Chapter 3 - The File That Should Not Exist
For one second, I forgot how to breathe.
Boone Mercer stood beneath the red emergency lights with a weapon in his hand.
Not pointing it at anyone.
Not even raised.
Just held low beside his leg.
But that was enough.
Every instinct I had as a nurse screamed at me to move away from him.
Instead, I looked at his face.
He wasn't looking at me.
He was watching the hallway.
Listening.
Waiting.
His breathing had changed.
Slow.
Controlled.
Almost unnaturally calm.
The trembling was gone.
The man who had been crying beside Baby Emma thirty seconds earlier had disappeared.
In his place stood someone else.
Someone trained to survive darkness.
“Boone,” I whispered.
His eyes flicked toward me.
“Secure room. Now.”
“You can't carry a weapon inside a neonatal unit.”
“I know.”
“Then put it down.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because they're already inside.”
A sharp metallic sound echoed from the hallway.
Everyone froze.
The security officer grabbed his radio.
“Security to NICU. Possible unauthorized entry. Lock down—”
Static.
He tried again.
Nothing.
“Radio's dead.”
Boone's eyes narrowed.
“That's not an accident.”
I looked at the nurses.
“Take the babies to the secure area.”
Everyone moved.
The NICU transformed into controlled chaos.
Nurses began checking incubators.
Doctors grabbed emergency bags.
One mother who had been visiting her premature son began crying.
I moved toward Baby Emma.
But Boone stopped me.
“Wait.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked toward the ceiling.
I heard it then.
A faint buzzing sound.
Something mechanical.
Coming from above us.
Boone stepped closer to the incubator.
“Do you have another route to the secure room?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
I pointed toward the side corridor.
“Through the medication room.”
He nodded.
“Go.”
I reached for Emma.
Then the hallway lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And went completely black.
A gunshot cracked through the hospital.
Someone screamed.
I instinctively ducked.
Boone moved faster than I could see.
He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me behind the incubator.
“Stay down.”
“Was that—”
“Yes.”
Another shot.
Closer.
The sound bounced through the corridor.
My hands shook.
Not from the gunfire.
From the realization that Baby Emma was lying less than three feet away from me.
Someone had entered our NICU.
Someone armed.
Someone who had apparently come for her.
Boone looked at me.
“When I tell you to move, don't stop.”
“What about the other babies?”
“Security is moving them.”
“You can't know that.”
“I can.”
“How?”
He glanced at his watch.
“Because I know the people coming.”
Before I could ask what that meant, a shadow appeared at the far end of the corridor.
Boone raised his weapon.
“Don't.”
The figure stopped.
A man's voice came through the darkness.
“Mercer.”
Boone's expression changed.
Recognition.
Hatred.
“You should've stayed dead,” the voice said.
Boone's grip tightened.
“I tried.”
A pause.
Then the stranger laughed.
“You always were difficult.”
Boone stepped forward.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
The stranger laughed again.
“Your sister?”
Boone's face went rigid.
“She died eleven years ago.”
“That's what you were told.”
I looked at Boone.
His eyes didn't leave the darkness.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
He didn't answer.
The figure disappeared.
Boone suddenly turned toward me.
“Now.”
He grabbed the incubator and started pushing.
I ran beside him.
We reached the medication room.
I punched in the emergency code.
The door opened.
We rushed inside.
Boone pulled it shut.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I looked at him.
“You said Rachel died.”
“Yes.”
“That man said she didn't.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
He stared at me.
I had never been afraid of confrontation.
But looking into Boone's eyes now made my stomach tighten.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I don't have all of it.”
“Then give me what you have.”
He looked down at Emma.
“I have pieces.”
“Start with Rachel.”
He leaned against the wall.
For the first time since the emergency began, he looked exhausted.
“My sister joined the military when she was nineteen.”
I frowned.
“Rachel was military?”
“Yes.”
“What branch?”
“Army.”
I thought about the photograph.
“You were both serving?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“She became an intelligence analyst.”
My heart sank.
“Intelligence?”
“Yes.”
“And she discovered something?”
Boone nodded.
“She found evidence that someone inside the military was selling classified information.”
I stared at him.
“That's why she was running?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she running from?”
Boone looked at me.
“Not the military.”
My skin prickled.
“Then who?”
“Private contractors.”
“Contractors?”
“Men with government connections, money, and no official fingerprints.”
I looked at Emma.
“And what did the baby have to do with that?”
Boone's expression hardened.
“Everything.”
The baby stirred.
He reached through the opening and gently touched her hand.
“Rachel discovered the operation while she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant with Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Did the people hunting her know?”
“They knew.”
“Then why didn't they take the baby?”
“They tried.”
“When?”
“Before she came to Riverbend.”
I swallowed.
“What happened?”
“Rachel disappeared for six months.”
“Where?”
“We didn't know.”
“You didn't know where your own sister was?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn't trust anyone.”
He paused.
“Not even me.”
That seemed to hurt him more than anything else.
“What happened when she returned?”
“She called me.”
“From where?”
“Des Moines.”
My eyes widened.
“She was already here?”
“Yes.”
“How long before Emma was born?”
“Three days.”
I stared at him.
“Three days.”
He nodded.
“She told me she was going to have the baby here.”
“Why Riverbend?”
“Because she'd been here before.”
I frowned.
“Here?”
Boone looked at me.
“Eleven years ago, Rachel worked with someone at this hospital.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
“She never told me his name.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I saw his handwriting.”
“Where?”
“In Rachel's apartment.”
“What did it say?”
Boone hesitated.
Then he reached inside his shirt.
He pulled out a small folded piece of paper.
I stared at it.
“You've been carrying that this whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you show me?”
“Because I didn't know if I could trust you.”
The words hurt.
But I understood.
He handed me the paper.
It was old.
Yellowed at the edges.
There were only two sentences.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, TAKE HER TO RIVERBEND.
And beneath it:
CLAIRE WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO.
My heart stopped.
I looked at Boone.
“What?”
He didn't speak.
I read it again.
My name.
My name was written on a piece of paper eleven years old.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know.”
“I didn't know Rachel.”
“Apparently she knew you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I would've remembered her.”
“Maybe she never met you.”
“Then how did she know my name?”
Boone's eyes moved toward the secure-room door.
“That is what I've been trying to figure out.”
A loud bang shook the hallway.
Emma began crying.
Boone immediately reached for her.
I stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You can't keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Treating this baby like she's yours while refusing to tell me the truth.”
His jaw clenched.
“She is mine.”
The words stunned me.
“What?”
“Not biologically.”
He swallowed.
“But legally, Rachel named me as her guardian.”
I stared at him.
“Then why isn't that in the hospital records?”
“Because someone removed it.”
My heart pounded.
I pulled the hospital computer toward me.
“If that's true, there should be a record somewhere.”
“There is.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw it once.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I turned.
“Yesterday?”
He nodded.
“I came to Riverbend yesterday.”
“But your volunteer orientation was today.”
“I needed to see if Emma was here.”
“How did you know she would be?”
“I didn't.”
He looked at the baby.
“I knew Rachel would send her here.”
My hands froze above the keyboard.
I opened the patient database.
Searched for Baby Girl Parker.
The record appeared.
I checked the admission details.
Birth time.
Weight.
Mother unknown.
Father unknown.
Then I opened the legal documents.
My breath caught.
There was an emergency guardianship request.
Filed eleven years ago.
Never completed.
I scrolled down.
The applicant's name was Boone Mercer.
The document had been rejected.
Reason:
Applicant presumed deceased.
I turned toward him.
“You were listed as dead.”
Boone nodded.
“I was.”
“But you're alive.”
“Now.”
“What happened?”
He looked at his scars.
“These.”
I understood.
Burn injuries.
Severe enough to explain why his hands shook.
“An explosion?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Afghanistan.”
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
I looked at the date.
The same year Rachel disappeared.
The same year Emma was born.
“You were declared dead?”
“Yes.”
“And Rachel?”
“Declared dead three days later.”
My stomach twisted.
“So everyone thought you were both dead.”
“Yes.”
“But you survived.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you come back for Emma?”
Boone looked down.
His voice broke.
“Because I woke up eighteen months later.”
I couldn't speak.
“Eighteen months?”
“I had reconstructive surgeries. Memory loss. Classified recovery.”
He stared at his hands.
“When I finally remembered Rachel, I came home.”
“And Emma?”
“She was gone.”
“Where?”
“Every record said she died.”
I looked at the tiny baby sleeping inside the incubator.
“But she didn't.”
“No.”
“How did you find her?”
Boone's eyes filled with tears.
“Three weeks ago, I received a letter.”
“From Rachel?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked at me.
“From someone who claimed to be her.”
My heart stopped.
“Rachel is alive?”
“I don't know.”
“But the woman outside—”
“Is not Rachel.”
“Then who is she?”
Boone didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at the security monitor.
The hallway camera had returned.
The image was grainy.
A woman stood outside the secure room.
Dark coat.
Dark hair.
Still.
Watching the door.
Boone's face went pale.
The woman slowly raised her hand.
She held something between two fingers.
A photograph.
Then she placed it against the glass.
I moved closer.
It was another photograph.
Rachel.
Holding baby Emma.
But this time, I could see the date.
The photograph had been taken yesterday.
My blood turned to ice.
Boone whispered,
“That's impossible.”
The woman outside smiled.
Then she mouthed four words through the glass.
ASK CLAIRE ABOUT THE FIRE.
I turned toward Boone.
“What fire?”
He didn't answer.
Because suddenly, his eyes weren't on the woman.
They were on me.
And for the first time since we'd met, Boone looked genuinely afraid of me.
“What?” I asked.
He slowly stepped backward.
“Claire…”
“What?”
“I think I know why Rachel chose you.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He pointed at the old photograph in my hand.
“Because you were there.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“At the fire.”
“What fire?”
Boone's voice dropped to a whisper.
“The night Rachel disappeared…”
May you like
He looked toward Baby Emma.
“…you were the nurse who signed her out.”
