Chapter 4
The afternoon sun shifted, casting long, dramatic shadows across the brightly colored hospital room. The cinematic lighting highlighted the determination setting into Naomi's lovely oval face. The tears had stopped. Her large, expressive dark brown eyes were dry, burning with a cold, calculated fire. The Hollywood-actress beauty that usually commanded admiration now radiated pure, intimidating danger.
Naomi swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The searing pain in her abdomen was agonizing, a sharp, tearing sensation that threatened to drop her to her knees. She gripped the cold metal railing of the bed, her knuckles turning white, and forced herself to stand. She was a mother, and a mother’s instinct defied physical limits.
She carefully pulled the IV tape from her skin, wincing as she removed the needle from her vein. A small drop of blood blossomed on her fair skin, but she ignored it. She walked slowly, painfully, toward the small closet in the corner of the room. She shed the sterile hospital gown, replacing it with the loose sweatpants and oversized sweater she had worn when she was admitted.
"I am coming back for you, Elijah," Naomi whispered to the empty air, her voice a raspy, unbroken promise.
She walked over to the bassinet and looked down at Amelia. The newborn baby girl, wrapped securely in her swaddle, was sleeping peacefully, her medium-brown skin glowing under the warm sunlight. Naomi gently stroked the baby's soft cheek, a profound, aching love swelling in her chest.
"We have to go, Amelia," Naomi murmured, carefully lifting the infant from the plastic crib and cradling her tightly against her chest. "It isn't safe here anymore. They might decide they want you, too."
Naomi knew she couldn't walk out the front door. The nurse would raise the alarm, and the hospital security, undoubtedly on Walter Sterling’s payroll, would detain her. She needed an outside line. She needed the one man her late husband had trusted with his life.
She crept out of her private suite, keeping to the shadows of the brightly lit, colorful corridor. The hospital wing was unnervingly quiet—a testament to Vanessa’s claim that the floor had been cleared specifically for the Sterlings to execute their kidnapping.
Naomi found an empty doctor's lounge near the end of the hall. She slipped inside, locking the door behind her. On the desk sat a standard landline telephone. She picked up the receiver and quickly dialed a number she had memorized years ago.
The line rang three times before a deep, gravelly American accent answered. "Yeah?"
"Marcus," Naomi breathed, leaning heavily against the desk as a fresh wave of pain washed over her incision. "It's Naomi. I need your help. Now."
"Naomi? You sound terrible. David told me you weren't due for another two weeks," Marcus replied, his tone immediately shifting to high alert.
"They induced me early," Naomi explained, her voice cracking slightly. "Marcus... Walter and Brandon Sterling were here. They took my son. They literally ripped Elijah out of my arms and walked out the front door. The hospital staff is covering it up. They erased him from the records."
A heavy, violent silence fell over the line. Marcus had been David’s security consultant, a man who knew the terrifying depths of the Sterling family's corruption.
"Where are you right now?" Marcus demanded, his voice suddenly sharp and commanding.
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"I'm at St. Jude's, third floor, east wing," Naomi said, holding Amelia closer. "I'm leaving right now. I can't stay here. If they realize I'm calling for help, they'll lock me in a psych ward."
"Take the service elevator down to the loading dock," Marcus instructed rapidly. "Do not let anyone see you. I am ten minutes away. We are going to get your boy back, Naomi. I swear it."
