Page 65 of Anchor
The monitors flickered. One beat of hesitation. Then her chest rose again.
Reid sagged in relief. Pete leaned in, listening closely with his stethoscope, watching the oxygen numbers climb back up.
Foley didn’t look away until he was sure. “She’s breathing on her own.”
Pete set a hand against Reid’s shoulder. “She’ll be hoarse. Weak. She may drift in and out. But she made the cut.”
Reid’s answer was almost like a vow. “She always does.”
There was a rasp—barely a sound, but unmistakable. Her lips moved, cracked, voice hoarse and broken from the tube. “...Reid?”
His head snapped up.
Her eyes fluttered halfway open, glassy but trying to find him. The syllable carried no strength, but it carried her.
“I’m here.” His hand tightened around hers. “Right here. You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe.”
Her throat worked. “Hurts.”
“I know.” He leaned closer still. “They’ll keep you comfortable. Don’t fight it.”
Her lashes dipped again, already sliding back under the weight of exhaustion. But her fingers twitched faintly against his palm, her own form of an anchor.
Reid’s hand was still wrapped around the rail of her bed when Pete Walter’s voice cut through, “Out. Now.” He smiled down at Claire. “I’ll watch her pain. Her last morphine is still in her system.”
Reid didn’t move. His grip tightened like, if he let go, she’d vanish.
“Reid,” Pete stepped in and grabbed Reid’s wrist, not cruelly, but firmly, “you’re contaminating my sterile zone. She needs rest. Not your shadow leaning over her.”
Reid’s jaw locked. “I’m not leaving her.”
“Yes, you are,” Pete snapped, voice breaking its calm for the first time. “She’s alive right now, but I’m not losing her to an infection.”
Reid wanted to put Pete through the wall. Instead, he forced his hand free, took one last look at Claire’s face, and walked out before his control shattered completely.
CHASE HQ – STRATEGIC OPERATIONS – 0604 HOURS
Fuse barely glanced up from her console. Screens glowed blue and gold in front of her, cycling through camera feeds, security paths, timestamps. Relay sat beside her, jaw tight, fingers moving fast across his keyboard.
Apex stood nearest the holo-table. He didn’t move until Reid came in. Then he gave a single nod. “Anchor.”
Reid didn’t waste time. “Talk to me.”
Fuse’s eyes stayed on her screen. “Claire Bowman was shot at 12:10 p.m. At eight o’clock yesterday morning, someone slipped into Weill Hall’s and Ford Hall’s internal camera feeds.”
Reid’s chest went tight. “From where?”
“Not the university,” she said. “And not us. Whoever it was used Chase’s own digital ID to get in. The system thought it was one of ours.”
Reid felt the air sharpen. “Keep going.”
Relay finally looked up. “We found three suspicious trails. One through our Operations floor. One through Communications. And one that came from outside Chase completely, but that one used the stolen ID to slip past the gate.”
Reid stared at the screen. “So, either someone inside helped them, or they’ve already compromised us.”
“Exactly.” Apex’s arms folded. “They didn’t just watch her. They planned this. And it couldn’t have worked out better with her release of information. But I believe they were already planning to shoot her after her scheduled class.”
The doors opened, and Scope walked in, field bag still slung across her shoulder. She set it down. “Shooter used a precisionrifle. Suppressed, not silent. Two rounds, tight timing. Both of them meant to kill.”
