think you know her,” Lucas said. “But, Charlotte, these men could be paying her big money to help them.”
Charlotte shook her head in denial again. “No, not Mila. She’s kind and loving and giving just like her mother was.”
Lucas looked torn but dropped a kiss on Charlotte’s cheek. “I really have to go. We don’t want this guy to get away.”
“Be careful,” Charlotte said, her voice strained. “And promise me you won’t hurt Mila.”
Lucas hugged her tightly. “Everything will be okay.”
Brayden pushed back from the table and followed Lucas and Harrison to the door. Dexter was right behind him.
Lucas stepped outside. “I’ll call you when we have him in custody.”
Brayden nodded. “Just get the bastard.”
Mila typically took weeks to plan a facial reconstruction surgery. She had several consultations with the patient, conducted an analysis of problematic features needing correction, created computer sketches simulating what the finished product would look like and, if needed, arranged counseling with a professional. She’d also run blood work and tests to verify the patient was healthy enough for surgery.
Sometimes skin grafts were necessary. And sometimes multiple surgeries.
She had no time for any of that today.
DiSanti had shoved a photograph into her hands and told her exactly what he’d wanted. The changes would literally make him unrecognizable.
She’d been working for hours now. Her hand trembled as she finished the last of the sutures around his forehead. Perspiration trickled down the side of her face. Exhaustion bled through every cell in her body, adding to the tension thrumming through her. Her feet ached, her head throbbed and her eyes were blurring.
Twice his blood pressure had risen, and she’d thought she might lose him. That would be a blessing.
But the guards had warned her that if she made a mistake or if he died, she’d pay for it.
“How much longer?” the shortest of the guards asked.
“I’m almost finished. But he’s going to need recovery time.” She wanted to tell them they were fools to put him through so many alterations in one day. “I told you that I usually perform these procedures in steps.”
“We don’t have time for that,” the bigger brute barked. “Just finish.”
Images of Izzy and Roberta, terrified for their lives, taunted her with every minute she worked on the man. So far, she’d reshaped his nose, lifted his eyelids and added fillers to his cheeks and lips. His scar was history, as well.
He looked ten years younger and almost handsome.
But nothing could change the monster beneath that face.
The goons guarding the surgical room remained rigid, guns pointing at her.
Her finger slipped, and she bit her tongue as she dropped the instrument. The guard took a step forward, his glare a warning. If she lost DiSanti, she’d be dead in seconds.
She forced a breath to calm her nerves, then completed the row of stitches, dabbing away blood as she went.
Relieved to finally finish, she gestured toward her patient. “He’s going to need rest, ice packs, pain medication. I’ll send you with everything you need to take care of him.”
A snide grin slid onto the brute’s face. “We’re not going to take care of him, Doc. You are.”
Mila’s pulse pounded. “Listen, I did everything you asked. Now let me go home to my little girl.”
He shook his head. “Not happening yet. Not until he’s healing and we know you didn’t pull something on us.”
The shorter man’s phone buzzed. He stepped aside to answer, then spoke in a low hushed voice. Anger slashed his eyes as he hung up. “We have to move him now. The feds are on their way.”
Mila gripped the steel counter where her instruments were spread out. If the feds were coming, maybe they’d save Izzy.
The men jumped into motion. Keeping the IV attached, they rolled the patient through the hallway and loaded him into the back of their van. The bigger guy jerked her arm. “Come on, Doc. Get whatever supplies you need to take care of him and let’s go.”
She dug her heels in. “Please let me go home to my daughter. I’ll gather the supplies and you can take them with you.”
He jammed the gun at her temple. “I said move it.”
A siren wailed outside. One of the guards rushed in. “We have to go now. The damn feds are here!”
The man dragged her into the hall. She pulled back, desperate to escape. If they took her with them, they’d probably kill her and she’d never see Izzy again.
But the barrel of the gun pressed into her temple. “Fight and I’ll kill you right here.”
The siren wailed closer. No time to get supplies.
Mila fought a sob as the man dragged her out the back door.
Tires screeched. An SUV careened into the parking lot, a police car following. Blue lights twirled and flickered against the night sky.
Car doors opened, and a man shouted, “Stop, FBI!”
Two of the guards at the back of the van opened fire and men ducked for cover.
The man holding her arm lost his grip and fired back, then motioned for the two guards to get in the van. They jumped inside, while another one rushed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, then shouts and bullets flew.
The big guy shoved her toward the van, but she kicked him in the knee. He cursed and pushed her again, but she dived to the side and hit the concrete. Another round of bullets pinged around her, then the big guy jumped inside the vehicle.
Mila covered her head with her hands as the FBI fired at the van. Through the back window the guards unleashed another round.
She screamed as a bullet pinged onto the concrete by her face.
Tires peeled rubber as the van screeched away. Footsteps and shouts followed. The officers were leaving. She raised her head to look around, but a tall, dark-haired man stood over her, his gun aimed at her.
“Dr. Manchester?”
She nodded, her body trembling.
He hauled her to her feet. “You are under arrest.”
She opened her mouth to protest. But he spun her around, yanked her arms behind her and snapped handcuffs around her wrists.
*
