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The changesin the bill left me with more questions than answers, but I appreciated the newspaper’s analysis of every clause, which explained things in layman’s terms. As a general rule, the analysis established Americans would be little more than pawns in a military dictatorship, which would be thinly disguised as a democratic republic. The people, those who weren’t drafted to serve in the military, would still be able to vote, but they’d only be able to vote for their local representatives and the President of the United States. The bill took the constitution, snapped it in half, and scattered its remains to the four winds.

The bill’s writers had gone so far as to list which sections of the constitution would need to be reworked and rewritten to allow for the bill’s changes to go through without being hampered. I took the time to jot down every section they intended to destroy, discovering most of the Bill of Rights would be eradicated or changed to suit the new government.

The only basic right left intact would be the Freedom of Religion, and even that would undergo changes. Churches would lose some of their current rights, becoming a cash cow for the government. Most charities would come under fire as well under the new rules involving so-called religious freedom.

It disgusted me that the writers believed barring charitable contributions should become a constitutional matter.

Sometime after polishing off our leftovers and taking a bath together, Bradley lost the war with his fatigue, leaving me to tear through the human rights violation the United States would become if the main bill was made it into law. With a better idea of the current state of affairs in the upper government, I began checking into the candidates to become the next President of the United States. Senator Westonhaus would play the game, taking over Castillo’s role as the next Tyrant-in-Chief. The newspaper that had coined that phrase took a lot of flak from the government-backed reporting outlets.

Interestingly enough, the moderate media outlets joined in, highlighting the biased network’s coverage of the Tyrant-in-Chief.

The simplicity of the accusations amused me. As President Castillo refused to denounce the bill meant to enslave Americans, the media held the opinion he was guilty of treason of the highest order, deliberately planning and abetting the murder of millions of Americans while overthrowing and rewriting the government to suit his personal pursuits.

The eradication and rewriting of the constitution, at least in the eyes of the attorneys, counted as treason. The accusations of government-wide treason had started shortly after Senator Westonhaus had announced his run for the White House, and not a week went by without something adding fuel to the flames. To my disgust and dismay, I’d been part of the picture, being used by both sides to attempt to sway the people.

Upon closer research, I discovered Senator Westonhaus typically took hits to his campaign whenever my name came up, and the competition capitalized on it. After having read the bill and digested what the clauses actually meant, I suspected all of the candidates worked under Castillo.

Not a single one of them made a campaign promise to lay the bill to rest, instead focusing on removing various questionable bits. Within a few hours, I understood the looming threat of civil war.

Americans could be prideful, stubborn patriots, but the bill had overreached just far enough to unify a generally split nation.

In a way, I appreciated the circumstances. Every election I’d witnessed had divided the nation further and further, a painful reality to watch unfold. For the first time in my life, rather than be divided, the sides melded, everyone understanding they had a lot to lose, no matter which choice they picked.

I worried the damage was already done, and there’d be no way We the People would be able to change the flow of the government, not without the sacrifice of hundreds or thousands or millions of Americans.

No matter what happened, I worried every path would lead to a great deal of shed blood.

At six in the morning, while Bradley still slept, I tiptoed into the bathroom, closed the door, put the toilet seat down, and sat, thumbing through the contacts on my cell phone until I located Beatrice’s number and dialed it.

“Hey, bitch. Your keepers finally let you out unsupervised?” Beatrice answered.

“I am hiding in the bathroom while Bradley sleeps.”

She laughed. “Finally tired him out, did you?”

“Apparently.”

“What can I do for you? You surely aren’t hiding in a bathroom this time of the morning without wanting something.”

“Can I have a sane government for Christmas?”

“If only. They’ve been bringing you up to speed, I take it?” Beatrice heaved a sigh. “You’re hitting the news here fairly hard. The pictures of you with Bradley are adorable, though. Somebody has gotten a lot of pictures of you staring at him with a disgusting amount of adoration, and he’s no better when he’s staring at you.”

“That would be Mr. Hampton,” I complained. “He fed the newspapers pictures. He’s an entity of true evil.”

“It’s tough having a caring father-in-law.”

“Seriously. At least we managed to get rid of him for a while, although Bradley crashed out early. I’ve been up all night,” I admitted. “My sleep schedule is screwed.”

“To be expected. You don’t use phones without a good reason, so what do you have for me?”

“Beyond a burning need to start some fires?”

“You can’t burn the government, Janette.”

I grumbled curses at her edict. “I wanted to get a basic rundown of where we’re at investigating.”

“Ah. You mean how we’ve been spinning our wheels because we very quickly came to the conclusion we have no idea what we’re doing, and once you got kidnapped, the brains of our operation was gone? Or more accurately, the focus of our operation was gone. It wasn’t until you disappeared we realized you were the glue making sure we all got work done.”

Crap. “Really?”

“We aren’t that bad. I mean, we are librarians for the most part. We’ve been information gathering, but we’re learning how to put the information together. Investigating seemed like a really good idea out of the gate, especially with our skills, but it turns out the real gig is not what we expected. So, we’ve been learning. That’s good. We can start fresh now that we have a better idea of what we’re doing. But I’ve learned my lesson. No, investigating something like a murder is not easy, no, not everyone can do it, and for fuck’s sake, not everyone is suited for it. Meridian likes questioning people, but unless we tell her what we need, she won’t go off on tangents much, so we need to send someone with her to ask additional questions. Mr. Tawnlen is good at that, so we’re teaming them up—and he’s aces on the forensics. That’s where we shine. Apparently, he was damned good at his first job before becoming a librarian.”

I could believe that. My boss tried to do his best at every task he set his hand to, no matter how small or trivial it seemed to be. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Hardly. We would have figured out we needed help even without your disappearance. It just would have had a lot more screaming, resentment, and fights. And we had a lot of that even before your kidnapping. I mean, you weren’t even talking to us right before you were taken.”

I winced. “Well, I was talking to you, I just wasn’t agreeing with you, and I was doing what I wanted.”

“Yes, you did do what you wanted. We’re still a bit pissed off you got kidnapped. But then your kidnappers turned out to be otherwise great people. Only great people fix our favorite bitch’s foot. Without the bill. We know how much it would have cost now.”

I winced. “How much?”

“About thirty million dollars.”

I dropped my phone, and it landed on the towels we’d sacrificed to serve as a bathmat. I cursed, snatched the thing up, and checked the display, relieved it had survived. “Can you repeat that?”

“Dropped your phone?”

“Yep.”

“Thirty million dollars. That’s how much the rehab, the operation prep, and the cost of the operation would have been if a hospital had done the work at their typical rates before insurance.”

“I saw a watch today that cost thirty million dollars,” I said, my voice emerging as a breathless whisper. “My foot cost the same as that watch?”

“Yep. Mickey, with some help from some researchers, did a full tally of what your medical bill would be. We wanted to evaluate how to get you back on your feet. Investigating when you’re barely able to walk is tough, and it gave us something to do, as we weren’t able or capable of investigating your disappearance. Honestly, that’s when we really figured out we just don’t know what we’re doing and why there’s so much involved with becoming a detective or an FBI agent. Anyway, give me a second. I’ll tell you the breakdown. I just have to open the file.”

I waited, grateful I hadn’t known the total bill for my foot’s recovery. I would have accepted what I had as the best I was going to get had I known the truth about the costs. “I feel like I just cost a bunch of doctors a lot of profit.”

“Yep,” Beatrice agreed. “And your stubborn ass won’t accept charity without a fight.”

“Do I want to know how much Senator Maybelle’s campaign had spent on their portion of the operation?”

“Two and a half million dollars. The medical supplies and machinery alone started the bill at two-hundred thousand, you needed several MRIs, which they billed at fifty thousand each, you were in the ICU for the first day of it, which came in at twenty-five thousand—the cheap end. Then they had to call in doctors from all over the fucking place, which meant compensating their hospitals, making sure replacement staff could come in, paying for the travel and stay, paying for rush care. The military doctor cost the campaign a solid three hundred thousand. They flew him in via military jet from Europe, and they had to skip him across the ocean using an aircraft carrier as a fueling station. Moving the aircraft carrier resulted in some rather large expenses. The military didn’t even charge for the fuel. President Castillo gave the marching orders on that, because he didn’t want his administration to look cheap, but Senator Maybelle’s campaign covered the costs. She didn’t need it anymore, and a lot of the donors flagged their contributions for recovery.”

Holy shit. “Dare I ask how much the fuel cost for the fighter jet?”

“I think they dished out twenty thousand on fuel? Something like that. Considering the rest of the expenses, the jet’s fueling costs were negligible. Paying the entire staff of an aircraft carrier, fueling fees, and delays on the carrier’s mission cost a lot more. The doctor only asked for his typically hourly wage for the work, honestly. And he asked that of the government, not the campaign.”

“I like that doctor.”

“He said exsanguinators have to stick together, and you’re the reason he’s a doctor right now, so he owes you a lot. Your ER volunteering got him fast tracked. He’d been taking medical courses on his own dime when off duty, but the rules would have barred him from practicing. Once the military realized he was spending his leaves getting medical training, they tested him in the field. He shook out, and so that’s how you paved the way for exsanguinators being welcomed in the medical field. He would have done the whole op and his share for free if he’d been able to. It just got him there earlier, since the military is the only source for people skilled at neutralizing that drug you’d been contaminated with. It wouldn’t have hurt you for the operation, but it needed to be removed. It just hadn’t needed to be removed in the span it took them to get him in from Europe.”

“Huh. Nobody had told me that. Just that I’d needed a military exsanguinator to purge that medication out of my blood.”

“Honestly, we hadn’t known. We found out afterwards. We got a copy of the itemized care list in case we needed the records for future treatments.” Beatrice clucked her tongue. “Okay, bitch. You ready?”

“No, but I guess I have to be.”

“The campaign paid the military five hundred thousand for treatment supplies, transport, and personnel. It’s listed they brought over the doctor from Europe and several of their trauma specialists, which were shared between you and the other victims. The other medical staff, between transit, pay, expertise, rush servicing, overtime pay for doctors covering other shifts, added two hundred thousand to the bill. MRIs rang in at two hundred thousand, as you got four of them, once before the operation started, once after the operation, and two more during recovery. Drugs came in at a hundred thousand. Twenty-five thousand for first-day ICU care. Twenty-five thousand for transport to hospital; they had to fly in a helicopter capable of handling all of you plus medical staff. The campaign just paid out a donation, as the operators of the helicopter were going to donate the service. I’m guessing twenty-five thousand was the direct costs of deployment and operation for the helicopter and staff.”

Damn. “I have one very expensive foot, Beatrice.”

“No kidding. Treat that thing like it’s gold, but more precious. I think you hold the world record for most expensive foot on the planet.”

“You know what? I don’t want to know the rest of the fees, because it sounds too expensive.”

“They charged five hundred per muscle, tendon, and ligament treated, and a thousand per bone, which was a lot cheaper than normal for magical medical care,” Beatrice stated. “Unfortunately, every damned muscle in your foot needed work, and to simplify the math, they rounded to a hundred.”

“Generous of them.” Still, comparatively, the fifty thousand for the muscles wasn’t a big deal, and the campaign had gotten off lucky only paying twenty-six thousand for the bone work. “That’s still a far cry from two million, though.”

“Consultants, and a lot of them. Your operating room was a mad house, as they had at least ten tablets going at one time making sure they had the right knowledge on hand as needed. Dr. Mansfield did most of the actual work, but she got some serious education during the operation. Dr. Mansfield tried to dodge being paid, but the campaign threatened to overpay her, so she lowballed it. As such, they overpaid her.”

“Good, she deserves to be overpaid.”

“She walked out with half a million dollars.”

I smiled. “That’s great.”

“And that’s the story about how you spent over two million for the first operation. So, the operation you had while you were kidnapped is a totally different ballpark. They essentially would have had to completely reconstruct your foot from scratch. That’s why it’s so expensive. The procedure is rare, the doctors who can do it are few and far between, and it’s risky as hell. You would have probably been in the ICU or the equivalent for at least two weeks before the operation for the operation prep, and then another two weeks after to make sure your recovery went smoothly. Considering how long they kept you sedated, you were likely in an ICU style environment for up to two months. You likely weren’t on a ventilator for any of it, but the equipment they use in the ICU is essentially what’s needed to keep somebody trucking along after trauma—and what happened to your foot is severely traumatic.”

“How the hell did they keep me in an ICU without anyone realizing it, though?”

“That’s where the ridiculous price tags start coming into play.” Beatrice sighed. “From our understanding of the situation, it can cost up to five million dollars to set up an ICU. One ventilator system can cost up to eight hundred thousand, and considering how dangerous the procedure was, they would have had the ventilator system on hand if needed. The bed alone is a hundred thousand dollars, assuming they got a high-end bed, which they probably would have. The basic equipment to monitor your health in the ICU would have come in around two hundred thousand. Because it’s black market, the prices are higher, since they can’t use the regular channels to get the equipment. Somebody would have noticed someone setting up an ICU, especially for only one patient.”

“They usually set them up for more than one patient?”

“Yes. Five tends to be the minimum in most hospitals. Single-patient ICUs are rare. Even in a small community, a single car accident might result in three or more people requiring ICU care, so they typically do a minimum of five. We have two theories. Theory one involves a new hospital being built from charitable contributions, and the ICU equipment was rerouted for storage, but your kidnappers set up for your use elsewhere before moving it into the new hospital. Theory two involves a single patient ICU being made for the black market, with the caveat you get first crack at it. It’d let the black market potentially treat a critically injured operative outside of the view of the public sector. They might even have set up a larger ICU in that case.”

“Is that actually a thing? I mean, I’ve heard of the black market, but why would they need an ICU?”

“Smugglers get injured or sick or they’re trying to get treatments of an ailment that would be best not seen in a public hospital. Apparently, there are a lot of reasons the black markets might want access to an ICU. The kind of doctors needed for your care could definitely set that up for them, and they’d have access to the drugs you’d need to get through the procedure.”

“They did have drug access,” I murmured. “I remember my foot being really infected.”

“It was probably painful enough the illusionist couldn’t completely override your perceptions of it, so they would have worked with what they could and changed how you perceived the infection.” Beatrice paused. “And with your known history of blocking out trauma, it would have been a little easier on them. You would have been easier to imprint an alternative memory on.”

“Like me thinking I’m alone and able to attempt to use my abilities to help purge infection on the sly.”

“Yes, like that. And when they realized you couldn’t purge it even with your magic, they probably would have realized you needed the operation or you’d lose your foot.”

“I’m still going to forever ask Dr. Mansfield if she’s amputating my foot every checkup,” I warned.

“I’m sure she won’t mind your horrid sense of humor, as it’s a good problem to have.”

“How did the cost of care shoot up from five million to thirty, though?”

“Our new favorite villain, Dr. Castor, charges a million dollars for a full restoration of a limb. No matter how much work is involved over how many years, that’s her flat fee, and she accepts insurance—and insurance usually pays out, because few others are able to get the results, and she’s damned good at battling with insurance companies.”

“I’m thinking I like this Dr. Castor woman,” I admitted.

“Same. So, most doctors in that field use her approach; they will take the insurance company for a million dollars plus the hospital rates for the equipment. But that’s her expertise being paid for, and her talent. She only takes a limited number of patients, preferring to work on only one at a time.”

“So, I cost her almost a year of income?”

“Essentially.”

“Okay. That’s one million accounted for, then.”

“Then there’s the team of likely five other surgeons just as talented and skilled as she is. So, six million right there, just from the high-level talents at the table. Their assistants would need to be paid, along with the team of nurses and lower-level doctors—for nine months.”

Ouch. “Okay, I am starting to see why this would be so expensive. But it’s not their direct costs, right?”

“Right. We’re just estimating how much they would have lost caring for you rather than taking on their full assortment of regular patients.”

“I resent they did not also kidnap Bradley.”

“They tried,” Beatrice admitted.

I froze. “Could you repeat that?”

“They tried,” Beatrice announced in a cheerful tone. “Ren is handy as a bodyguard, and after the first few failed attempts, Mr. Hampton added some extra security. There was one close call, where Ren and Bradley both got to take an unexpected nap, but his father’s team kept them both safe and sound. Now that we know what we know, we think they were trying to attend to your mental and emotional health. Had we known that, honestly, we might’ve just let them take him.”

I needed a lot longer than a few minutes to process that. “How many attempts?”

“Six total, with the last one two months ago. That’s why Bradley’s parents or Ren are always with him; it wasn’t because of Bradley’s mental health, but because he has been a trouble magnet. Knowing what we know now, we’re kicking ourselves for not cooperating.”

“Because you think they wanted him to keep me stable?”

“They couldn’t allow you to process their presence in your memories. If they took Bradley, they could give you the company you needed. Depression is a severe problem in patients recovering from long-term illness. You would have been a poster child for depression.”

“I don’t remember being depressed. I remember being lonely, but not depressed.”

“Erased,” Beatrice stated. “Mr. Hampton tried to read you, remember?”

“Yes. He said he could only get a fix on the operation, and he mentioned I’d been lonely. I could have told him that.”

“The trauma was too severe to erase the imprints it left behind, although the illusionist—or illusionists—had certainly tried. The results are great, but what they did to get those results classifies as torture. We got the lecture. And we don’t know what sort of response you’ll ultimately have to that trauma.”

Great. “They took me to a jewelry store yesterday, Beatrice. I had to ask the lady to show me something more expensive than what they were buying to get through that.”

“The necklace is a beauty, though. Mrs. Hampton showed us pictures of it last night. For the record, I’m about an hour from leaving for the airport, Ren is coming with me, and Meridian is also on route, but she caught an earlier flight. We have a list of things we need to check out properly.”

“Like the house?”

“Oh, yes. Like the house, which should be empty of housekeeping and the homeowner starting this afternoon.”

“Dr. Castor is there?”

“Yep. With a little help from our friends in the FBI, we were able to verify Dr. Castor has been in residence in California for ten and a half months, approximately.”

Interesting. “And the other supposed participants?”

“They were in or visiting California over the past nine months, too. How strange.” Beatrice chuckled. “Now, you should go grill your fiancé over the kidnapping attempts. That should keep you busy until we get there.”

Yes, it would. “I owe you for that intel.”

“That one’s on the house.”

“Do we have a plan for today when you get here?”

“Yes, we do.”

I appreciated that someone knew what we needed to do. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to knock on the door. If nobody answers and the place looks empty, we’ll pay the place a visit at night with some friends who work security to get us in without tripping every alarm while we do it. We’ll have a great time.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Simple.”

“How is this simple?” I grumbled.

“Mr. Hampton owns the security company that monitors the house.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did,” I admitted. “But I don’t believe it.”

“It’s funny. It’s like the woman wanted to make sure if something did happen to her house while you were in it, the exact right people would be able to ride to the rescue.” Beatrice laughed. “I do feel badly we didn’t let them take Bradley now. You would have been so much better off with your man around to keep you happy.”

“But then he would have been kidnapped, too!”

“Don’t lie, Janette. Nothing would have made you happier than a bunch of books and your man around to keep you company. You would have been in your personal slice of heaven.”

Damn. My favorite enemy was out for my blood. “You saw the pictures.”

“You couldn’t have been more adoring if you tried. I’ve seen how you look at Ajani, and while you adore your fluffy goddess, you only had eyes for him in those shots.”

“Mr. Hampton is a cruel traitor, compromising my position!”

Beatrice giggled. “I have some good news for you.”

“You do?”

“Ren has possession of your cat, she is booked to fly with us, and she will be in your hands by the end of the day. We also discussed the situation with your hotel, and we have paperwork registering her as an official emotional support animal. She’s still a demon, but she’s a demon who has missed you very much. Also, don’t be surprised if her behavior is a little different than you’re used to.”

“What did you do to my cat?” I growled.

“We didn’t do anything to her. We just had someone with the right talents come in and teach her manners is all. She has learned to be gentle with her warning nips, and she now realizes petting is a show of affection rather than… whatever it was that cat was thinking. She’s still a demoness and a fluffy goddess, but at least she won’t leave scars on those who pet her three times instead of two.”

I grinned. “I love my fluffy goddess. You’re really bringing her?”

“We’re really bringing her. I need to get out of here or I’ll miss my flight. Go interrogate your man. I’ll see you soon.” She promised to text me the flight number before hanging up. I stared at the phone for a long time before narrowing my eyes, getting up, and heading into the main room to wait for Bradley to wake up so I could demand answers to my many new questions.