Chapter 8 - THE GHOST OF EVANSTON
The Evanston Rehabilitation Center looked quiet from the outside.
Red brick walls, manicured lawns, white lace curtains.
Our SUV pulled around the back service entrance.
Luca stepped out first, hand resting near his holster.
I followed right behind him, my heart pounding.
We bypassed the front reception desk entirely.
Marcus led us down the basement staff corridor.
The head administrator’s office door was unlocked.
Inside, a middle-aged man sat frozen at his desk.
He was staring at an open laptop screen.
When Luca kicked the door open, the man jumped.
"Who the hell are you?" the administrator squeaked.
Luca grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt.
He lifted him clear out of his swivel chair.
"Where is Elena Bennett?" Luca demanded.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Wrong answer," Luca pressed his gun barrel under the man's chin.
"The patient in Room 304," I cried out, stepping forward.
"My mother! Where is she?"
The administrator stammered, sweating profusely.
"A... a man in a black suit checked her out this morning."
"Name?" Luca barked.
"I don't know! He flashed a federal badge!"
"Federal badge," Luca sneered. "Vance's private thugs."
"Which direction did they go?"
"Toward the old grain elevators on Route 41."
Luca shoved the man back into his chair.
"If she has a scratch on her, I'll dismantle this clinic."
We sprinted back to the SUVs.
The tires shrieked against the pavement.
Route 41 stretched ahead like a gray ribbon.
My hands trembled as I stared out the window.
"She's recovering from spinal surgery," I sobbed.
"Moving her like this could paralyze her permanently."
Luca kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"We'll get her back, Claire. I promise you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because nobody takes hostages on Moretti ground."
His voice carried an absolute, terrifying certainty.
May you like
We were twenty minutes away from the elevators.
And time was running out fast.
