“It is not just jewelry,” I said, a sob rising in my throat. “It is the only thing I have left of her.”

He did not answer.

Instead, his eyes shifted to the small monitor on the wall.

The red security light above the door began to pulse, casting a rhythmic crimson glow over the sterile white room.

A harsh, loud buzzer cut through the silence of the clinic.

On the screen, two black SUVs idled in the alleyway, completely blocking our sedan.

The headlight beams sliced through the heavy rain, blinding the camera lens.

Dr. Hale reached slowly under the counter.

Vincent drew his pistol from his shoulder holster, the metal clicking softly in the quiet room.

“Get behind me,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

The red security light bathed his face in a dark, bloody hue.

Dr. Hale pressed a button under the desk, and a heavy steel shutter began to roll down over the glass entrance.

Outside, the car doors of the SUVs swung open.

Men in dark raincoats stepped out into the downpour, their faces hidden by the brims of their hats.