Chapter 16The Mole

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee. Vera paced between the vending machine and the ER entrance, counting steps to keep her hands from shaking. Morgan was stable. For now. The doctors had stopped the seizure, but they were running tests, talking about swelling, using words Vera didn't want to hear.

She needed coffee. She needed to think. She needed Cole's location before he found them.

A nurse approached with a paper cup. "You look like you could use this."

Vera took it automatically. "Thanks."

The nurse smiled—tight, practiced. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Her scrubs were standard hospital issue, nothing remarkable.

Except for the tattoo on her inner wrist.

A snake coiled around a dagger. Same design Solomon had described when he traced Cole's associates. Same placement.

Vera's throat went dry.

"I'm Mariana," the nurse said. "I've been checking on your friend. She's stable, but we're monitoring her closely."

"Thank you." Vera kept her voice even. "You've been very attentive."

Mariana's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then slipped it back into her pocket. "If you need anything, just call."

She turned to leave.

"Mariana."

The nurse paused. "Yes?"

Vera stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I know who you are."

Mariana's smile flickered. "I'm sorry?"

"Your cousin Richard. The tattoo." Vera nodded at Mariana's wrist. "You've been texting him my location since I walked in."

The waiting room felt suddenly smaller. A security guard stood by the entrance, oblivious. An elderly man slept in the corner, newspaper draped over his face.

Mariana's expression hardened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been tracking Morgan's room number. Telling him when I leave her side." Vera kept her voice calm, clinical. The same tone she used when dismantling a target's life. "I can prove it. I have a friend who can trace your texts, your call logs, your location history. Want to explain to hospital administration why you've been feeding patient information to a man with a murder charge?"

Mariana's face went pale. "He's my family."

"So was my sister." Vera's voice cracked, just slightly. "And your cousin killed someone because of a job I did. Do you understand what that means? He's not coming here to talk. He's coming to finish what he started."

The nurse's hands trembled. "I didn't know he was going to—"

"I don't care." Vera stepped closer. "You're going to walk out that door. You're going to delete every text. And if I see you again, I'll make sure you lose your license, your job, and whatever else it takes to keep you away from us."

Mariana stared at her. For a moment, Vera thought she'd fight back. But the nurse's shoulders sagged.

"There's a security door on the second floor," she said quietly. "Code 4792. It leads to the private wing. Fewer cameras. Fewer people."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Richard killed my brother." Mariana's voice was barely a whisper. "I thought I could help him. I thought he'd change. But he won't."

She turned and walked away, disappearing through a door marked STAFF ONLY.

Vera stood frozen, adrenaline pounding through her veins. She'd neutralized the mole. But Cole still knew where they were. And now she had a way out.

She ran for Morgan's room.

---

Morgan was awake.

Barely.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her skin gray against the white hospital sheets. Monitors beeped steadily, tracking her heart rate, her oxygen, her fragile grip on consciousness.

"Vera." Her voice was a rasp. "What happened?"

"Seizure. You collapsed at the motel." Vera sat on the edge of the bed, taking Morgan's hand. "We're in the hospital. You're stable, but we need to move."

"Move where?"

"There's a secure wing. Fewer people. Safer."

Morgan tried to shake her head, but the movement made her wince. "I can't. I'm too weak."

"Morgan, listen to me. Richard Cole is coming. He's already inside the hospital. I just found his cousin working here."

Something flickered in Morgan's eyes—fear, recognition. "The man from the text."

"Yes."

"He killed someone. Because of your job."

"Because of me." Vera squeezed her hand. "And he wants me to pay. But if he finds you, he'll use you to get to me. I can't let that happen."

Morgan's breathing quickened. The monitors beeped faster.

"I need you to trust me," Vera said. "Can you do that?"

Morgan stared at her. The woman who had lied to her. The woman who had manipulated her. The woman who had held her through a seizure and called 911 with a shaking voice.

"I trust you," Morgan whispered.

The alarms started screaming.

---

Morgan's vitals plummeted. Her heart rate spiked, then dropped. Her oxygen levels fell. A team of doctors flooded the room, pushing Vera aside.

"She's seizing again—"

"Get me a CT scan, now—"

"BP's dropping, she's crashing—"

Vera stood against the wall, watching as Morgan's body convulsed on the bed. The doctors worked with practiced efficiency, but their faces were grim.

A doctor grabbed her arm. "Are you family?"

"I'm her—" Vera stopped. What was she? "I'm with her."

"She has a brain bleed. The seizure caused a hemorrhage. We need to operate immediately."

"How long?"

"Thirty minutes. Maybe less." The doctor's eyes were serious. "You need to sign the consent form."

Vera's hand shook as she took the clipboard. Morgan's name. Her birth date. The list of risks—stroke, paralysis, death.

She signed.

The gurney was already moving, Morgan's body strapped down, an oxygen mask over her face. Vera ran alongside, clutching Morgan's hand.

"Stay with me," she said. "Please. Don't you dare leave me."

Morgan's eyes fluttered open. She was trying to speak, but the mask muffled her words.

Vera leaned closer.

"Necklace," Morgan breathed. "My mother's. In my bag."

"I'll keep it safe."

"Wear it." Morgan's fingers twitched, trying to reach Vera's face. "So I know you're there."

Vera pressed her lips to Morgan's forehead. "I'll be right outside. When you wake up, I'll be there."

The gurney crashed through the OR doors. A nurse stopped Vera with a hand on her chest.

"You can't come any further."

"I need to—"

"Wait in the lounge. We'll update you as soon as we can."

The doors swung shut. The last thing Vera saw was Morgan's face, pale and still, surrounded by machines and masked strangers.

She stood in the corridor, alone.

Her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out, expecting a text from Solomon, some update on Cole's location.

Instead, she saw a photo.

Her motel room. The bed unmade. Morgan's medication bottles scattered on the nightstand. The window curtains pulled back.

Below the photo, a caption:

*I'm inside. Game over.*

Vera's blood turned to ice.

She looked up. The corridor stretched in both directions, empty and silent. The OR doors were closed. The waiting room was around the corner.

And somewhere in the hospital, Richard Cole was walking toward her.