Chapter 1 - The Ringing on the Linoleum
The black smartphone buzzed relentlessly against the worn linoleum of my front entryway.
Its screen flashed an unlisted international number, casting a cold, pulsating blue light across my sneakers and the scattered mail.
On the other side of my reinforced deadbolt, the heavy thuds stopped, replaced by the ominous creak of dress shoes turning in the corridor.
"Pick up the device, Miss Shaw," the man's muffled voice commanded through the wood.
"Mr. Russo prefers to speak directly to the person responsible for his care."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as I took two cautious steps forward and scooped the device off the floor.
My fingers were trembling, the same exhaustion that had plagued me during my sixteen-hour hospital shift returning with violent intensity.
I swiped the green icon across the glass and lifted the receiver to my ear without speaking a single word.
"You have very steady hands, Emma," a low, gravelly voice murmured on the other end of the line.
"Though I noticed you took twenty-four stitches when sixteen would have closed the gap."
I recognized that voice immediately; it carried the exact dry authority of the man who had bled across curtain four that morning.
"Mr. Russo, if you have signs of sepsis or fever, you need to call nine-one-one or return to Mercy General immediately," I answered, fighting to keep my tone clinical.
"I cannot provide medical evaluations or private house calls from my kitchen."
A dark, dry chuckle vibrated through the speaker, followed by a slight hiss of suppressed physical pain.
May you like
"If I walk into an emergency room right now, forty detectives and twelve federal agents will be waiting in the triage bay."
"And if you don't open your window and look down at your street, Miss Shaw, you will miss the convoy I sent to ensure your safety."
