Chapter 1 - The First Mistake
I looked at the Ferguson family and let their hollow threats hang in the sterile hospital air.
Patricia really believed her money and political connections made her invincible.
She completely confused the calculated silence of a decorated U.S. Army Colonel with the submission of a terrified civilian.
I did not yell or argue with the people who had bruised and broken my only child.
I simply reached down and carefully scooped Abigail into my arms.
She winced in pain, burying her bruised face against my dark military jacket.
"Put her down, Colonel," Nicholas demanded, stepping in front of the doorway to block my exit.
"She is my wife, and she is legally going home with us," he added with a sickeningly arrogant smirk.
I did not stop walking.
I moved directly toward him with the kind of momentum that had broken much stronger men in combat zones.
Gregory stepped up beside his brother, crossing his arms to form a human wall.
"You really don't want to do this, Rachel," Gregory warned softly.
I shifted my weight, driving my combat boot directly into Gregory's knee with precise, shattering force.
He screamed, collapsing to the linoleum floor in a heap of tailored fabric and agony.
Nicholas stumbled backward in absolute shock, his arrogant smirk vanishing in an instant.
I walked right past them, carrying my daughter down the long fluorescent hallway.
"Hospital security!" Patricia shrieked from the room behind us.
"Stop that woman immediately!" she commanded the nurses' station.
Two large security guards stepped into the center of the corridor, placing their hands on their utility belts.
"Ma'am, I need you to stop right there," the taller guard said nervously, glancing at my military ribbons.
"I am removing my daughter from a hostile environment," I stated clearly, my voice echoing off the walls.
"If you attempt to detain a superior military officer during a domestic rescue, I will personally ensure you face federal kidnapping charges."
The guards hesitated, looking at each other in sheer panic.
They slowly backed against the wall, lowering their hands and letting me pass without another word.
I carried Abigail out the automatic sliding doors and into the cool North Carolina night.
I gently placed her in the passenger seat of my armored tactical truck and locked the doors.
As I climbed into the driver's seat, my secure military phone began to vibrate in my pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting a call from my base commander regarding my sudden departure.
The caller ID displayed a restricted number from the Pentagon.
"Colonel Gardner," a heavily distorted, digitally altered voice whispered through the speaker.
"You should have left your daughter with the Fergusons."
"Who is this?" I demanded, starting the engine.
May you like
"Someone who just authorized a lethal drone strike on your current GPS coordinates," the voice replied.
I looked up through the windshield just as a massive, red laser targeting sight painted the dashboard of my truck.
