Chapter 8 - THE EMPTY BED
The window beside Noah’s bed stood open.
A wheelchair track cut through the flower bed below.
Evelyn’s fear came out as anger. “How does a twelve-year-old disappear from a guarded clinic?”
Security footage showed a nurse pushing Noah toward radiology. The nurse’s badge belonged to a woman who had called in sick.
Mason identified the fake nurse as Celia Voss, Victoria’s personal assistant.
Ortiz traced the escape vehicle to a Whitmore-owned warehouse near the harbor.
Evelyn insisted on going.
“You’re not police,” Ortiz said.
“I’m his guardian.”
“You’re also their target.”
“Then they’ll look at me instead of him.”
At the warehouse, officers found Noah’s blanket and a broken syringe, but no child. A shipping manifest listed a private yacht scheduled to leave for international waters at noon.
They raced to the marina.
The yacht was already moving.
Noah sat in a wheelchair on the rear deck with Victoria behind him. Grant stood beside the captain, holding a pistol.
Charles appeared on a video screen from an unknown location.
“Transfer control back to the family,” he told Evelyn over the yacht’s speaker, “or Noah leaves the country.”
Noah turned his head slightly. His fingers moved against the armrest.
Evelyn had taught him a simple tapping code during long winter evenings.
Three taps. Pause. Two taps.
Fuel.
Two taps. Pause. Four taps.
Leak.
The yacht was leaking fuel.
Evelyn saw a thin rainbow trail in the water.
She whispered to Ortiz, “They won’t make it far.”
Ortiz ordered the harbor patrol forward.
Grant fired into the air. The yacht accelerated.
Then smoke erupted from the engine compartment.
Victoria screamed at the captain.
Noah reached down, pulled the emergency brake lever on his wheelchair, and threw his full weight sideways. The chair slammed into Grant’s knees.
The pistol skidded across the deck.
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A spark flashed near the leaking fuel.
The back of the yacht exploded into flame.
