Chapter 2
Luke’s hand was ice-cold through the cotton of my sleeve. He steered me away from the nurses’ station, past the hushed whispers and averted eyes of orderlies who usually greeted me by name.
"In here, Nora," Luke murmured, pushing open the heavy fire door to an empty administrative consultation room. The fluorescent tubes overhead hummed violently, casting a sterile, sickly glow over two vinyl chairs and a faux-wood desk.
"Luke, stop treating me like a grieving relative," I snapped, pulling my arm free. My voice sounded brittle, threatening to crack under the weight of the silence. "Is he sick? Did he collapse in the OR? Just say it."
Luke closed the door and turned the deadbolt. When he turned back, he leaned against the doorframe as if his legs could no longer support him. "Wyatt isn't in surgery, Nora. He hasn't been in an operating room at Saint Ambrose in nearly four months."
The room seemed to tilt. A high-pitched ringing pierced my ears.
"What are you talking about?" I forced a dry, hollow laugh. "I packed his lunch this morning. He kissed my forehead at six-thirty. He had his badge clipped to his lapel, his scrubs—"
"His credentials were suspended in June," Luke interrupted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The hospital board quietly escorted him off the premises. An internal audit flagged thousands of units of restricted experimental neuro-stabilizers missing from central supply, registered under his surgical ID."
"No," I shook my head, stepping backward until the back of my knees struck the edge of the desk. "No. Wyatt is the most ethical man in this building. He wouldn't steal. He works eighty hours a week—"
"He wasn't working eighty hours here, Nora! He was banned from the floor." Luke took a step closer, his eyes pleading for me to comprehend the nightmare. "The only reason the hospital didn't immediately file federal criminal charges was because Chief Sterling intervened to protect the hospital's reputation while an independent inquiry looked into potential system errors."
"Then where has he been going every morning?" My chest heaved as panic clawed its way up my throat. "Where has he been sleeping when he doesn't come home?"
"That's what's terrifying me," Luke whispered, glancing toward the frosted glass panel of the door. "Twenty minutes ago, security caught an override on the service elevator. Someone used an old administrative keycard that was never deactivated. It was Wyatt's card. He didn't come through the main entrance. He entered through the loading dock and took the freight elevator straight down to Sub-basement C."
Sub-basement C. The decommissioned research wing, shuttered two years ago after a botched expansion project.
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"If hospital security intercepts him down there with whatever he's doing," Luke warned, "they won't call a disciplinary board this time. They'll call the FBI."
The lunch bag dropped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Before Luke could grab my wrist again, I tore open the consultation door and bolted toward the service stairs.
