“You get the name of the federal marshal who took Leo’s money,” Adrian said. “And you get the proof to lock Leo up for conspiracy to murder a federal witness.”

Miller stared at him, his face unreadable under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The fetal monitor beeped again, a slow, reassuring rhythm that felt entirely out of place.

“Why should I trust you won’t just run?” Miller asked.

Adrian looked down at me, his eyes dark with a mix of exhaustion and fierce determination.

“Because my wife is in this bed,” Adrian said quietly. “And she can’t run.”

The words sent a chill straight down my spine.

I knew Adrian, and I knew the look in his eyes when he was calculating three moves ahead.

He was laying a trap, but I wasn’t sure if it was for Leo or for Miller.

Miller reached into his heavy winter coat and pulled out a small, black plastic case.

He popped the latch, revealing a thin transmitter with an adhesive patch and a tiny microphone.

“You wear this,” Miller said. “I’ll be in the security office monitoring the audio.”