"I'm here. Where are you?"
"We're in the ER."
"I'm waiting outside. Corner of Fifth and—" A horn blares in the background, cutting him off briefly. "—near the main entrance."
"I'm coming."
I just turn to nod at my brother, and Jake's already moving towards the exit before I've finished the gesture. We walk down the corridor, past silent vending machines and posters about flu shots, our footsteps echoing against linoleum floors. The lobby is mostly quiet now, the chaos from earlier settling into a tense calm.
I'm barely keeping my fury in check. Natalie was almost killed. My woman. The mother of my child. And someone orchestrated it.
It wasn't random.
I adjust my charcoal wool overcoat as we push through the hospital doors. The evening air bites through the fabric, sharp enough to make pedestrians hurry past with their heads down, hands shoved deep in their pockets.
Derrick's unmarked black SUV is idling at the curb, exhaust visible in the cold air. He steps out when he sees us, pulling his jacket tighter as he approaches. His face is all business despite the chill.
We reach him, and he straightens immediately. “You need to see this.”
He opens the back door, and inside there’s a laptop propped up with a paused video feed on the screen. A traffic cam, timestamped for today. Derrick hits play.
The footage shows our car leaving the office’s parking lot. Not a second later, a black sedan turns on its lights and trails after us.
“It was parked there since one in the afternoon. Nobody got out. Nobody got it. It seemed to be waiting. The minute your car leaves, it takes off after you. I ran it frame by frame,” Derrick says. “I also checked the traffic footage of the route you took. It lingered a few cars behind you, trying to stay out of sight. Whoever this was is a pro.”
I glance at Jake, who crosses his arms tightly, his expression tense.
Derrick runs his fingers through his hair. “They tailed you from the office, followed all the way to that light, then hung back, idling along the pathway where people get off while the valet parks. But when Natalie got out and walked ahead…” He zooms in. “The driver speeds. Deliberately.”
The next few frames move sickeningly fast. Natalie standing on the sidewalk. I see Roland across the road, approaching. The car accelerating. Roland running now, panic and fear on his face.
Jake curses under his breath.
“They were aiming for her,” I say, voice low.
Derrick nods. “No doubt. And they knew what they were doing. Tinted windows. Fake plates. Swapped out before the drive. We can’t trace ownership. But we’ve got the traffic cam footage. My team’s tracking which way it turned after it sped off. That might give us something.”
I stare at the paused image of the car mid-turn. Fury swells in my chest, wild and livid. “Tell me it was Lucas.”
“I wanted it to be,” Derrick mutters. “Would’ve been clean. Tied off the threat in a neat bow.”
Jake narrows his eyes. “So it wasn’t?”
“No.” Derrick sighs and shuts the laptop. “Lucas Wilder was beaten within an inch of his life while in holding. He’s been in the hospital since his mother posted bail. Hospital confirmed. His mother hasn’t left his side.
I resist the urge to slam my fist into the side of the SUV.
“So it’s not him,” I grind out. “Then who?”
Jake looks between the two. “What if it was a hit? Lucas could have arranged for a hit. He was determined to kill her. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“It’s possible.” Derrick agrees but the tone of his voice puts me on edge.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“There’s a chance,” Derrick says carefully, “that this wasn’t about Natalie in the first place.”
I stare at him. “What the hell are you saying?”
