A little boy ran through them carrying a canvas medicine bag almost as large as his chest

"Clear!" Claire yelled.

Mara’s body jolted on the table as two hundred joules of electricity surged through her chest.

The monitor flickered, displaying a jagged, chaotic wave before flattening back into a terrifying line, then suddenly catching a rhythm—slow, erratic, but present.

Thump... thump... thump...

"Sinus bradycardia," Paul breathed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Rate is forty-five. Blood pressure is rising slightly—eighty over fifty. The antibody fragment is starting to bind the digoxin!"

Across the room, a sharp, gasping sound broke through the tension.

Waaaaah! Waaaaaaaah!

The neonatal team broke into broad smiles. The baby boy was kicking his feet, his tiny hands clenched into fists as his pale blue skin flushed into a healthy pink.

"Apgar score six at five minutes," the neonatologist announced proudly. "Respirations spontaneous. Heart rate one-forty. He’s a fighter!"

Claire let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Get the baby to the NICU for observation and toxicology screening. Monitor his electrolyte levels closely—he was exposed to the digoxin through the placenta."

She turned back to Mara. The incision was closed, but Mara remained deeply unconscious, intubated, and hooked up to three separate IV pumps delivering cardiac support medications.

"Transfer her to the Intensive Care Unit," Claire instructed. "I want a two-person guard on her door at all times. No visitors without my personal written authorization."

Claire walked out of the surgical suite, her blue scrubs stained with blood and antiseptic solution. She washed her hands thoroughly in the scrub sink, her mind racing.

Why Digoxin? Who had access to Mara’s prescriptions?

Eli had mentioned "Aunt Tessa."

Claire walked briskly toward the pediatric waiting room, where June Harper was sitting with Eli. The seven-year-old boy had refused to lie down. He sat upright on the edge of the vinyl sofa, his eyes fixed on the hallway.

When he saw Claire walking toward him, he stood up immediately.

"Is my mother dead?" he asked flatly.

Claire crouched down so she was at eye level with him. She took his cold, trembling hands into her warm ones.

"No, Eli. Your mother is alive. And you have a baby brother."

Eli’s eyes welled with tears, but he did not let them fall. "Is he okay?"

"He was very weak when he was born, but he is breathing on his own now," Claire smiled gently. "He is in the nursery right now, resting."

Eli let out a long, shuddering sigh and finally allowed his shoulders to drop. "Mom said if anything happened to her, I had to be the man of the house. But I’m only seven."

"You did more tonight than most grown men could ever do," Claire said softly. "You saved two lives tonight, Eli. Never forget that."

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Eli, I need to ask you some questions about your Aunt Tessa. Who is she?"

Eli looked at his sneakers. "She isn't my real aunt. She’s Mom’s best friend. She works at the same office. She comes over all the time. She helped Mom when my dad died two years ago."

Claire’s eyes narrowed. "Your father passed away?"

"He was in a construction accident," Eli said softly. "After that, Aunt Tessa started taking care of Mom's mail and bills because Mom was too sad. And when Mom got pregnant with my little brother, Aunt Tessa said she would help buy all the baby stuff."

"What did Aunt Tessa do this morning when she brought the pills?"

"She came over around eight o'clock," Eli recalled, his memory clear and unyielding. "She brought coffee for herself and a orange juice for Mom. She took Mom's old pill bottle out of the kitchen cabinet and put it in her purse. Then she put a new bottle on the counter. She said, 'The doctor said you need a higher dose, Mara. Take two tonight before bed.'"

"Did your mom question it?"

"Mom said the pills looked different. Aunt Tessa got mad. She said Mom was being paranoid because of her hormones. She said, 'Do you trust me or not?' So Mom said sorry."

Claire swallowed hard. This wasn't a mistake by a pharmacy. This was a cold, deliberate murder attempt.

Just then, a tall, well-dressed woman in a damp trench coat walked hurriedly into the emergency waiting area. Her hair was slightly disheveled, but her posture was rigid. She scanned the room frantically until her eyes landed on Eli.

"Eli!" the woman called out, rushing toward them.