Chapter 13 — The Boy Who Wasn’t Dead
Nobody spoke.
Keane’s voice continued through the phone.
“Bring me the Mercer drive, and I’ll tell you where he is.”
“We don’t have it,” I said.
“Adrian’s files were seized.”
“Not all of them.”
Maisie looked toward her backpack.
The silver key had opened the locker.
But Erin had also sewn something into the backpack lining.
We had never checked.
Keane said, “You have ten minutes.”
Then he hung up.
The men began walking toward the house.
Caleb locked the door.
“That won’t stop them.”
Maisie pulled a small seam ripper from her backpack.
“Why do you have that?” I asked.
“My backpack falls apart more often than your family tells the truth.”
She cut open the inner lining.
A flat memory card slipped out.
The Mercer drive.
Erin had hidden it with Maisie all along.
I stared at it.
“She used you as a courier.”
Maisie’s jaw tightened.
“Again.”
Caleb moved toward the back door.
“There’s an alley behind the yard.”
We escaped through the kitchen seconds before the front door crashed open.
Maisie struggled to keep pace.
Her infection had worsened.
I lifted her.
She stiffened.
“Put me down.”
“You can complain after we survive.”
“That seems controlling.”
“Noted.”
We reached my truck.
Caleb drove.
Keane’s men followed.
The chase cut through residential streets toward the industrial district.
Maisie used my laptop to open the memory card.
The folder contained birth records.
Adoption payments.
Photographs.
One image showed a newborn boy wearing a plastic hospital bracelet.
MERCER, BABY MALE
The next document listed him as deceased.
Another listed a transfer to a private pediatric clinic.
Then a new name appeared.
Elias Keane.
Dr. Keane had taken my son.
Raised him as his own.
The final record showed a current address.
Keane Pediatric Rehabilitation Center.
Across the city.
Maisie zoomed in on a staff photograph from the clinic website.
A teenage boy stood beside Dr. Keane.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
Hannah’s eyes.
My son.
Alive.
Caleb looked at the screen while driving.
“Oh God.”
A car struck us from behind.
The truck spun.
Glass shattered.
We crashed against a barrier.
My ears rang.
Maisie hung sideways in her seat belt.
Caleb’s forehead bled.
Keane’s sedan stopped behind us.
The older doctor stepped out.
He approached slowly.
I tried to open my door.
Jammed.
Keane looked through the broken window.
“You were never supposed to find him.”
“Why did you take my son?”
“Because Hannah promised him to us.”
“You’re lying.”
“She knew the baby might be disabled. She knew you weren’t ready.”
My anger turned cold.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I knew your wife.”
“So did I.”
“Not as well as you believed.”
Maisie freed herself from the seat belt.
Keane saw the memory card in her hand.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
He pulled a gun.
Caleb opened his door and tackled him.
The weapon fired.
Caleb jerked and fell.
Keane grabbed the memory card.
Maisie struck his wrist with her metal prosthetic foot.
The card flew beneath the truck.
Police sirens approached.
Keane ran.
I dropped beside Caleb.
Blood spread across his chest.
He gripped my sleeve.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I should have told you.”
“Save your breath.”
“I loved her too.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Caleb’s eyes began to close.
May you like
“Hannah was leaving you.”
Then he lost consciousness.
