Chapter 4 - The Peppermint Trap
“What did you say?” Roman’s voice cut through the room like a crack of thunder.
He crossed the floor in two long strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his dark eyes locked on his son’s face.
“Ethan. Repeat what she said to you,” Roman ordered, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard the wood groaned.
Ethan shrank back slightly into Claire’s side. “She... she said, 'Tell your father the Syndicate remembers.' Then she pushed me over the railing.”
Claire looked at Roman’s face. The cold, calculating composure he had maintained during her interrogation had completely vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, murderous fury that sent a chill straight down her spine.
“Vance!” Roman roared toward the open door.
The silver-haired doctor rushed into the room, followed by the lead bodyguard with the jaw scar.
“Sir!”
“Lock down the compound,” Roman ordered, his voice vibrating with absolute authority. “Notify Marcus that the Iron Syndicate has broken the ceasefire. Put all perimeter teams on Red Alert. I want every vehicle entering or leaving the Loop tracked and logged by midnight.”
“Yes, boss!” The bodyguard turned and sprinted out of the room, pulling a radio from his belt.
Claire looked between Roman and Dr. Vance, her mind working furiously through her nursing background and memory.
Smelled like peppermint and medicine.
“Wait,” Claire said loudly, standing up from the bed.
Roman turned his fierce gaze upon her. “What?”
“Peppermint and medicine,” Claire repeated, her mind connecting details from her shift six hours ago. “That’s not just a random scent, Mr. Mercer. At Lakeview General, the oncology ward and the private hospice unit use a heavy industrial compound called Methyl-Peppermint for severe chemical decontamination and radiation therapy scrub-downs. It’s only used in two places in the entire city—Lakeview General, and the private medical clinic at Saint Mark’s Private Hospital.”
Dr. Vance’s eyes widened behind his silver glasses. “She’s right, Roman. Standard hospital disinfectant smells like bleach or pine. Methyl-Peppermint is highly specific to oncology and specialized surgery units.”
Claire took a step closer to Roman, her confidence surging as she realized she possessed information his high-priced security team lacked.
“Whoever stole my coat didn't just walk into the hospital off the street,” Claire asserted firmly. “They had access to the oncology wing storage rooms. And if she was wearing my coat, she was trying to frame someone from the emergency department staff to slow down your investigation.”
Roman stood up slowly, reaching his full height, staring at Claire as if seeing her clearly for the first very time.
“You’re telling me the attacker is an insider at your hospital,” Roman said quietly.
“Or someone who visits the oncology unit regularly,” Claire corrected. “Check the visitor logs for the Lakeview General Oncology floor between 2:00 PM and 4:00 PM today. Look for a woman in her early thirties, medium height, who checked in near the storage lockers.”
Roman stared at her for five long seconds. The silence in the room was deafening.
Then, he reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a encrypted smartphone, and hit a speed dial button.
“Marcus,” Roman spoke into the receiver, his eyes never leaving Claire’s face. “Run the visitor logs for Lakeview General, fourth floor oncology, between fourteen hundred and sixteen hundred hours today. Cross-reference any female visitors with former associates of the Iron Syndicate.”
He waited on the line, the quiet click of computer keys audible through the speaker.
Thirty seconds later, a voice answered through the phone: “Boss... we got a match. A woman named Elena Vance—no relation to the doctor—checked into the fourth floor at 3:15 PM today to visit a patient. She’s a known associate of Nikolai Volkov’s crew. She left the building at 4:05 PM wearing a dark red hospital parka.”
Roman slowly lowered the phone from his ear.
He looked at Claire.
The suspicion, the hostility, the cold paranoia that had surrounded him like an armor completely shattered.
“She was telling the truth,” Dr. Vance whispered from the doorway, looking at Claire with profound admiration. “She really did just jump in to save the boy.”
Roman walked slowly over to where Claire stood.
He didn't speak immediately. He looked at her bare, bruised feet, her torn, wet scrubs, her pale face, and the cut on her right palm that was still slowly leaking blood onto her wrist.
Then, the most feared crime boss in Chicago did something that left his guards and his doctor completely paralyzed with shock.
Roman Mercer bowed his head, reached out his large, calloused hand, and gently took Claire’s bruised, bloody hand in his.
“Miss Bennett,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a low, deep, profoundly sincere tone. “I brought you here under armed guard. I accused you of threatening my son’s life. I threatened you in my own home.”
He looked up into her eyes, his dark gaze filled with a raw intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.
“I was wrong,” Roman said quietly. “You saved my son’s life twice tonight—first from the river, and then from my own blind paranoia. I owe you a debt that can never be measured in money.”
Claire looked at her hand in his, feeling the intense, unexpected warmth of his grip.
“I don't want your money, Mr. Mercer,” she said softly, but firmly. “I just want to know that Ethan is safe.”
May you like
Roman looked over her shoulder at his son, who was watching them with a quiet, happy smile from the bed.
“He is safe,” Roman promised, his thumb gently brushing over the scratch on Claire’s knuckles. “And from this night forward... so are you.”
