Chapter 6 - Out of the Ashes
The fresh air hit me like a physical blow.
Detective Vance dragged me out of the back door of the burning clinic, throwing me onto the damp grass as the fire engines roared down the street in the distance.
I was coughing violently, vomiting black soot and bile onto the lawn. My muscles were twitching, my heart racing at a terrifying speed from the veterinary paralytic Miller had injected into me.
"Medic!" Vance yelled, waving his hand toward the approaching ambulances. "We need a toxicology kit! Now!"
He looked down at me, his eyes wide with concern. In my arms, I was still clutching the charred, soot-covered binder of shipping records.
"You crazy bastard," Vance whispered, a look of profound respect in his eyes. "You saved the records."
As the EMTs rushed over, cutting my shirt and sticking needles into my arms, I looked back at the clinic. The building was completely engulfed in flames, black smoke billowing into the clean blue sky.
Dr. Miller didn't make it out. His body was recovered an hour later, but the evidence we needed had already been secured in my hands and in the files we had taken from Melissa’s house.
Two hours later, I was lying in a hospital bed in the same facility where Emma had died. The doctors had administered an active charcoal flush and a reversing agent for the veterinary anesthetic. I was weak, my throat burning, but I was alive.
Detective Vance walked into my room, his face grim.
"The news of the fire just hit the local channels," he said, sitting in the chair beside my bed. "Melissa and Grant are panicking. Our surveillance team says they are loading suitcases into their Mercedes. They’re planning to run."
"Stop them," I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.
"We can't arrest them yet," Vance said, his jaw tightening. "The district attorney is still reviewing the federal warrant based on the new lab evidence. If we move too early, their legal team will claim we are harassing them due to the fire. We need to hold them in the city for another twelve hours."
"They won't stay," I said, a sudden, cold realization coming over me. "Grant has a private plane. He uses it for his 'charity' events. If they get to the regional airport, they are gone."
I reached for my clothes, which were sitting in a plastic bag on the chair.
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"What are you doing?" Vance asked, standing up.
"I'm going to talk to my sister," I said, my voice steadying as the adrenaline returned. "I'm going to tell her I know. If I show them the evidence, they won't run to the airport. They’ll come to me to try and buy my silence. They are greedy, Vance. Greedy people always think they can negotiate."
