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Officer Maxwell reentered the room. ‘Mr Wingate, you have a call.’

‘A call? How does anyone know I’m here?’

‘We alerted the hospital that you were coming in. And I’m afraid it’s them calling. About your wife. They say… they say it’s urgent.’

Dread, pure and simple.

In the next room, Kat was petting Snowball II soothingly, her feet swinging a few inches off the floor. Her mouth was moving, and it took him a moment to realize what she was whispering to the bear: We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.

When Mike spoke, it came out a croak. ‘Okay.’

‘You can take it at my desk.’ Maxwell extended his arm, pointing to his station against the far wall.

Mike moved across the room on deadened legs. Five or so lines fed into the phone, but only one button was blinking. He rested his hand on the receiver, took a deep breath, and picked up. Steeling himself, he turned away toward the window, not wanting Kat to read his expression when he got the news. ‘Mike Wingate here.’

Down below, he could see the gated side lot, filled with black-and-whites. The sight of a black Mercury froze him, his breath misting against the glass. The driver’s door was open. His eyes tracked around the lot, found a broad black officer facing away, blocking whomever he was speaking to.

It took Mike a moment to register that it was Hank’s voice on the phone. ‘Mike. Mike. Mike.’

‘Hank? What happened to Annabel?’

The cop in the parking lot was back on his heels, arms out, going submissive in the face of a reprimand.

A low heat prickled across Mike’s neck.

‘Never mind that,’ Hank said. ‘I had to say I was a doctor to get you on the phone. Listen, that alert that’s out on you? It’s at the state level. A counterterrorist agency. These guys have authority over sheriff’s, LAPD, everyone. They can take you and your daughter into custody and move you wherever they see fit. And guess who’s one of their directors?’

Down below, the officer stepped aside deferentially, and Rick Graham started briskly toward the entrance.

As the phone lowered to the cradle in Mike’s trembling hand, he faintly registered the tin-can squawk of Hank’s voice, saying, ‘You gotta get out of there.’

Chapter 35

Mike forced himself not to sprint back to Cayanne. He had maybe four minutes before Graham cleared the lobby and navigated his way upstairs and back to them. Mike kept an even pace, nodding reassuringly at Kat as he passed her.

Cayanne said, ‘Everything okay with your wife?’

‘She took a turn. It looks bad.’ Mike assumed he appeared shaken enough to be believable. What kind of plan could he generate in the next thirty seconds that would get him alone with Kat? ‘Do you have a bathroom? I need a minute before I tell my daughter.’

‘Of course. Around the corner there, second on the left.’

Mike rushed back, frantically scouting a way out. Offices let into offices, halls onto halls, a host of internal windows giving the entire floor a spotty transparency. In the bathroom he searched under the sink, behind the door – nothing. He threw toilet paper out of the rotting wooden cabinet, finally locating a first-aid kit in the back. He dumped it out and shoved aside the gauze rolls and medicine packets, plucking up a catheter-tipped syringe for wound irrigation. His shoes slipping over the supplies, he dashed across to the sink and filled the syringe with water. Dubious-looking, but if it came down to it, it would have to do.

Rushing back, he fought the plunger into place and shoved the syringe into his waistband. He slowed before the turn, tried to catch his breath. Cayanne was on his feet by his door, looking concerned.

Mike drew close, bowed his head. ‘Can I have a moment alone with Kat? To tell her?’

‘Sure, we’ll leave you my office.’

That had been Mike’s fear. He needed to get Kat out of the bullpen area entirely to make a move for the exit. Graham was probably on the third floor by now, winding his way back to them.

Plan B: out with the prop.

Mike walked over and crouched in front of Kat, slipping the syringe into her front pocket – they’d frisked him, but not her. She looked down, brow furrowed, perplexed.

He said loudly, ‘My God, honey. Your color. Didn’t I give you your insulin shot this morning?’

‘What-’

‘Honey, I know you hate needles, but this isn’t the time.’ He squeezed her shoulders: Please go along with me.

A familiar glint broke through her glassy eyes. She nodded.

He made a big show of checking her forehead, then turned, fearful that Graham was already barging around the corner, but there was just Cayanne and a few officers drawing near, concerned.

Mike channeled the Couch Mother. ‘Cold and clammy, you need some candy. Dry and hot, you need a shot.’ He patted her pockets. ‘Where’s your insulin? Do you have your insulin?’

Kat withdrew the syringe, and he made a quick grab for it, enfolding it in his hand, doing his best to hide the wide plastic tip. She went a little weak-kneed, overdoing it, but Mike grabbed her arm and stiffened her up. Listening for Graham’s approach, he didn’t find it hard to act concerned. ‘I have to administer this in her thigh. Mind if I take her to the bathroom for a little privacy?’

‘Sure,’ Maxwell said. ‘My mother-in-law’s diabetic. I know how that goes.’

Nodding his thanks, Mike shepherded Kat through the cops and around the turn, her hand clenching the polar bear. ‘Dad, what was tha-’

They were flying up the hall now, past the bathroom. ‘I need you to follow my lead so I can get us out of here.’ He dumped the leaky syringe into a trash bin just inside a doorway. ‘And I’ll answer all your questions later. Deal?’

Through the open door and an interior office window, Graham flashed into view, charging up the parallel hall on the opposite side of the floor.

‘Dea-’

Mike clamped a hand over Kat’s mouth and jerked back, flattening against the wall. Cops buzzed in the surrounding offices; at some point someone was going to step through a doorway and see them hiding here.

He could hear Graham’s elevated voice. ‘-known terrorist in your custody. Perhaps you can explain to me why a hospital clerk was able to get me his location before you thought-’

And the aggressively calm reply. ‘He’s back this way, sir.’

As Graham’s voice drifted toward Cayanne’s office, Mike propelled Kat down the hall the other way. It seemed their movement was linked to Graham’s, two points on a pulley cable sliding in opposite directions.

They reached the terminus and stepped into a pass-through office, sliding behind two desk detectives hunkered into burritos. Neither raised his head. With Kat keeping pace at his side, Mike scurried through doorways and down corridors, waiting for red lights to flash, alarms to erupt, security barriers to lower.

At last a stairwell. They jostled down and spilled out into an open garage, a host of police cars pulled in for service or washing. To their right a wide ramp angled up to the side lot that Graham had been standing in moments before.

A faint ding-ding-dinging sounded from that direction, too subdued to be an alarm.

The overweight cop whom Graham had argued aside was trudging right at them, lugging his bulletproof vest and shotgun.

Mike froze, hand clamping the back of Kat’s neck.

‘Lost?’ the cop asked.

Mike let a breath leak through his teeth. ‘No. I’m doing some work.’

‘Yeah?’ The smile seemed friendly. ‘What kind of work?’