Chapter 1 - The Urgent Flight
The phone almost slipped from my sweating fingers.
I stood on the cold sidewalk in Chicago while the Miami wind seemed to blow through the receiver.
The nurse on the other end repeated my name to make sure I was still listening.
She told me Sarah had been brought in unconscious by a hotel housekeeper.
I didn't ask for details about her condition because my brain simply couldn't process the fear.
I dropped my briefcase on the pavement, hailed a taxi, and told the driver to speed to the airport.
During the three-hour flight, my mind raced back to that red stain on the white hotel sheets.
I had convinced myself she was just hiding an embarrassing medical issue.
I had been incredibly foolish to ignore the terror I saw in her eyes that morning.
When I finally arrived at Jackson Memorial Hospital, the sterile smell of bleach made my stomach churn.
A receptionist pointed me toward the intensive care unit on the fourth floor.
I practically ran down the long, brightly lit corridor until I found her room.
Sarah was lying on a narrow bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and a tangle of clear tubes.
She looked so fragile, her pale skin bruised and her breathing shallow.
A tall doctor in blue scrubs stepped out of the room and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
He asked if I was her husband.
I told him we were divorced, but that I was the only family she had left.
The doctor sighed deeply and adjusted his glasses.
He told me she had lost a massive amount of blood due to a deep laceration on her abdomen.
But what he said next made the blood freeze in my veins.
The wound wasn't an accident or a surgical complication.
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It was a deliberate, violent stab wound that someone had tried to stitch up with a normal sewing kit.
And the doctor handed me a small, blood-soaked envelope they had found hidden inside her bra.
