I head back into the boardroom and make my apologies before stepping outside into the stifling heat, where Taylor is waiting in the Suburban.

“The plane will be ready in forty-five minutes. We can head back to the hotel, pack, and go,” he informs me.

“Good,” I respond, grateful for the car’s air-conditioning. “I should call Gail.”

“I’ve tried, but her phone goes to voice mail. I think she’s still at the hospital.”

“Okay, I’ll call her later.” This is not what Gail needs on a Thursday morning. “How did Leila get into the apartment?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Taylor makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his face apologetic and grim at once. “I’ll make it a priority to find out.”

OUR BAGS ARE PACKED and we’re on our way to Savannah/Hilton Head International when I call Ana, but frustratingly, she doesn’t answer. I brood, staring out the window as we cruise toward the airport. I don’t have to wait long for her to return my call.

“Anastasia.”

“Hi,” she says, her voice breathy, and it’s such a pleasure to hear her.

“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to the airport now. Please apologize to your mother—I can’t make dinner.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“I have a situation that I have to deal with. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send Taylor to meet you at Sea-Tac if I can’t come myself.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”

I wish I didn’t have to go.

“You, too, baby,” I whisper, and hang up before I change my mind and stay.

I CALL ROS AS we taxi toward the runway.

“Christian, how’s Savannah?”

“I’m on the plane coming home. I have a problem I have to deal with.”

“Something at GEH?” Ros asks, alarmed.

“No. It’s personal.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“How did your meeting go?”

“Positive. But I had to cut it short. Let’s see what they put in writing. I might prefer Detroit just because it’s cooler.”

“The heat’s that bad?”

“Suffocating. I’ve got to go. I’ll call for an update later.”

“Safe travels, Christian.”

ON THE FLIGHT I throw myself into work to distract me from the problem waiting at home. By the time we’ve touched down I’ve read three reports and written fifteen e-mails. Our car is waiting, and Taylor drives through the pouring rain straight to Seattle Free Hope. I have to see Leila and find out what the hell is going on. As we near the hospital my anger surfaces.

Why would she do this to me?

The rain is lashing down as I climb out of the car; the day is as bleak as my mood. I take a deep breath to control my fury and head through the front doors. At the reception desk I ask for Leila Reed.

“Are you family?” The nurse on duty glowers at me, her mouth pinched and sour.

“No.” I sigh. This is going to be difficult.

“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“She tried to open a vein in my apartment. I think I’m entitled to know where the hell she is,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Don’t take that tone with me!” she snaps. I glare at her. I’m not going to get anywhere with this woman.

“Where is your ER department?”

“Sir, there’s nothing we can do if you’re not family.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself,” I growl, and storm over to the double doors. I know I could call my mother, who would expedite this for me, but then I’d have to explain what’s happened.

The ER is bustling with doctors and nurses, and triage is full of patients. I accost a young nurse and give her my brightest smile. “Hello, I’m looking for Leila Reed—she was admitted earlier today. Can you tell me where she might be?”

“And you are?” she asks, a flush creeping over her face.

“I’m her brother,” I lie smoothly, ignoring her reaction.

“This way, Mr. Reed.” She bustles over to the nurses’ station and checks her computer. “She’s on the second floor; Behavioral Health ward. Take the elevators at the end of the corridor.”

“Thanks.” I reward her with a wink and she pushes a stray lock behind her ear, giving me a flirtatious smile that reminds me of a certain girl I left in Georgia.

As I step out of the elevator on the second floor I know something is wrong. On the other side of what look like locked doors, two security guards and a nurse are combing the corridor, checking each room. My scalp prickles, but I walk over to the reception area, pretending not to notice the commotion.

“Can I help you?” asks a young man with a ring through his nose.

“I’m looking for Leila Reed. I’m her brother.”

He pales. “Oh. Mr. Reed. Can you come with me?”

I follow him to a waiting room and sit down on the plastic chair that he points to; I note it’s bolted to the floor. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Why can’t I see her?” I ask.

“The doctor will explain,” he says, his expression guarded, and he exits before I can ask any further questions.

Shit. Perhaps I’m too late.

The thought nauseates me. I get up and pace the small room, contemplating a call to Gail, but I don’t have to wait long. A young man with short dreads and dark, intelligent eyes enters. Is he her doctor?

“Mr. Reed?” he asks.

“Where’s Leila?”

He assesses me for a moment, then sighs and steels himself. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says. “She’s managed to give us the slip.”

“What?”

“She’s gone. How she got out I don’t know.”

“Got out?” I exclaim in disbelief, and sink onto one of the chairs. He sits down opposite me.

“Yes. She’s disappeared. We’re doing a search for her now.”

“She’s still here?”

“We don’t know.”

“And who are you?” I ask.

“I’m Dr. Azikiwe, the on-call psychiatrist.”

He looks too young to be a psychiatrist. “What can you tell me about Leila?” I ask.

“Well, she was admitted after a failed suicide attempt. She tried to slash one of her wrists at an ex-boyfriend’s house. His housekeeper brought her here.”

I feel the blood draining from my face. “And?” I ask. I need more information.

“That’s about as much as we know. She said it was an error of judgment, that she was fine, but we wanted to keep her here under observation and ask her further questions.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I did.”

“Why did she do this?”

“She said it was a cry for help. Nothing more. And, having made such a spectacle of herself, she was embarrassed and wanted to go home. She said she didn’t want to kill herself. I believed her. I suspect it was just suicidal ideation on her part.”

“How could you let her escape?” I run my hand through my hair, trying to contain my frustration.

“I don’t know how she’s gotten away. There’ll be an internal investigation. If she contacts you, I suggest you urge her to come back. She needs help. Can I ask you some questions?”

“Sure,” I agree, distracted.

“Is there any history of mental illness in your family?” I frown, then remember that he’s talking about Leila’s family.

“I don’t know. My family is very private about such matters.”

He looks concerned. “Do you know anything about this ex-boyfriend?”

“No,” I state, a little too quickly. “Have you contacted her husband?”

The doctor’s eyes widen. “She’s married?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not what she told us.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll call him. I won’t waste any more of your time.”

“But I have more questions for you—”

“I’d rather spend my time looking for her. She’s obviously in a bad way.” I rise.

“But, this husband—”

“I’ll get in touch with him.” This is getting me nowhere.

“But we should do that—” Dr. Azikiwe stands.