Chapter 3 - The Traitor's Bag
My eyes shifted slowly from the phone screen to Owen’s trembling back. He was bent over the helm, steering toward the mainland coastline.
*Don't trust Owen.*
Owen had been the Mercer family doctor for twelve years. He had treated Lily's ear infections. He had delivered her. He had also signed Claire’s death certificate two years ago, declaring her drowning an "accidental trauma consistent with a fall onto coastal rocks."
"Owen," I said softly, stepping closer. "Step away from the wheel."
"Daniel, we’re five minutes from the private slipway in Bristol—"
"Step back."
The flat, cold tone in my voice made him freeze. Slowly, he let go of the helm and raised his hands. "Daniel, what's wrong with you? We need to stabilize Lily."
"Open your field kit."
His throat bobbed. "It's standard pediatric emergency equipment—"
"Open it, or I toss you into the propeller."
Owen slowly unzipped the tactical medical kit resting on the passenger bench. Inside were syringes, saline bags, and a digital defibrillator. But wedged in the bottom pouch was an unlabelled amber vial and a pre-loaded pneumatic syringe.
I snatched the vial, holding it up to the cabin light. The chemical name was stamped in faint red letters: *Succinycholine.* A fast-acting paralytic. It stopped the diaphragm in sixty seconds. In an autopsy, it was virtually undetectable if the victim had water in their lungs.
"Secondary drowning," I whispered, the sickening pieces locking together. "You were never taking her to an ICU. You were going to stop her heart and tell me her lungs gave out."
Owen’s knees gave way. He hit the deck floor, hands shaking violently.
"I didn't have a choice, Daniel!" he sobbed, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. "Vanessa... she has my daughter! My Chloe is at boarding school in Switzerland. Vanessa showed me photos of two men standing outside Chloe’s dorm last night! She told me if Lily survived the fall, I had to ensure she never woke up to speak!"
"You coward," I snarled, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him against the bulkhead. "You signed Claire’s fake autopsy too, didn't you?"
"Yes! God forgive me, yes!" Owen wept. "Claire didn't drown from a fall! Her skull was fractured with a blunt instrument before she hit the water! Vanessa brought me to the morgue with two armed men and forced me to sign the accidental ruling! If I didn't, they were going to kill my family!"
Lily groaned from the bench, coughing up a small mouthful of pink foam.
"Daddy..." she whispered.
I let Owen drop to the floor. I couldn't kill him—not yet. Lily needed medical care, and despite his cowardice, Owen was the only physician within twenty miles who knew how to clear her airway without flagging our location to the police or Vanessa's payroll.
"Clear her lungs," I ordered, cocking the shotgun and pressing the cold steel against Owen’s forehead. "You do everything right. If my daughter's oxygen drops by one single digit, Chloe won't have a father to come home to. Understand?"
Owen choked back a sob and nodded furiously. "I swear on my life. I'll save her."
He set to work, his trembling hands suddenly steadying with clinical adrenaline as he administered the bronchial dilator.
I looked at the mainland approaching fast. The safehouse was twenty miles inland—an old hunting cabin my father had bought decades ago.
My phone chimed again. A new message from Marcus:
May you like
*I’m tracking Grant’s Boston Whaler. He didn't head for the open ocean. He docked at the old Blackfin Marina. But Daniel... he’s not alone. Vanessa just arrived there by helicopter.*
***
