Chapter 4 - The Great Escape
The ambulance arrived at 2 AM, its lights off, its siren silent, pulling up the back drive to the mansion’s service entrance where the cameras didn’t reach. Mia was driving, wearing a paramedic’s uniform, and her sister Lila—tall, blonde, wearing the same scrubs as Melissa—hopped out the back, carrying a bag of medical equipment. “Clear?” Mia asked, and Claire nodded, leading them through the kitchen and into the living room.
Ethan was already awake, his eyes wide, waiting. “Hey, stranger,” Mia said, leaning over the bed, a small smile on her face. “Long time no see. You ready to get the hell out of here?”
“More than you know,” Ethan rasped, and Lila stepped forward, shining a penlight into his eyes, checking his pulse, her brow furrowed.
“Toxin levels are still high,” she said, pulling a small IV bag from her bag. “This will flush it out faster. It’ll make you tired, but you’ll be able to talk by tomorrow. Walk by the end of the week.” She inserted the needle into his arm, adjusting the drip, then turned to Mia. “We need to move him slow. His skull’s still bruised. Any jostling could make it worse.”
Melissa stepped forward, grabbing the other end of the gurney. “I’ll help,” she said, and together, the four of them lifted Ethan onto the rolling bed, covering him with a white sheet up to his chin. Claire grabbed the monitor, pulling the plug from the wall and replacing it with a small battery pack Mia had brought, then set up the dummy they’d made in the back of the ambulance: a pillow under the sheet, shaped like a body, with a small speaker tucked under the mattress playing a pre-recorded track of steady heartbeats and slow breathing. She arranged the covers just right, tucking them under the pillow the way Ethan always slept, then stepped back. Even from three feet away, it looked real.
“Cameras?” Mia asked, and Claire nodded.
“I disabled the living room one ten minutes ago. Loose wire, I’ll tell them. The rest are still on, but they only get the side of the bed. They won’t see the face.” She turned to Melissa. “You know what to do?”
“Check every hour,” the nurse said, nodding. “Make noise, talk to him like he’s there. If anyone calls, I say no change. If they come home early… I stall. As long as I can.” She paused, looking at Claire. “My daughter—”
“Safe,” Claire said. “I called the hospital an hour ago. Set up a private fund. No Whitmore name attached. She can start treatment next week. You have my word.”
Melissa nodded, her eyes glistening, and stepped back as they rolled Ethan out the service entrance, into the back of the ambulance. Claire climbed in beside him, lacing her fingers through his, as Mia pulled out of the drive and onto the highway, heading north toward Oklahoma. For the first time in six days, she let herself relax, her head falling back against the wall of the ambulance, as the streetlights of Dallas faded behind them.
“Thank you,” Ethan whispered, squeezing her hand. “For everything.”
“Always,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “We’re a team, remember? For better or worse. Even when your family tries to kill us.”
He huffed a small laugh, then winced, his hand going to his bruised ribs. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” He paused, his gaze drifting out the window at the dark Texas plains rolling by. “You really set up the fund for Melissa’s kid?”
“Yep,” Claire said. “Figured if we’re gonna take down the Whitmores, we should do it right. Not just hurt the bad guys. Help the people they stepped on to get where they are.”
Mia glanced back at them from the driver’s seat, a small smile on her face. “You two are gonna be the death of me,” she said. “But for what it’s worth? You’re already better than every Whitmore who ever lived. Combined.”
The clinic was a small, single-story building on the edge of Tulsa, surrounded by oak trees and a tall wooden fence, its windows tinted so no one could see inside. Lila led them to a private room in the back, helping Ethan into a real hospital bed, hooking him up to a bank of monitors that didn’t have hidden cameras or pre-written logs waiting to frame anyone. “I’ll run the full blood work in the morning,” she said, adjusting the IV. “Get some rest. Both of you. You’ve earned it.”
Claire sat beside the bed, watching Ethan’s eyes flutter shut, the tension finally draining from his face as the sedative Lila had given him kicked in. For the first time since the accident, he looked peaceful—no longer a pawn in his family’s sick game, just her husband, safe, alive, and finally free of the Whitmores’ shadow. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the news, and froze.
There was a headline at the top of the Dallas business section: WHITMORE CORP ANNOUNCES EARLY RETURN FROM LONDON DEAL; RICHARD WHITMORE QUOTED “FAMILY COMES FIRST.”
She clicked the article, her heart sinking. The Whitmores weren’t coming home the day after tomorrow. They were coming home tomorrow. Their private jet was scheduled to land at Love Field at 3 PM.
She dialed Mia, who was in the clinic’s small kitchen making coffee. “They’re early,” she said, her voice tight. “They land tomorrow at three. We have less than twenty-four hours to get everything ready.”
May you like
Mia was quiet for a second. Then she said, “Okay. New plan. We don’t wait for them to come to us. We meet them at the airport. And when they step off that jet? We hit ’em with everything we’ve got.”
(Word count: 1509)
