Page 34 of Duty Compromised
“Working on it.” We hadn’t told him the newest development about the Cascade Protocol being sold on the black market. Honestly, I didn’t trust the man.
“Good, good.” His smile widened, showing too many teeth. “At least now you won’t have to worry about Charlotte spilling anything on you now that she’s gone. She does tend to make a mess of things.”
My jaw tightened. The jab at Charlotte felt unnecessary, deliberately cruel, even. But how the hell did he know she’d moved to the break room? Darcy wouldn’t have told him. Charlotte certainly wouldn’t have.
“She’s under a lot of pressure. The stabilizer code isn’t exactly a weekend project. She’s working her ass off.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s working very hard.” Wilmington’s tone dripped with mock sympathy. “Or, at least, she was. But you know, health comes first.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wilmington’s expression shifted to something smugger, if that was possible. His eyes glinted with the kind of satisfaction that made my instincts prickle. “Oh, you didn’t know? She left for the day. Dentist appointment, she said. Just walked right out about twenty minutes ago.”
“Dentist appointment?” What the fuck? “In the middle of the afternoon?”
“Annual check-up, apparently. Very important to prioritize proper hygiene, don’t you think?”
“What?” I stood, the chair rolling backward hard enough to hit the desk behind me. Charlotte knew what was at stake. Knew how tight our deadline was. There was no way in hell she’d duck out for an afternoon for a fucking routine dentist appointment. Hell, I didn’t think she’d go to the dentist right now if her teeth were literally dropping out of her head. “She wouldn’t?—”
“Check for yourself.” He shrugged, already turning away, but I caught the slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Her car’s gone from the lot. But I’m sure having pearly whites will help with her research?—”
I moved before he finished talking, heading straight for the break room. Empty. No laptop, no papers, no sign she’d ever been there. I checked the women’s bathroom, calling out first before entering. Nothing. The lab itself—her usual workspace abandoned, no sign of her anywhere.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
My phone was in my hand before I’d made a conscious decision to pull it out, my fingers already typing.
Where are you?
…
The typing dots appeared immediately, disappeared, appeared again. My chest tightened with each second that passed. One second. Two. Three. The dots vanished, reappeared. Whatever she was typing, she kept deleting it.
I’ll need to talk to you later. I’m in the emergency room.
The floor seemed to shift under my feet. Fucking emergency room? The words hit like a physical blow, adrenaline flooding my system instantly.
What happened? Which hospital?
Car accident. I’m fine.
Like hell, she was fine. People who were fine didn’t end up in emergency rooms.
Charlotte. Which goddamned hospital?
The pause lasted too long before her response.
Mercy General. Really, I’m okay. I’ll explain later.
I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, ignoring Wilmington’s called question behind me. Something about protocols and proper channels. I didn’t give a damn about protocols. Charlotte was hurt, and I’d been sitting here watching empty desks while she?—
The drive to Mercy General took twelve minutes on a good day. I made it in eight, running two yellow lights and one that was definitely red by the time I cleared the intersection.
The emergency room buzzed with controlled disorder—crying children clutching parents, worried families grouped in uncomfortable chairs, the antiseptic smell that never quite masked everything else. A woman in scrubs rushed past, nearly colliding with me. The triage nurse barely glanced up when I approached her desk.
“Charlotte Gifford. She was brought in from a car accident.”
“Are you family?”
