Chapter 17 - The Vanishing Twin
The second-floor corridor smelled of expensive floor wax and stale cigar smoke.
The screech of the security alarm echoed relentlessly, vibrating the family portraits hanging along the wallpapered walls.
I reached the steel door at the end of the east turret and swiped the black keycard through the digital reader.
The electronic lock clicked with a heavy, satisfying thud.
I threw the door open with such violence that it bounced against the interior drywall.
Dr. Thorne spun around, dropping the syringe onto the hardwood floor, where it shattered into glass shards.
"Who authorized you to enter this private wing?" Thorne bellowed, attempting to block my path to the crib.
I didn't waste words on him.
I swung the heavy brass desk lamp I had grabbed from the hallway table, catching him flush across the jaw.
The doctor grunted, stumbling sideways into a medical cart and crashing heavily to the floor.
I dropped the lamp and ran to the crib, falling to my knees beside the wooden rails.
Lying there was a tiny, perfect boy with thick dark hair and James's exact olive skin tone.
His tiny fists were clenched against his cheeks, his tear-streaked face reddened from screaming.
"I’ve got you, Christian," I sobbed, lifting his fragile body against my chest and wrapping him in my woolen sweater.
"You’re not Christian anymore," I whispered into his hair.
"You are Leo Sullivan, and your mother has come to take you home."
Evelyn burst into the nursery, clutching a portable refrigerated cooler from the medical counter.
"I have the umbilical cord stem cells and the matched plasma units," Evelyn breathed, her face drenched in sweat.
"The state police have arrived at the bottom of the drive, Claire!"
"We need to get this boy to St. Jude’s before Eleanor’s lawyers twist the jurisdictional jurisdiction!"
We ran back down the corridor, avoiding the groaning doctor on the floor.
As we descended the central staircase, the front doors of the mansion were kicked inward by three men.
I pulled Leo closer to my chest, bracing for another attack from Eleanor’s mercenaries.
"Claire!" a familiar, roaring voice echoed through the marble entryway.
It was James.
His coat was torn, his cheekbone bruised and swollen, but he was standing on his own two feet.
Flanking him was Marcus and two uniformed county sheriff deputies with their sidearms drawn.
"James!" I screamed, the tears finally blinding my vision as I reached the bottom of the stairs.
James looked at the bundle in my arms, then at the identical features of the boy who mirrored our daughter’s face.
A sound of broken, suffocating joy escaped his chest as he wrapped both of his arms around me and our son.
"He’s alive," James wept into my neck, his tears soaking into my hair.
"Our boy is alive."
"Sullivan!" Sheriff Bradley’s voice cut sharply through the emotional reunion.
"You need to step outside right now."
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"Eleanor Vance’s attorney has just arrived with a federal injunction signed by a circuit judge."
"They are claiming kidnapping against both of you."
