I recognized him instantly as Harold Vance, the personal attorney for the Bellamy family.

He carried a thick leather briefcase and wore an expression of cold, professional detachment.

Officer Harris stepped out of my room, his hand resting firmly on his utility belt.

“That is far enough,” Harris said, his voice dropping an octave.

Vance stopped, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket as the security guards let him go, looking toward the police officer for direction.

“I am here as the legal representative for Landon and Patricia Bellamy,” Vance said, his voice echoing in the sterile hallway.

“I have urgent documents to deliver to Mrs. Bellamy regarding the temporary custody of the minor child.”

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I stepped back until my thigh pressed against the metal frame of Rowan’s incubator.

Inside the clear plastic dome, my baby let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper.

“She is not signing anything,” Sarah said, stepping up beside Harris.

“And you are interfering with an active police investigation, Mr. Vance.”

Vance smiled thinly, showing a row of perfectly white teeth.