The church doors flew open in the middle of the evening service.

The rain returned with a vengeance, sheets of grey water bouncing off the hood of Torres's unmarked cruiser as she tore through red lights, sirens screaming. Michael sat in the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard, praying under his breath.

When they arrived at the rear bay of St. Jude's Hospital, it was already empty. Deputy Miller stood near the ambulance doors, looking furious and defeated.

"Which way did they go?" Torres barked, jumping out of the car.

"Heading north toward the county line," Miller said. "They aren't taking her to a public facility. The transport order specifies transfer to the Starlight Wellness Center in Blackwood Pines."

"That's Price's private clinic," Michael said, his eyes burning with anger. "It's a secluded private facility in the hills. Once they get her behind those walls, they can heavy-sedate her, perform any procedure they want, and claim it was a medical emergency to save her life!"

"Not on my watch," Torres said, jumping back into the car. "Get in, Michael."

The drive up into the winding roads of Blackwood Pines was a nightmare of dark trees and slick asphalt. Starlight Wellness Center sat perched on a isolated ridge, surrounded by a ten-foot security fence topped with camera rigs and electronic gates.

As Torres pulled up, the heavy iron gate was already closed. Two private security guards in black tactical gear stepped out of a guard shack, holding flashlights.

Torres rolled down her window, flashing her badge. "I am Detective Rachel Torres, Metropolitan Police. Open this gate immediately."

The lead guard leaned down, his face cold and unbothered. "This is a private medical facility, Detective. We are currently under a quarantine lockdown order signed by the medical director. No law enforcement entry without a warrant signed by a superior court judge."

"I have exigent circumstances regarding an ongoing abduction!" Torres shouted.

"You have no jurisdiction here, Detective," the guard replied smoothly. "This facility falls under county sheriff authority. I suggest you file your paperwork with them."

Michael looked past the guard, up the long winding driveway toward the main clinic building. High on the third floor, a single room's lights flickered brightly.

"Rachel," Michael whispered, pointing up at the window. "Look."

Silhouetted against the bright interior light of the third-floor window, two medical workers were holding a struggling woman down against a gurney.

"They're doing it right now," Michael gasped. "They aren't waiting for morning."

Torres didn't hesitate. She threw the cruiser into reverse, backed up twenty yards into the narrow road, and then slammed her foot onto the accelerator.

"Hold on!" Torres yelled.

The police cruiser surged forward, crashing through the chain-link security gate with a deafening screech of twisting metal and shattering safety glass. The car plowed into the courtyard, tires spinning on the wet gravel as alarms wailed across the compound.

The security guards scrambled for their radios, but Torres was already out of the car, her gun drawn. "Stay in the booth! Down on the ground! Now!"

Michael hit the ground running, rushing past the dazed guards toward the heavy front glass doors of the main building. He grabbed a heavy decorative stone planter from the walkway and hurled it through the front glass entrance.