“Are they Richard’s?” I asked.

“No,” Ethan said. “They belong to a private security firm my mother keeps on retainer.”

I felt a cold wave of terror wash over me.

“They are going to try to take them tonight,” I said.

“They won’t get past the NICU doors,” Ethan said. “The ward is restricted.”

“Your mother has friends on the hospital board, Ethan,” I said. “She can get authorization with one phone call.”

Ethan stood up, his jaw set in a hard line.

He walked to the window and looked down at the streets below.

“I won’t let her touch them,” he said.

“What can you do?” I asked. “You’re just one doctor.”

“I am the chief resident of cardiothoracic surgery,” Ethan said. “And I have the administrative override codes for this wing.”

He turned back to me, his eyes dark with determination.

“We have to get you moved to a different unit,” he said.

“I can’t walk, Ethan,” I said, gesturing to the IV lines in my arm. “The doctors said I need to stay monitored.”

“I’ll handle the monitors,” he said.