Chapter 2 - The Cold Assessment
The pain hit Emily in rolling waves that doubled her over before we even made it past the front entryway. Her water hadn't broken, but the stress of the assault had triggered premature labor contractions. At thirty-two weeks, every minute mattered.
I didn't waste time arguing with Linda, who was now babbling into her iPhone, screaming for paramedics and police to report an assault on her precious golden boy. I scooped Emily into my arms, ignoring the dull ache in my lower back, and carried her out to my battered sedan idling in the driveway. I laid her across the passenger seat, reclined the backrest, and buckled her in gently.
""Breathe through your nose, honey,"" I told her, kissing her cold forehead. ""Deep and slow. Count to four. Just like when you were small.""
""Dad, he's going to ruin you,"" she sobbed, her fingers digging into my arm. ""His family owns the judges in this county. His uncle is the city commissioner. Mark told me that if I ever tried to leave, they’d take the baby and lock me in a psychiatric ward. He had documents, Dad... forged medical records. He told me nobody would believe me.""
""They don't have to believe you, Em,"" I said, putting the car in gear and peeling away from the curb. ""They're going to have to deal with me.""
While my left hand steered the car through the afternoon traffic toward County General Hospital, my right hand reached into my pocket and hit speed-dial on my burner phone. It rang twice before an old, familiar voice answered.
""Tom? I haven't heard from you since your retirement party,"" said Frank Vance, the current Chief of Police and a man whose career I had saved three times over during the dockland racketeering trials of 2018.
""Frank, I need a priority squad car and a certified medical escort routed to County General emergency bay right now,"" I said without preamble. ""My daughter Emily is in active premature labor caused by blunt-force domestic trauma.""
The line went dead silent on Frank's end for two beats. When he spoke again, the relaxed tone was entirely gone. ""Who did it?""
""Mark Sterling.""
Frank sucked in a sharp breath. ""The real estate developer's kid? Tom, that family is tied into half the city council.""
""I don't care if he's related to the governor, Frank,"" I replied, running a yellow light with my hazards flashing. ""I neutralized him at the scene. He's got a broken nose, fractured ribs, and he'll be arriving at the same hospital in ten minutes via an ambulance his mother called. I want a female officer stationed at Emily's door the second we roll in. If any member of the Sterling family comes within fifty feet of my daughter, I want them cuffed.""
""Consider it done,"" Frank said. ""Tom... what did you do to him?""
""Not nearly enough,"" I said, and hung up.
I pulled into the ambulance bay on two wheels, braking hard right beside the trauma doors. Orderlies were already waiting with a gurney, tipped off by Frank's dispatch. Within sixty seconds, Emily was whisked inside, surrounded by monitors, nurses, and an ultrasound tech checking the baby's heartbeat.
I stood in the doorway of the triage bay, watching the rhythmic beep of the fetal monitor finally stabilize. Emily's vitals were spiking from adrenaline, but the baby's heart was strong. One of the nurses, an older woman with tired eyes, patted my shoulder. ""She's stable for now, sir. The doctor is administering medication to halt the contractions. You did good getting her here so fast.""
I nodded, my jaw tight. I walked back out toward the waiting area, finding a quiet corner beneath a security camera.
Five minutes later, the automatic doors hissed open.
Paramedics wheeled in a stretcher carrying Mark Sterling. His neck was in a cervical collar, an ice pack was strapped over his mangled nose, and he was screaming so loud that visitors in the lobby turned to stare.
""Arrest him!"" Mark shrieked, spotting me standing calmly near the vending machines. ""Officer! That old bastard tried to murder me! Look at my face! Look at what he did!""
Two uniformed patrolmen stepped into the lobby right behind the stretcher. They looked at Mark, then looked across the room at me.
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I didn't move. I didn't hide my bruised knuckles. I just stood there, meeting the eyes of the lead patrolman, who happened to be an officer I had trained on evidence preservation eight years ago.
I smiled. ""Good afternoon, gentlemen. Take a seat, Mark. We have a lot of paperwork to go through.""
