Chapter 7 - The Tracker
I gasped in horror and immediately grabbed my leather purse from the passenger seat.
I unzipped every compartment and dumped the contents violently onto the floorboards of the stolen car.
Lipstick, hospital badges, loose change, and crumpled receipts scattered everywhere.
Hidden inside a small zipper pocket lining the bottom of the bag, I found a smooth, white, button-sized tracker.
Jackson must have slipped it into my purse weeks ago because he never trusted me completely.
I rolled down my window and hurled the tiny plastic disc as far into the overgrown weeds as I could.
I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and peeled out of the abandoned parking lot.
I knew throwing the tracker away only bought me a small head start before they narrowed down my location.
I needed a safe place with restricted access, security cameras, and people I could trust implicitly.
I drove straight toward the massive downtown hospital where I worked as a senior trauma nurse.
The employee parking garage required a secure badge swipe that no local beat cop could easily bypass.
I parked the stolen station wagon on the fourth floor, hiding it between two large delivery vans.
I carried Mia through the staff entrance, nodding politely to the tired security guard who knew my face.
I rushed up to the seventh floor, an administrative wing that was completely deserted after business hours.
I found an empty on-call room, locked the heavy wooden door, and pulled the blinds tightly shut.
I sat Mia on the small cot and turned on the desktop computer sitting in the corner of the room.
My hands shook as I plugged the titanium USB drive into the hospital's secure network terminal.
The screen prompted me for a password, and my heart sank entirely.
I typed in Mia's birthday, Jackson's birthday, and even Lorraine's anniversary, but access was denied.
I thought about the torn rag doll on the porch, the one thing Lorraine knew I would notice.
I typed the word "Rosie" into the password field and hit the enter key.
The screen flashed green, and dozens of massive financial spreadsheets instantly opened on the monitor.
The files detailed a horrifying human trafficking network masquerading as a legitimate shipping company.
I scrolled through the list of silent investors who were actively funding the syndicate's monstrous operations.
The names included local judges, prominent politicians, and several high-ranking police captains.
My eyes stopped on a name near the very top of the VIP investor list, and all the air left my lungs.
It was Dr. Harrison Miller, the Chief of Staff at the very hospital where I was currently hiding.
A heavy key suddenly turned in the lock of the on-call room door.
May you like
The handle twisted, and Dr. Miller walked inside with a sickeningly warm smile on his face.
"I was wondering why my network alerted me to an unauthorized decryption on the seventh floor," he said smoothly.
