THE GIRL HE STOLE CAME BACK TO THE HOSPITAL

For several seconds, the basement became silent except for rain ticking through a narrow vent near the ceiling. Rowan kept her expression steady as she watched Wren struggle to recover from the contraction.

“Who is he?”

“Gideon Voss,” Wren whispered. “He told me he was my father until six months ago.”

Kira attached cardiac leads while Dax examined the steel door. It was reinforced on their side, with concealed hinges and no visible handle. The ankle cable gave Wren enough length to reach a narrow bathroom but not the exit.

“How did you learn the truth?” Rowan asked.

“I found a hospital bracelet.”

According to the story Gideon had told her all her life, Wren’s mother died giving birth at a private clinic. They moved constantly because debt collectors were searching for him. She was homeschooled, forbidden to use social media and taken only to cash-only clinics under different surnames. Gideon called it protection.

Wren began questioning him after becoming pregnant. Her husband, Caleb Mercer, wanted their baby delivered at St. Catherine’s Medical Center, but Gideon reacted with such violence that Wren realized his fear had nothing to do with money. He struck Caleb with a tire iron, dragged Wren into a van and brought her to the farmhouse.

“You have a husband?” Dax asked. “A real husband?”

Wren nodded. “Caleb never hurt me. Gideon made me say those things.”

The staged emergency had not been Wren’s idea. Gideon forced her to record the 911 call while pointing the shotgun at her. He later played portions of the recording and supplied enough live dialogue to convince the dispatcher that an attack was happening.

“He said an ambulance would come faster if they thought I was dying,” Wren said. “He knew the police would stay back if I begged them not to approach.”

Rowan glanced at the blood beneath her. “When did the bleeding start?”

“Tonight. After he shoved me.”

Dax turned from the door, his face hardening. Kira’s monitor showed Wren’s blood pressure climbing again. The headache, fever, abdominal pain and bleeding suggested more than ordinary labor. Rowan could not rule out severe preeclampsia or a placental abruption. Either could kill Wren and her child before the sheriff understood what was happening inside the house.

Rowan pressed the call button on the wall. A small red light appeared above the door.

Gideon’s voice came through a speaker. “What?”

“She may have a placental abruption. If the bleeding increases, she could die in minutes.”

“Then stop it.”

“That requires surgery.”

“You have knives.”

Rowan looked directly at the black dome mounted in the corner of the ceiling. Gideon was watching them.

“A kitchen knife is not an operating room. If you want that baby alive, we need to leave now.”

The speaker clicked off.

Wren’s fingers tightened around the blanket. “He only cares about the baby.”

“Why?”

“He thinks it belongs to him.”

Kira stared at her. “What does that mean?”

“He said God gave him another chance to build the family the hospital took from him.”

A faint metallic rattle interrupted her. Dax had opened the obstetric bag and was moving equipment aside. Beneath a removable tray, he found a compact emergency beacon. It could transmit a distress signal, but the farmhouse walls and Gideon’s signal jammer might block it.

Dax shielded the device from the camera with his body while Kira pretended to search the bag for gauze.

Rowan continued speaking to keep Gideon’s attention on her. “What happened at the hospital nineteen years ago?”

Wren swallowed. “His wife was named Mara. Their daughter died the night I was born. Gideon said the hospital killed her.”

“And then he took you?”

“I think so. The bracelet has someone else’s name.”

“What name?”

“Evelyn Cross.”

Rowan felt a chill unrelated to the basement. Nineteen years earlier, she had been a newly certified emergency medical technician assigned to a transport unit at St. Catherine’s. She remembered Evelyn Cross because the disappearance had consumed the city for months.

Evelyn had been twelve hours old when someone removed her from the maternity ward during an electrical failure. Security footage showed a person wearing hospital maintenance clothing, but the cameras failed before capturing the kidnapper’s face.

The child’s mother, Lydia Cross, appeared on television every night for almost a year and begged for her daughter’s return.

Rowan looked at Wren and recognized the pale crescent-shaped birthmark near her right ear. It had appeared in every missing-child bulletin.

“I remember you,” Rowan said.

Wren went still. “What?”

“Not from here. From the posters.”

Dax pressed the beacon beneath the mattress and activated it. A tiny green light blinked once before turning amber.

Searching for signal.

A heavy step sounded outside the door.

Gideon entered carrying a folded towel and a box of medical supplies far too old to be trusted. His gaze moved from Wren to Rowan.

“What did you tell her?”

Rowan rose slowly. “That her blood pressure is getting worse.”

Gideon studied her face. He knew she was withholding something.