Chapter 5 - Beneath Saint GabrielLevel B4 smelled like rust, bleach, and forgotten things.
It looked like a siege.
Police blocked entrances.
Reporters gathered behind barricades.
News helicopters circled overhead because somebody had leaked the truth: Dante Moretti had been declared dead, revived, and targeted a second time inside the ICU.
The story exploded across Phoenix before breakfast.
Elena's name had not yet reached the media.
That was the only piece of luck she had left.
Dante stabilized shortly after six.
He remained weak, ventilated, and heavily sedated.
But alive.
Every hour he remained alive increased the pressure on whoever wanted him dead.
And Elena began to understand why.
Marco took her to an unused conference room shortly after dawn.
Inside waited an older man with silver hair and tired eyes.
“This is Vincent Moretti,” Marco said.
Dante's uncle.
Vincent looked nothing like Elena expected.
No flashy jewelry.
No theatrical menace.
He wore khakis, a pale blue shirt, and reading glasses.
“You're the nurse.”
“Elena Torres.”
“You found his pulse.”
“Yes.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“My nephew has enemies.”
“I gathered that.”
A faint smile appeared.
“He also has a talent for creating them.”
“You brought me here for a reason.”
Vincent glanced at Marco.
Marco closed the door.
“Dante started looking into Saint Gabriel six months ago.”
“Why?”
“One of our businesses provides transportation contracts for medical suppliers.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“What kind of businesses?”
“Legitimate ones.”
“That clarification wasn't reassuring.”
Vincent ignored it.
“Dante noticed invoices that didn't match shipments.”
“What kind?”
“Controlled medications. Surgical hardware. Cancer drugs.”
Elena's expression changed.
“Missing?”
“On paper, Saint Gabriel purchased millions more than it actually received.”
“And the money?”
“Moved through shell companies.”
“Owned by who?”
“That's what Dante was trying to prove.”
Elena immediately thought of Mercer.
“No.”
Vincent seemed to read her face.
“Dr. Mercer isn't the target.”
“Then why did Dante tell me ‘Not Mercer’?”
Marco answered.
“Because Dante probably knew someone would try to frame him.”
Elena looked from one man to the other.
“You're telling me the doctor who mysteriously knew Dante spoke isn't involved?”
“I didn't say that,” Vincent replied. “I said Dante didn't believe he was the architect.”
“Who did he believe was?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Hospital administration.”
Elena laughed once, without humor.
“That's vague.”
“Chief executive level.”
“Name.”
“Dante wouldn't tell us.”
“Why not?”
“He trusted almost nobody.”
“That seems sensible.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Three nights ago, Dante went to meet an informant.”
“Here?”
“In a parking structure near downtown.”
“What happened?”
“The informant never showed.”
“Then how did Dante see anything?”
Vincent looked at Marco again.
Marco spoke.
“Because someone else did.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Grainy.
Taken at night.
Two men standing beside a black SUV.
One was Dr. Mercer.
The other man's face was partially hidden.
Elena leaned closer.
She recognized the second man.
Everybody at Saint Gabriel would.
Dr. Stephen Lang.
Chief Executive Officer.
Public face of the hospital.
Charity gala darling.
The man whose smiling photograph appeared in every hallway.
“What does this prove?”
“Nothing,” Vincent said.
“Exactly.”
“It proves Mercer and Lang met privately two nights before Dante was shot.”
“That could mean anything.”
“Yes.”
Elena looked again.
Mercer seemed angry in the image.
Lang looked calm.
Something about their body language mattered.
“Where did this come from?”
“Dante's phone.”
“Where is his phone?”
“Missing.”
Elena looked up.
“The phone he had when he was shot?”
Marco nodded.
“Gone before he reached the hospital.”
“Who transported him?”
“We did.”
“Then one of your people took it.”
“Or someone at the shooting scene.”
Vincent folded his hands.
“We need Dante conscious.”
“So do the people trying to kill him.”
“Exactly.”
Elena stood.
“I shouldn't be part of this.”
“You already are.”
“I didn't choose it.”
“No,” Vincent said quietly. “You chose to save a life.”
That stopped her.
Vincent's expression softened.
“Whatever you think of my nephew, Nurse Torres, the people trying to kill him are not doing it because they want justice.”
Elena thought of the insulin in his IV.
The photograph of her mother.
“No.”
“They're scared.”
“Of what?”
“Something he knows.”
A knock came at the door.
One of the guards entered.
“Marco.”
“What?”
“Mercer's gone.”
Elena stood.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He left the hospital.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“He's a doctor. Maybe he went home.”
“His house is empty.”
Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression hardened.
“Where?”
A pause.
“We're coming.”
He disconnected.
“Elena, stay here.”
“No.”
“This isn't a debate.”
“You just told me I'm already part of it.”
Marco cursed under his breath.
“Fine. Stay behind me.”
They took an elevator to the basement.
Hospital security had discovered Mercer's vehicle parked in a restricted loading area.
Driver's door open.
Keys on the ground.
Blood on the steering wheel.
Elena stopped ten feet away.
“Is that his?”
“No idea,” Marco said.
Police were already photographing the scene.
A detective approached.
“You need to leave.”
Elena looked toward the open trunk.
Something white was inside.
A lab coat.
Mercer's.
Beside it, a phone.
The detective picked it up with gloved hands.
Screen cracked.
One unread message visible.
Elena could make out the preview.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM DIE.
Her pulse accelerated.
Mercer hadn't run.
He had been taken.
Or attacked.
The detective glanced toward them.
“You know anything about this?”
Marco said nothing.
Elena answered.
“Dr. Mercer may have been trying to protect Dante.”
Marco gave her a look.
The detective caught it.
“Dante Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“Why would Mercer protect him?”
Elena remembered Dante's warning.
Not Mercer.
“I don't know.”
The phone buzzed suddenly.
Everyone froze.
Another message.
The detective held it up.
UNKNOWN SENDER.
This time the preview contained an image.
A man tied to a chair.
Mercer.
Blood running down his face.
Alive.
Below the image:
BRING THE NURSE TO LEVEL B4.
ALONE.
OR THE DOCTOR DIES.
Elena stopped breathing.
Marco read over the detective's shoulder.
“No.”
The detective frowned.
“No what?”
“She isn't going anywhere.”
Elena stared at the message.
“Why me?”
Nobody answered.
Then another text arrived.
BECAUSE SHE HEARD DANTE'S LAST WORDS.
Elena looked toward the hospital ceiling.
Toward dozens of security cameras.
Toward thousands of employees.
Somebody knew every step she had taken.
Every conversation.
Every secret.
Then the phone displayed one final line.
TEN MINUTES.
Elena raised her eyes to Marco.
“What is level B4?”
His face became grim.
“Saint Gabriel doesn't have a B4.”
The detective looked at the architectural map on the wall.
“Officially.”
He pointed below the basement.
“But this building was constructed over an older facility.”
Elena followed his finger.
An abandoned sublevel.
Sealed twenty years earlier.
Marco shook his head.
“You're not going.”
Elena looked at the photograph of Mercer.
The man she had suspected.
The man Dante had apparently tried to protect.
“If I don't, they kill him.”
“They may kill you anyway.”
“Then we don't give them the chance.”
Marco stared.
“What are you suggesting?”
Elena looked at the security camera mounted over the loading dock.
“They think I'm a terrified rookie nurse.”
“You are a terrified rookie nurse.”
“Exactly.”
May you like
For the first time since the nightmare began, Elena smiled.
“Maybe we should let them keep believing that.”
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