Page 35 of Rescued By Four Alphas
"You didn't have to." I grip the phone tighter. "On what grounds could they possibly justify this?"
"Reid has been granted extraordinary authority under secret anti-terrorism provisions. He's convinced the right people that Omega reproduction represents a national security threat."
"This is insane," I mutter. "What are you doing to stop it?"
"What can I do? Reid has the ear of the Joint Chiefs and the President's National Security Advisor. My influence only goes so far."
"So, you're telling me to run."
A long pause. "If Dr. Baldwin were my mate, I'd get her somewhere safe. Immediately."
"I thought we were past this, Jack. I thought after Hammond was locked up, we could live our lives in peace."
"Hammond was just the beginning," Morrison says grimly. "Reid is the real architect. He’s always been."
I swear and bury my head in my free hand. "How much time do we have?"
"Not much. Days, maybe less."
"I'll be in touch," I say, ending the call.
I sit at my desk, staring at nothing. We need to leave, but where can we go? Switzerland seemed like the obvious choice, but if Reid has government connections, nowhere is truly safe.
My phone rings again. It's Oliver.
"Sir, I have some troubling news," he says without preamble. "International authorities have seized your property in Switzerland."
"What? On what grounds?"
"We don't have the details yet, but the Swiss Federal Police took control of the estate this morning."
"That's impossible! We haven't even been there in months!"
"It appears someone provided falsified evidence. The seizure order mentions 'credible intelligence from U.S. authorities.'"
Chapter 10 - Dahlia
I'm losing my goddamn mind in this room.
I pace the length of our safe room, counting my steps to keep myself sane—ten steps from wall to wall. Turn. Ten steps back. It's a spacious room by usual standards. Evan spared no expense when he had it built, but after being stuck in here for hours, it feels like a prison cell.
The room has everything I could need: a comfortable bed, a small kitchenette with a stocked mini fridge, a bathroom with a shower, even a TV and some books. But what I don't have is information, and that's driving me crazy.
"Fuck this," I mutter, kicking at the plush carpet.
I check my watch again. It's been nearly eighteen hours since the brick came crashing through our window. Eighteen hours ofbeing shuffled into this safe room "for my protection." Eighteen hours with only brief visits from my mates, none of whom will tell me what's happening. Leo and Axl left a while ago.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, my hand automatically moving to rest on my small baby bump. "Your dads think they're protecting us," I tell my unborn children. "But they're driving Mommy insane."
The babies can't respond, of course, but talking to them helps me feel less alone. I've been doing it more often lately, especially when I'm stressed. Dr. Marianna says it's good for them to hear my voice.
"I just wish they'd treat me like a partner instead of something fragile," I continue. "I'm pregnant, not helpless."
My phone beeps on the nightstand, and I practically lunge for it—finally, some contact with the outside world. I check the screen, hoping it's one of my mates with an update.
It's Emily.
I answer immediately. "Em? Thank god."
