Chapter 3 - The Wolf at the Door
The air in the small hospital room instantly turned charged. Lily instinctively pulled her knees to her chest, shrinking back against the headboard of the hospital bed.
"I'll take it from here, Officer Brooks," Detective Julian Vance said, taking a step toward Lily. "Family matter now. Social Services has been notified, and since I'm legal kin, I'll be taking temporary custody of the kids as soon as the boy is discharged."
"Hold on," Rachel said, placing herself directly between Julian Vance and the bed. "This isn't standard procedure. There’s an active missing person's investigation regarding Clara Vance. Until Child Protective Services arrives and verifies your credentials, nobody touches these children."
Julian’s smile vanished, replaced by an icy, calculated stare. "I am the lead investigator assigned to Wayne County violent crimes, Officer. I suggest you check your rank before you step out of line."
In her earpiece, Marcus’s voice shot through like a bolt of lightning. "Rachel! Don't let him near those kids! I just cross-referenced Julian Vance’s badge number. He was suspended from the department four days ago pending an internal affairs investigation for evidence tampering and extortion! He’s not on duty!"
Rachel didn't hesitate. She unclipped the safety strap on her holster with a quiet click.
"Detective Vance," Rachel said, her voice dropping an octave, completely steady. "I think you need to step out into the hallway with me right now."
Julian’s eyes flicked down to Rachel’s hand near her firearm. A faint, menacing smirk touched his lips. "You're making a severe career mistake, Brooks."
"Out. Now," she ordered.
Julian slowly backed away, raising his hands in mock surrender, but as he reached the doorway, he leaned in toward Lily. "Don't worry, little bird. Uncle Julian will see you real soon."
The moment the door slammed shut behind Julian and his two associates, Rachel turned to her partner. "Miller, call precinct command. I want two uniformed officers posted at this door. Nobody comes in or out without my explicit clearance."
"Where are you going?" Miller asked, reaching for his radio.
"To the pharmacy where Clara went," Rachel said, grabbing her heavy raincoat. "If Clara didn't make it home, her trail starts where she went to buy that medicine."
Outside, the storm had turned into a full-blown gale. Marcus guided Rachel through her headset as she drove her cruiser through the flooded streets toward 24-Hour Metro Pharmacy, located four blocks from the apartment complex.
"Rachel, listen to me," Marcus said, his voice echoing in the empty patrol car. "I went back and analyzed the 911 audio from Lily’s call. In the background, right around the two-minute mark before you arrived, there’s a distinct metallic sound. It wasn't rain."
"What was it?"
"A police scanner frequency bleed," Marcus revealed. "Someone was sitting outside that apartment building monitoring dispatch traffic. They knew you were coming before you even got to the building."
Rachel pulled up to the pharmacy. The bright fluorescent light streamed out onto the slick pavement. The store was open, but the parking lot was entirely deserted except for a single, dark SUV with tinted windows parked in the shadowed corner of the lot.
Rachel drew her flashlight and approached the double glass doors. The bell chimed softly as she entered. Behind the counter sat a terrified, middle-aged pharmacist with pale skin and trembling hands.
"Officer," the pharmacist gasped, standing up so fast he knocked over a display of bandages. "Thank God. I tried to call, but..."
"Did a woman come in here earlier tonight?" Rachel asked urgently, holding up a photo of Clara Vance she had printed from her cruiser's mobile terminal. "Clara Vance. She was buying fever medicine for a toddler."
The pharmacist swallowed hard, looking toward the back storage room. "She came in... about two hours ago. She was terrified. She kept looking out the window."
"Did she leave?"
"She didn't get the chance," a dark, heavy voice spoke from behind the pharmacy aisles.
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Rachel whipped around, pulling her sidearm. Emerging from the shadows was a thick-set man in a drenched tactical jacket, his face scarred near his left eye. In his hand, he held a silenced pistol aimed directly at Rachel’s chest.
"Drop the gun, cop," Victor Vance said, his eyes hollow and dead. "Or you won't live long enough to find out where your little dispatch friend lives."
