’d copied them. If I’d given them to anyone.” Her eyes found Teresa again. “They knew about you. They asked if the teacher was involved.”
A cold sliver of fear pierced Teresa’s heart.
“I said no,” Cassadee whispered fiercely. “I said you didn’t know anything. I think they believed me.” She took another rattling breath. “Then… a different man. Older. Cold eyes. He said I’d become a ‘liability.’ That my ‘compartment was being dissolved.’ He said I was going on a trip. For my health.” A single, sharp sob escaped her. “They put me in a car. Drove for a long time. Then the plane. The zip-ties. I thought… I thought that was it.”
“But you got away,” Teresa said, squeezing her hand.
“The car… to the dock. There was a commotion. The driver shouted. The man next to me got out. I… I just ran. I fell into the water. It was so cold. I remember the lights…” Her words dissolved into tears.
Eric was crying silently by the window. Callum’s jaw was a hard line. “The first man, Cassadee. The cop. Did he have a name? Did you see a name tag?”
She shook her head slowly on the pillow. “No. But… his voice. He had an accent. Not strong. Boston, maybe? And his neck.” Her eyes opened, focusing on Callum with sudden clarity. “On his neck, behind his ear. A tattoo. A small, black symbol. Like a… a squiggle. With a line through it.”
Callum went very still. The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor.
“You know it,” Teresa stated, reading his frozen expression.
“I’ve seen it,” he corrected, his voice hollow. “On one of Vance’s security detail. At a charity fundraiser last year. I noticed it because it was…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a nautical star. A symbol some guys get after they’ve… crossed an ocean. Or survived something big. This guy was ex-military. Private contractor now.”
“A cop with a private security tattoo,” Teresa said, the pieces snapping together with awful clarity.
“Not a cop,” Callum murmured, more to himself than to them. “A plant. Or a turn.” He looked at Cassadee, his green eyes haunted. “You’ve been incredibly brave. Thank you.”
The door opened softly, and Officer Finley leaned in. “Detective? Sergeant Daley is on the phone for you. Says it’s urgent. And…” He hesitated. “Captain wants you and Ms. Lovett downstairs in Interrogation Three. Now.”
The moment shattered. The intimate, fragile space of the hospital room was invaded by the harsh pull of procedure and suspicion.
Callum nodded. “Tell her I’m on my way.” Finley withdrew.
Teresa bent, pressing her forehead gently to Cassadee’s. “I’ll be back. You rest. You’re safe.” She didn’t know if the last part was true, but she willed it into the words.
In the hallway, the fluorescent glare was assaultive. They walked side-by-side, the click of Teresa’s boots and the soft scuff of Callum’s shoes echoing. The elevator ride down was a silent, tension-charged capsule.
As the doors opened on the lower level, a long, empty corridor stretched before them, leading to the interrogation rooms. Callum stopped, turning to her. The institutional light carved deep shadows under his eyes.
“This is where it gets messy,” he said, his voice low. “The captain, he’s going to ask how we found that boat. He’s going to ask about Maya Flores. He’s going to ask why we didn’t come straight to him.”
“We tell him the truth.”
“The truth is we obstructed, we concealed, and we pursued based on a hunch from a civilian.” He didn’t say it accusingly. He stated it as a fact. “My career is probably hanging by a thread. Yours… they could charge you.”
Teresa met his gaze, unflinching. “Cassadee is alive. Maya is alive. Because of what we did.”
A faint, weary smile touched his lips. “I know.” He looked down the hall, then back at her. The air between them crackled, charged with all the unsaid things, with the shared terror and the desperate victory of the last twenty-four hours. He stepped closer, his good hand coming up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. It was a simple, profound gesture. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. They stood like that for a long moment, two pillars holding up a collapsing sky, drawing strength from the contact.
The spell broke with the sound of a door clicking open farther down the hall. They pulled apart, but the electricity remained.
“Whatever happens in there,” Callum whispered, his voice a rough promise, “we see it through. Together.”
Together. The word felt like a raft in a stormy sea. Teresa nodded, and they turned to walk down the sterile, unforgiving hallway, toward the closed door of Interrogation Three, and whatever awaited them on the other side.