Page 71 of Borrowed Pain
"Text from Tobias. Same time as yours, but he rarely contacts me during daylight hours. Too dangerous."
"You had an exchange when he met Miles."
She pulled her hand back from mine. "It was a false alarm, and a mistake to contact him then."
"What does his new message say?"
"Meeting running over. Will contact you tonight instead of this afternoon.'" She looked up. "But we didn't have plans to meet this afternoon."
I started to stand. "Don't trust either message. They might be phishing to confirm our location. We need to move. Now."
"Wait." Patricia reached across the table to grip my wrist. "There's more you need to understand about what you're walking into."
She pulled out a flash drive, small enough to hide in a closed fist. Her hands shook as she stared at it. "Three years," she whispered. "Every late night, every falsified report, every time I chose silence while more children got hurt."
Her voice cracked. "Everything's on here. Financial records, patient files, correspondence with Tobias, and proof of federal oversight failures. It should be enough to bring down the entire network."
"And get Rook killed in the process."
"Yes." She pressed it into my palm, her fingers lingering against mine like she was transferring custody of her soul. "I'm putting his life in your hands. A stranger's hands. Because I have no choice left."
A tear dropped onto our joined hands. "Forty-eight hours. Two days to get Tobias somewhere safe. After that, you can destroy everything we've built if it means stopping them."
Her phone buzzed again. This time, her face went pale as she read the message.
"What is it?"
"I'm being called for an emergency meeting at the office. My supervisor wants to see me immediately regarding irregularities in recent compliance reports."
"They know," I said.
Patricia nodded. "They've known for a while. Probably just needed evidence to justify bringing me in for questioning."
She reached back into her bag, pulling out additional documents and pushing them across the table toward me."Patient records, financial transactions, and shell company formations. Everything I couldn't digitize safely."
"Patricia—"
"Promise me something." Her grip tightened on my wrist. "When you find Tobias—and you will find him—tell him I said the lighthouse still stands. He'll understand what that means."
Before I could respond, she glanced toward the diner's entrance and froze.
Three figures in dark suits approached.
"Time's up," Patricia whispered.
The lead agent pushed through Denny's glass door, flanked by two others whose bulky suits couldn't disguise the tactical gear underneath. They moved in formation—one toward our booth, the others positioning to block exits.
Patricia rose and stood facing the agent.
He spoke. "I'm Agent Andrews. Dr. Patricia Hendricks, you're under arrest for obstruction of justice, accessory to fraud, and conspiracy to interfere with federal investigations."
Around us, conversations died mid-sentence, coffee cups paused halfway to lips, and every head turned toward our booth. Brenda, the server, backed away from our table, coffeepot clutched against her chest.
"May I finish my coffee?" Patricia asked.
Andrews nodded to one of his partners. The other agent produced cuffs. "We'll advise you of your rights at the vehicle."
I started to slide from my seat. Andrews turned his attention to me. "Stay put, Mr. Ashcroft. We'll want to speak with you as well."
