Chapter 2 - The Hidden Transmitter
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When Detective Mason returned to check on my vitals an hour later, I blinked rapidly—a signal we had established during his first visit.
Once the floor nurse stepped out to update my chart, I forced the words out through my cracked, swollen lips.
"She... she threatened me," I rasped, my throat raw. "Margaret. She said I was harder to get rid of than she expected."
Detective Mason didn't dismiss me. He didn't tell me I was hallucinating from the heavy dosage of morphine, like the hospital staff had suggested. Instead, his jaw tightened, his sharp blue eyes darkening with intense focus.
"I believed you from day one, Claire," Mason said softly, leaning over my bed. "The angle of your fall didn't match a simple trip over a railing. The physics were all wrong."
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, circular device no larger than a coin. He carefully tucked it underneath the fabric of my thumb brace, securing it right against my palm.
"This is an emergency transmitter," Mason explained in a low voice. "It connects directly to my wiretap unit in the observation room down the hall. If she approaches you, press the switch twice."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my chest cast. "Do you think she'll try again?"
Mason looked at the closed door, his expression turning deathly serious. "Women like Margaret Morgan don't leave job half-done. She thinks you're helpless."
"I am helpless," I whispered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
"You're the trap, Claire," Mason replied grimly. "And we're going to catch her."
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For forty-eight hours, I lay in that suffocating cast, staring at the ceiling tiles, waiting for the devil to walk through the door.
Every footstep in the corridor sounded like a threat. Every shadow against the frosted glass set my nerves on fire. On the third evening, the door handle turned slowly.
