With a sudden, violent jerk, he dragged it across the room.

The metal wheels shrieked against the linoleum floor, a sound that felt loud enough to wake the entire wing.

He wedged the steel cart directly beneath the door handle, jamming the frame tight.

Next, he grabbed the heavy oak bedside cabinet.

He slid it across the floor with his combat boots, stacking it against the lower half of the door.

“They aren’t here for a routine visit,” Liam said, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts.

“They want the ledger,” I said, clutching the leather bag to my chest like a shield.

A hard shoulder slammed into the wood from the outside.

The entire frame shuddered, and a shower of plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling.

“Open the door,” a voice barked from the hallway.

The voice was low, flat, and entirely devoid of panic.

“Hospital security has been alerted,” Liam called out, his voice carrying his old military authority.

“No, they haven’t,” the man outside replied.

The voice was dry and completely calm.

Another heavy thud shook the frame, and the top hinge began to warp.