Service dog urgently barks at Pregnant Woman… But when officers Discovered the Reality, it was far too late…

Thatcher sat down slowly in the chair by her bedside, the letter resting on his knee like it might catch fire at any moment. There were things Hollis never told anyone, he said. Not even me.

But if someone’s still after his secrets, it means whatever he buried didn’t stay buried. Marlo turned her head, staring at the blank wall. And now I’m the one carrying it.

Thatcher didn’t correct her. Because deep down, they both knew she wasn’t just talking about the baby. Some things are stolen to protect the world, others to protect a soul.

That night, Thatcher sat alone in his apartment, the letter from Marlo still unopened on the table in front of him. The lamp cast a dull yellow light over the edges of the paper, making the words to my daughter, if I’m gone, look even heavier. Bishop lay at his feet, ears twitching, eyes half open, alert even in rest.

The air felt thick with memory and guilt. There were things Thatcher remembered from that final mission with Hollis. Things no one else was supposed to know.

Things that had haunted his sleep for over 20 years. He finally opened the letter. Hollis’s handwriting, shaky and rushed, spilled across the page like a man trying to outrun time.

He spoke of government files, hidden documents, and a flash drive taken during a covert recovery operation. One that wasn’t in any official report. They told us we found weapons, the letter read, but what I saw wasn’t designed for the battlefield.

It was information, personal names, coordinates, and something else. Something they were willing to kill for. Thatcher’s stomach dropped.

He remembered that mission. The night Hollis disappeared for nearly four hours and came back with blood on his shirt and fear in his eyes. He’d never explained, never told anyone what he’d done.

Just handed off a sealed satchel to someone from Langley and pretended it never happened. Until now. Now that satchel’s contents had likely never reached its destination, or worse, it had.

And someone wanted it back. A knock on the door snapped him out of his spiral. Three sharp raps.

Not random. Not hesitant. Bishop stood in a flash, growling low.

Thatcher approached the door cautiously, gun at his side. He opened it just enough to see the hallway. Empty.

But something was taped to the door. A photo. Grainy.

Black and white. It showed Marlowe, standing at a bus stop, visibly pregnant. On the back, a single typed message.

You’re not the only one who got the letter. Thatcher’s blood went cold. It wasn’t just about Marlowe anymore.

Someone else out there had received the same warning, the same knowledge. And they were watching her. Which meant she wasn’t safe.

Not in the airport. Not in the clinic. Not anywhere.

He turned back to Bishop. Get your vest, he muttered. We’re going back.

Whatever Hollis had stolen. Marlowe was now the key to finding it. And someone out there wanted her silenced before she realized it.

Sometimes, your arrival was predicted long before you packed your bags. By the time Thatcher arrived back at the airport clinic, it was just past midnight. The halls were quiet, most travelers long gone, replaced by janitors and overnight staff who barely glanced at him.

But something in the air felt wrong. Bishop moved ahead of him with purpose, nose twitching, ears forward. The clinic doors were unlocked.

That alone was a red flag. Security never left those rooms open after hours. He reached for his badge, pushing the door slowly.

The lights were off. No nurse at the desk. And Marlowe’s room? Empty.

Her blanket lay folded on the chair. A plastic cup of water still sat untouched on the nightstand. Thatcher’s gut twisted.

She wouldn’t have left without telling someone. Not after the conversation they had. Not unless.

He turned to Bishop. The dog was locked in on something. The air vent.

Sniffing furiously. Then he growled. Deep.

Angry. Someone had been there. Recently.

And whoever it was, they didn’t want Marlowe to stay. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number.

He answered. No one spoke for three seconds. Then a voice, distorted, male, calculated.

She’s safer with us than with you, Officer Muldoon. Stay out of this. You’ve already failed her father.

Don’t fail her too. The line went dead. Thatcher stood frozen.

His hands clenched around the phone. The room around him felt colder now. Whoever had taken her.

Knew who he was. Knew about Hollis. Knew about the past.

And they weren’t some street-level thugs. This was coordinated. Precise.

Planned. He replayed the message in his mind. You already failed her father.

The guilt dug deeper now, but the anger was stronger. He hadn’t been able to save Hollis. But he wouldn’t lose Marlowe too…