Chapter 7
"Right away, Colonel," Sergeant Pierce replied, immediately pulling his radio from his belt. He stepped back into the hallway to relay the urgent medical coordinates, his voice a steady, rapid-fire sequence of military brevity.
Warren dropped to his knees beside Maeve. The anger that had fueled his confrontation with the Ellisons was instantly compartmentalized, replaced by the clinical, focused urgency of saving his daughter's life. The bright colors of the kitchen felt garish against the pale, sweaty sheen of Maeve’s skin.
"Maeve, look at me," Warren said, gently cupping her face in his hands. "The ambulance is coming. You need to take deep, slow breaths. Can you feel any cramping?"
"It's tight, Dad," Maeve sobbed, her fingers digging into the fabric of her maternity trousers. "My stomach is so tight. And the baby... why isn't he moving?"
"Shock," Warren lied smoothly, projecting a calm certainty he did not feel. "Your body is protecting him. Just focus on your breathing."
Across the room, Rex Ellison groaned heavily. He rolled onto his side among the shattered china, clutching his swelling jaw. He looked up, his eyes bleary, and saw Sergeant Pierce re-entering the kitchen.
"You can't do this!" Pamela shrieked, suddenly launching herself forward. She grabbed Jonas’s arm, shaking him violently. "Jonas, do something! We are going to go to prison! They have it on tape!"
"Get your hands off him," Sergeant Pierce barked. He moved with practiced speed, stepping between Pamela and the hallway. He unclipped a pair of heavy zip-ties from his tactical belt. "Back against the wall, both of you. Keep your hands where I can see them."
"You have no jurisdiction here!" Rex spat, trying to push himself up on his heavy work boots. "You're military! You can't arrest civilians in their own home!"
"I am performing a citizen's detainment for a violent felony committed in my presence," Dale replied, his American accent sharp and unyielding. He placed a heavy boot squarely on Rex's chest, shoving the older man flat onto his back amidst the broken plates. "Move again, and I will consider you an active threat. Do you understand me?"
"Jonas, please," Maeve wept from the floor, looking past her father to her husband. "How could you let him do this to me? To your own baby?"
Jonas pressed his back against the refrigerator, tears streaming down his cowardly face. He looked at his bleeding father, his hysterical mother, and his agonizing wife.
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"They said we had to, Maeve," Jonas choked out, his voice cracking. "They said if we didn't get control of the trust fund today, the bank was going to foreclose on my company. I didn't know he was going to hit you. I swear I didn't know!"
"You watched him do it," Warren snarled, his blue eyes flashing with lethal promise. "And then you told her to put the pan down. You are worse than the man who threw the punch."
