Chapter 2 – The Photo

The photo in Sienna’s hand felt heavier than paper had any right to feel. The little girl’s smile was lopsided, like she’d been caught mid-laugh. Her hair—thick, chestnut curls—framed a face far too innocent to belong in any conversation with a man like Jax Maddox.

Sienna’s fingers tightened around the edges before she could stop herself. “Missing? How do you even know her?”

“That’s not the right question,” Jax said, peeling his wet leather cut off with a hiss of pain. “The right question is why no one’s looking for her.”

Rainwater dripped onto her floor. Her doctor’s brain registered the way he favored his right side, how his shirt was sticking to his skin where blood seeped through. He’d been shot—or stabbed—again. But instead of focusing on that, her eyes stayed locked on the picture.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“Her aunt gave it to me,” he said. “Right before she turned up dead.”

The words hit like ice water. Sienna blinked at him, trying to piece together the jump from gunshot biker in my ER to dead aunts and missing kids. “You should be telling this to the police.”

He gave her a look—dark, dry, and entirely humorless. “Cops aren’t going to help. Some of them work for the people who took her.”

“This isn’t my business, Jax,” she said, setting the photo down on her coffee table like it might burn her. “I save people who come through my doors. That’s it.”

“You think it’s not your business?” His voice sharpened. “She was in your hospital the night she disappeared.”

Sienna froze. “What?”

“ER admit records. Time stamp says 11:17 PM. She went in alive. She didn’t come out.”

“That’s impossible.” Her mind spun, running through shift schedules and patient charts. “I would’ve heard—”

“You wouldn’t have heard,” Jax interrupted. “Not if someone made sure you didn’t.”

Her chest tightened. “You’re saying the hospital covered it up?”

“I’m saying someone did. And I need a doctor who’s not afraid to dig where she’s told not to.”

Sienna shook her head, stepping back from him. “No. Absolutely not. I have a job, a license. I can’t—”

“You already broke the rules for me,” Jax said, low and steady. “No name. No questions. You think the suits upstairs don’t notice things like that?”

She hated the way her pulse spiked—not just with fear, but with anger. “So what, you’re here to blackmail me into helping you?”

“I’m here because I don’t trust anyone else not to sell me out,” he said. “And because once you’ve seen a kid’s face like that—” he jerked his chin at the photo—“you don’t get to unsee it.”

Sienna swallowed hard.

The worst part was, he was right. That little girl’s face was already branded into her mind.

She drew a shaky breath and pointed at his side. “You’re bleeding through your shirt. Sit down before you pass out on my rug.”

“Not your first order to me tonight,” he muttered, but he dropped onto her couch anyway, leaning back like he owned it. His boots left muddy prints on the hardwood.

She grabbed her med kit from the closet, snapping on gloves. “If I help you, it’s not because I’m agreeing to whatever this is. It’s because you’re a patient, and you’re leaking.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

The wound wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t healing right either. A deep gash along his ribs, crusted with half-dried blood. Sienna cleaned it, her hands steady even as her mind churned.

“How’d this happen?” she asked, dabbing antiseptic.

“Knife,” he said, watching her work. “Rival club thought they could corner me.”

“And did they?”

“Almost. Then I remembered I’ve got a mean right hook.”

“Congratulations,” she muttered, stitching him up. “You punched your way into an infection.”

His mouth quirked. “You’re funny when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re mad.”

She tied off the last stitch harder than necessary, earning a hiss from him. “If I were mad, I’d let you rot.”

“See?” he said. “Mad.”

She pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the trash. “You’re patched. You can leave now.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The girl’s name is Emily. Seven years old. Last seen in your ER. That’s all I know. You want me gone, I’ll walk out. But if I’m right—if someone inside that hospital is dirty—you’re gonna see it sooner or later.”

Sienna pressed her lips together. “Why do you even care?”

His eyes flicked to hers, and for a second, she saw something there—not just hardness, but something raw. “Because nobody else does.”

It wasn’t the answer she expected.

And she hated that it cracked her just a little.

He left twenty minutes later, rain still spitting against the windows. She shut the door behind him and locked it twice.

Then she picked up the photo again.

Emily. Seven. Missing.

Her mind replayed the ER records she’d signed off on that week. She’d been on a double shift Tuesday into Wednesday… She couldn’t remember seeing a child like this. She couldn’t remember much at all from those hours except the endless fluorescent hum and the blur of patients.

Which was exactly what Jax was counting on.

She shoved the picture into her desk drawer.

This wasn’t her problem.

Except she couldn’t sleep.

By morning, she’d convinced herself it would take five minutes—ten, max—to check the hospital database. Just to prove him wrong. Just to prove she wasn’t insane for letting him in last night.

At noon, she slipped into the admin office under the pretense of updating charts. The database loaded slow, the hospital’s outdated system groaning under the weight of too many tabs open at once. She searched “Emily”—too many results. Narrowed by age. Gender.

Her stomach sank.

One match.

Emily Reyes. Seven. Brought in Tuesday night. No recorded discharge. No death certificate filed.

The last note in her chart simply read: Transferred to Pediatrics, 12:04 AM.

Sienna clicked the transfer link.

Error: File Not Found.

Her palms went cold. She tried again.

Same result.

“Dr. Blake?” The voice made her jump.

She snapped her head up. Dr. Mason, head of surgery, stood in the doorway, arms folded. His smile was tight. Too tight. “What are you doing in here?”

“Updating a case,” she lied smoothly. “System’s being slow.”

Mason’s eyes flicked to the screen. “That’s not your patient.”

“I was… consulting.”

He stepped closer. “You’re not cleared for pediatrics.”

Her fingers hovered over the mouse. “It was just a quick—”

“I’ll handle it.” His voice was final. “Go grab lunch.”

Sienna hesitated, then stood, forcing herself to walk out without looking back.

She didn’t see Jax until that night.

He was leaning against her apartment building’s stairwell, cigarette between his fingers, leather cut dry now, stitches hidden under a black T-shirt. He looked too at ease for someone who’d been stabbed forty-eight hours ago.

“You found her file,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

Sienna froze. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I’ve got eyes,” he said. “And you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they realize the floor under them isn’t solid.”

Her throat went tight. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves enough,” he said. “You gonna tell me what it said?”

She crossed her arms. “It said she was transferred to pediatrics. But there’s no record after that.”

Jax’s jaw flexed. “Then she didn’t go to pediatrics.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Sienna said, brushing past him toward the door.

He caught her wrist—not hard, just enough to make her stop. “You already are.”

Her pulse jumped. She pulled free, glaring. “Whatever’s going on here, I’m not getting pulled into it. I have a career. A life.”

“Career’s already on the line,” he said, flicking his cigarette into the rain. “Life too, if you’re not careful.”

Sienna opened her mouth to tell him to get lost.

But then her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She almost ignored it.

Until she saw the message.

Stop asking about Emily Reyes.

Attached was a photo.

Her. Taken from across the street.

Through her own apartment window.