Page 93 of Property of Bones

“Just do me a solid and check on them.”

He hesitates.

“Now,” I growl, the word low and sharp.

I turn back to Tank knowing the receptionist will do as he’s told. “My gut’s telling me something’s off.”

He moves to stand beside me without a word.

A few tense minutes pass before the man returns, pale and visibly shaken. “She’s…she’s in there. The doctor’s alive, but unconscious… and there’s no one else in the room.”

Tank and I don’t wait for more. We bolt.

***

“Are there cameras?” Spike asks, his voice cold and clipped.

“No, sir,” the young man answers quickly. “We don’t allow cameras inside the counselor’s office. But there are some in the hallways and around the building.”

Foster scoffs. “That’s a bit irresponsible, don’t you think? What’s stopping a doctor from getting handsy or crossing a line with a patient?”

“It’s for the client’s privacy,” the kid insists.

“Then use cameras with no audio,” Foster snaps. “Angle them so the clients have their backs to the lens. No lip-reading…no eavesdropping. It’s not that hard. How stupid can a person be?”

“Dr. Mikah always records her sessions,” another receptionist speaks up from behind the desk. “But... she hadn’t started recording yet, which likely means the session hadn’t officially begun.”

“Which means we sat here for over a fucking hour, twiddling our thumbs, while our women were taken from right under our damn noses,” I growl.

“Unfortunately, we have to bring the law into this,” Spike says, his voice grim. “The doctor was knocked out. That’s not something we can cover up.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, gentlemen,” a new voice interrupts.

We all turn as Dr. Mikah walks into her office…right where we’re tearing the place apart looking for fucking clues.

“You don’t want us to call the cops?” Foster asks, skeptical.

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t.”

She holds out a flash drive. “Here. Footage from the past twenty-four hours. There’s no camera inside this room, but there is one on the back patio. That’s where they came from.”

She exhales shakily, guilt written all over her face. “I wish I could tell you more. We hadn’t even sat down yet. They stormed in… I was out cold before they even touched your girls.”

Her eyes lower. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Hey,” Spike says gently. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“This is going to set Abigail back,” she murmurs. “She’s come so far… and now? This could throw her right back into hiding in closets again.”

“She’ll be fine,” Spike replies, voice hardening with resolve. “I’ll have it no other way.”

He studies her face. “You sure you don’t want us to take you to the hospital? Don’t you have to report something like this?”

“Technically, yes,” she admits. “But I’m a privately owned practice. I don’t have to report a damn thing. And I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

I step out onto the patio and look around. The landscape stretches for miles…flat, open, and empty, with only a few scattered buildings dotting the horizon. Getting into this place would’ve been a damn cakewalk.

Why the fuck didn’t we check this before Abby’s first appointment?

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