I’m not quite two hours into my rounds Friday morning when the phone rings at the nearby nurses’ station. Paused outside a patient’s room reviewing a file, I don’t notice the ringing stop, the following words. I don’t hear rapid footsteps approaching until someone touches my shoulder.

“Dr. Sumner,” gasps a nurse, “you’re needed in the ER immediately.”

I turn, frowning. “What? Why?”

Her eyes are a little wild behind her glasses. “There’s someone asking for you. Um… I guess they’re being pretty adamant. Psych was called. Security doesn’t think she’s dangerous, but she’s pretty upset.”

The back of my scalp tightens. “Does she have a name?”

She shakes her head. “They didn’t say.”

I nod, handing her my current file. “See if Dr. Ling will take this? Patient is stable.”

“Yes, of course.”

I thank her and walk quickly to the elevator, my white coat fluttering gently against my legs. Figuring it must be a former patient—or more likely, a former patient’s mother—I pick up my pace, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. Three floors down, I push through a door and jog toward the ER.

As I round the final corner, I hear an unfamiliar female voice yelling.

“Eden! Dr. Eden Sumner! Get off me—don’t fucking touch me—Eden!”

I push into a small crowd gathered on the side of the waiting room. “Get out of the way, please,” I say tightly. “Move, move.”

I finally get through and see the woman.

Shoulder-length brown hair. Mid-forties and petite. Pale skin that showcases bruising on her jaw and temple. Wearing jeans, rain boots, and a winter coat. I don’t recognize her. Two security guards flank her, their expressions wary.

Stopping uncertainly, I watch her scan the room. Her head turns in my direction and her eyes find me. They widen.

“Eden,” she gasps. She moves like lightning, darting outside the guards’ reach and running to me.

I’m so surprised I don’t move, just stiffen as she hugs me tightly. She pulls back, her hands moving to cup my face.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” My voice is thin and high. Somewhere in my mind an alarm is sounding. Not a mild beeping, either. A full-blown emergency wail.

“We have to go,” says the woman, eyes darting between mine. “You need to come with me right now.”

White noise fills my ears.

“Dr. Sumner?” asks a guard tightly. “Psych’s on the way.”

I glance at him, then look at the crowd surrounding us. “Okay, thanks.” My voice sounds weirdly robotic, my limbs tingling as I turn to the woman. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ll get you help.”

She steps back, expression falling into determined lines. “I’m sorry, Eden. But I have no choice.”

With a smooth movement, she reaches into her coat and pulls something out.

“Gun!” yells a security guard.

There’s immediate pandemonium. The formerly curious crowd goes berserk, screaming, shoving, and running toward the exit. A silent alarm goes off, sensors over doors flashing white and red. Hospital personnel shout orders as they frantically follow procedures for lockdown on other floors.

As the space around us clears, the guards—their own guns drawn—order the woman to drop her weapon. They also tell me to get away, to run, but I can’t move.

All I can do is stare. Past the dark barrel of the gun aimed at me. Into cracked-marble eyes.

“They found me,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, but they’ll be coming for you, too.”

Four police officers burst through the main doors. More yelling, radios crackling. A tornado of action happens outside the eye of the storm. I glance at the nearby guards, see a decision crystallizing in their eyes. She’s not dropping the weapon.

They’re going to shoot her.

I don’t think. Throwing myself forward, I spread my arms, my back between the guards and her. “No, no!”

“Get out of the way, doctor!” shouts the man on the right.

“No!” I stare down into the woman’s eyes. “She won’t hurt me. She’s not going to hurt me. Are you?”

Her lower lip trembles as she lowers the gun. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. We have to go. We’re not safe.”

I shake my head, scrambling for reason in a world gone mad. “Why now? It’s been years. There’s been no sign of him. I get routine updates from the FBI—Maddoc is gone. Moved on. He’s not even in the country.”

Distant sirens wail. Real ones, this time.

“My sweet girl, there’s no such thing as moving on. Not for Maddoc. He doesn’t forget. And he knows about the USB drive.” She sighs, shaking her head a little. “I told you not to trust anyone.”

The words pull the blood from my head to my belly, where it vortexes into a maelstrom of dread. If he knows where I am, then he knows where I work. Where I live. He knows about Grant. My parents.

Liam, where are you?

“Okay,” I whisper, nodding. Turning to face the array of men, I lift my hands. “Officers, I’m going to accompany this woman from the hospital of my own free will. She will not hurt me.”

“Doctor! We can’t let you do that!”

I find the speaker—the nearest police officer. In my eyes, I see his certainty that I’m going to die.

But I won’t. Not right now, at least.

Over my shoulder, I murmur, “Keep me between them and you. Walk backward down the hallway behind you.”

She doesn’t hesitate, one hand fisting in my white coat and pulling me slowly backward. The line of officers advances. I hear my breath, harsh and loud.

My eyes stay fixed on the officer who fears for me. “I’m going voluntarily,” I repeat. “She will not hurt me.”

There’s a question in his eyes, one with an answer that I can hardly believe.

“She’s my mother,” I tell him. “My mother.”

He pauses, shaking his head. “We can’t just let you go, doctor, regardless of who she is. Tell her to surrender her gun. Every exit is covered. There’s nowhere to go.”

He’s right. I know he is. But my rational mind is no longer in control—or maybe the world has turned upside down and I’m finally rational. Either way, I believe Elizabeth. If I don’t go with her, people—including us—are going to die. And it’s more than the evidence of her split lip and slowly purpling jaw that point to a very real confrontation. I saw the truth in her eyes.

Maddoc found her. She escaped. She came for me.

I hear Liam’s voice in my memory. There’s no escape from men like your father.

“Don’t do this,” says the officer, correctly reading the intent in my eyes.

“You don’t understand,” I whisper.

We’re halfway down the hallway when three figures move into the space behind the officers. I see them first, then Elizabeth does. She curses. Before I can comprehend why they look wrong—no uniforms, sunglasses—they lift guns.

Motherfucking machine guns.

Elizabeth yanks me bodily down the hall, my feet scrambling to keep up with her sudden sprint. I scream, “Behind you!” but it’s too late.

It was always too late.

Gunfire erupts, bullets mowing through police and security guards alike. Blood sprays against the walls, the floor. Several fallen officers manage to get some rounds off.

That’s all I see before daylight blinds me.